Kingdom of Marocia

Once part of an eastern Mahzkani province known as Abrimor, the land of Marocia is a vast, green land famed for its grain fields, salt flats and mighty shipyards. Though the Mahzkani occupation lasted almost a thousand years, the Marocian people never embraced imperial rule. Rebellions flared frequently, and while many would-be liberators felt the weight of the headsman’s axe, the spirit of resistance never dulled.

As the Empire waned, the Marocian lords grew bolder. It was Garranon the Undaunted who finally led the land in open revolt, drawing Halgrad, Ghyrsholme and the surrounding Marches into open war, an act that shattered the unity of Abrimor once and for all. The Empire, unwilling to let the jewel of the north slip away, dispatched three legions to retake the lost territory, and drag Garranon back to Mahz in chains. The war raged over a decade, but the Mahzkani were stretched thin, their authority weakened by the schemes and infighting of the political class. The legions bled, and in time broke altogether. Marocia had its independence, and Halgrad was the jewel in its crown.

Today, Marocia rises once again from the ashes of conflict. A proud feudal kingdom, now ruled by Ezbard the Great, the iron-willed monarch who led Marocia to victory in the brutal Great War Against the North a decade past. Though Ghyrsholme no longer swears fealty to the Marocian crown, Ezbard commands the loyalty of nearly a hundred Lords, whose banners fly along the coast of the Grey Sea, and the Pyrestone Sea that sits at the Kingdom’s heart.

The Marocian capital, Pyrestone, straddles both shores of the sea’s mouth, a twin-city of stone towers, high causeways and sprawling markets. It is a city of salt and silver, a sacred place home to the Cathedrals of both Yurion and Myrsel, The God of those who wander, and the Goddess of Hearth and Home.

But Ezbard’s peace is strained. The Great War left behind half a generation of landless nobles, fatherless sons, and grizzled men who know no trade but war. Beneath the surface, some of the lords grow desperate. Perhaps even desperate enough to heed the Seer’s visions, and find their gaze toward the Eternal City. To risk all for gold, for glory, and, should they make it inside the palace that sits atop Saren Hill, perhaps something greater still.