Silmicia

Summary
An unholy, impoverished wetland hellhole only a hundred years back, the newfound “Silmicia” is… a slightly less-impoverished wetland hellhole. The lowland swamps and marshlands, fed by a constant deluge of rain and saltwater from Salgar’s Bay, are teeming with giant crocodiles and all manner of violent beasts. Once known as “Kholakach” - Elder for “The Seat of Kholak,” the rabble of indigenous tribes and peoples occupying this less-than-desirable land were more than eager to sell enormous swathes of their lands to the Silmician Trade Company, originally based out of Storhill in Gratalia.

Once the Board of Executives, chaired by Graffin Silmicia himself, realized the enormous profit it could make extracting and refining Western goods, the entire company rebased itself to the newfound city of Jadran, a sprawling heap of hastily-crafted multi story wood structures built into the steep crags of Salgar’s Bay. Much to the dismay of the Curghulian’s to the north, Graffin’s purchasing power didn’t simply stop at the land around the bay, but extended their newfound territory further and further north into Curghulian land. Before King Sviatoslav III decreed that Curghulian land could not be ceded into the newborn state of Silmicia, Graffin had already purchased the mouth of the Canarta River - one critical for the heartland of their neighbor’s economy.

Purchase after purchase and credit upon credit built the sprawling wooden shanties of Silmicia. Newfound riches dug up from sunken temples of the indigenous population, themselves triggering all manner of ill-omens, only fattened the Board’s pockets. With Jadran quickly becoming the most powerful port city of the east, the Board’s budget quickly grew to include an army of mercenaries, men and women from all across Uarach seeking gold and excitement - only to find themselves pit against hapless villagers, monstrous bog creatures, and manning poorly-crafted fortifications to defend against invasion from the Westerners of the Lashani savannas. While incredibly dangerous, Silmicia is ripe with opportunity, free from the shackles of formal government. If you have the coin, almost anything can be purchased here, from ancient relics and warships to the favor of local crime lords. To control the violent seas of the West, the Silmician Navy was founded - and is nothing to scoff at. After living so long on the Company’s payroll, the Crimson Host, the infamous pirate league, decided to fly the Silmician flag full-time. Silmicia pivots to insinuate itself as a great power, and with Graffin near to dying at a ripe old age, the Board itself bickers over succession. As new hope - and new dangers - stretch out across the freshly dug polders of Silmicia, a shadow looms in the south. If not seized by Westerners, will the old god Kholak rise from the deep to reclaim her pilfered lands, or are the mutterings of fearful natives simply superstitions?

Inhabitants
Silmicia’s poorest, if they’re lucky enough to live in the city, spend most of their time navigating an endless labyrinth of low canals, perilous city streets, and the dimly lit corridors of Jadran’s sea-level caves, where its lowliest eke out life by whatever means necessary. While crime lords dominate daily life in the lower stories of Jadran, they generally live higher up on the crags.

In the middle reaches of Jadran, wrapping around the massive stoneworks surrounding Salgar Bay, the Silmician middle class enjoy an average, if rainy life, spent bobbing and weaving through busy maritime markets, crossing dangerous rope bridges spanning chasms across the crags. Taverns, banks, restaurants, and auction houses dominate the middle city. To be born into the middle city does not guarantee a life outside of squalor - as the city is squalorous everywhere except its peaks.

The peaks of Jadran are wooden towers hoisted with great arrogance into the sky, whose foundations are stories upon stories of impoverished laborers. From these great heights the upper class of Simcilia look down across the hundred wharves and quays of their great city, where they watch the great exports of their nation leave in the hulls of a hundred ships a day. The pirates, once feared by all, now grow fat in the upper city, where they dine with Eastern oligarchs come to see their investments made flesh.

All of Silmicia is racially diverse - and one is to find all manner of unlucky creatures here. Even Dark Elves, universally feared and reviled for their origins in the Khair Despotate, are occasionally witnessed passing through the underbelly of Jadran, under cover of darkness. To live in the polders outside of Jadran or in the many hovels scattered across the wetlands is to risk death each day - but to live in the city is often to do the same.

Religion
The people of Silmicia still cling to their old faith, the worship of Kholak known as Kholakism. A folk religion with no real organization, (especially after the Company built their headquarters on top of the only extant Kholakist holy place,) even those teeming swathes of immigrants to Silmicia seeking fortune or fame often quickly adopt the practice, sometimes even completely substituting their old faiths. The reason is quickly understood when one has lived within the wetlands - the old wet god herself seems to dictate every action, every wave, and every unholy beast to slither out of the swamps.

Kholakism isn’t followed as a faith so much as it is adhered to as a set of traditions. Kissing rocky land after a venture on the seas or through the swamps is seen as respectful to the old lady Kholak, as thanks for safe passage across her terrains. Kholak herself is depicted in the ancient art of the indigenous people as a massive three-eyed kraken. The Company has refused to squash such beliefs because it simply lacks the interest - as long as Kholak doesn’t affect their bottom line, the Board of Executives will maintain their skeptical peace. But the tides yet stir, and as the Three Brothers wake from stony sleep, so might their sister in the deep.