The world
An alliance, and what became of it
The Concord was an alliance of power: nine great houses who agreed to hold the line, and did, for an age. They built the straight roads that fissure the land, minted one coin so nine peoples could supply each other, and kept the peace between themselves — a quarrel at home meant a gap in the watch.
Seventy-one years ago the Concord was dissolved, and the hall of records was sealed from within. The alliance was gone — but the power, the great houses and their underlying disputes remain. Those that survived are still rich, and answerable to nobody. Years are counted from that night.
What the line was drawn against has become unclear all these years later — and what happened that night to bring the Concord down? The basin says a people out of the north, beaten and scattered long ago. The clans say it was never a people. Whatever it was, it has never been resolved, and some say it never left.
The regions
Farmland, mills and river cities along the Anser and the shores of the Mere. Everything but the desert borders it.
Cold highlands and iron hills, clan country, walled off by the Toothline. The dwarves' deep halls lie beneath it; past the last clan-ground are the orc-reaches.
Old-growth forest, ringed by the Ring Road the Concord raised so that no path would cross through it. Rumour says the elves still keep their ruins deep inside.
A vast reed-marsh where the Anser's eastern tributaries drown. Insular, roadless, feared. People swear they see movement out in it, but nobody gets close enough to be sure.
The whole southern coastline, from where the Wold's Ring Road meets the water to the mouth of the Anser. The salt-flats are one stretch of it. The basin's only window on the wider world.
Desert, in the southwest. People go a little way in and come back — there is a station on the edge of it and an oasis past that — but nobody has crossed the interior, and nothing is drawn on the far side.
The straight roads that fissure the land, cracked but still walkable. Whoever holds a junction holds a chokehold.
Who holds what now
Nine seats were made; four still answer. The Nine were never the representatives who sat in the hall — they are these houses, whose money predates the Concord and outlived it. Most still hold what they were given, out of habit, having long forgotten what it was for — but holding it is enough. The grain, the iron, the salt and the roads all move at their say.
Grain, mills, and the granaries three river cities eat out of in a bad winter. More importantly, they hold the way to the old seat: Ninehall stands on the island of Nineholm, and the only approach to it runs through their compound. The hall was sealed the night the Concord dissolved and has not been opened since. They hold the only record of the alliance.
Iron, all of it. Whatever the alliance asked the dwarves to watch was underground, and unlike every other house they never stopped watching it.
Elvish, at the only place the basin and the deep forest actually meet. Something happened between the alliance and the elves; the maps were redrawn without the forest on them, with no record as to why.
Salt, and the coast roads it moves on. Regulates commerce across the Outer Sea.
Heirs of the old road-wardens, who have seized stretches of the old Concord Ways and toll them. No ancient claim, and no interest in pretending otherwise.
From the upper Anser down to the Mere, trade runs on handshake agreements between wharf-masters, village councils and bargemen. Still working, like it did long before the Concord was formed.