The Lands of Galican

NATION OF TOWERS

Anglebec is a land of towering stone cities, where thirty-three great tower-cities rise from the grasslands, stretching from the frozen north to the storm-beaten south. Each tower climbs dozens of floors into the sky, its upper reaches vanishing into cloud and mist, built not for beauty, but for survival. Thick walls and terraced stone rings mark every level, remnants of centuries spent preparing for siege and war.

Forged as a war ground, Anglebec stands between the hostile Easternlands and Westernlands, a living fortress meant to shield its people from invasion on both sides. The towers watch the horizons day and night, their lights burning like beacons against the dark. Though life still stirs in the fields below—farmers, runners, and caravans—the land carries the weight of conflict, and every stone of Anglebec remembers why it was raised.

THE SUN COURT

Osaka rises from the desert like a living jewel, a tropical stronghold of stone and power where palm canopies and turquoise waters soften the edges of ruthless politics. Built from deep brown sandstone, its stepped temples, massive columns, and fortified bridges reflect an ancient style meant to endure heat, time, and ambition alike.

Though paradise to the eye, Osaka is the continent’s political crossroads. Leaders, diplomats, and powerbrokers gather here under the guise of leisure, conducting negotiations beside oasis waters and shaded courtyards. Black-armored guards stand watch at every causeway and gate, a reminder that even in beauty, Osaka’s true purpose is control.

THE QUIET EXILE

Fendi lies far to the north, where the cold settles deep into the land and winter never fully loosens its grip. Though it is a true city, it is built in quiet defiance, hidden among forests and snow-covered paths, its streets narrow and its lights kept low. Outsiders often mistake it for a scattering of villages, but Fendi lives and breathes as one—watchful, cautious, and always ready to disappear.

The city is home to the exiles of Zar, witches and unwanted souls cast out and forced north to survive. Here, people live loosely, loving fiercely and fearing little, because none expect long lives. Magic is practiced quietly, blended into daily labor and whispered tradition. In Fendi, survival is rebellion, and every passing winter is a victory.

THE CRUSHING HAND

Zar is the most powerful nation in Galican—and the one spoken of in lowered voices. Its rule is not justified by law or unity, but by overwhelming strength and ruthless will. Where other nations govern, Zar dominates. Where others negotiate, Zar commands. Its evil is not hidden; it is accepted as an unchangeable truth of the world.

The capital of Zar is the largest city on the continent, a sprawling metropolis of blackened stone, towering fortresses, and ceaseless industry. Smoke rises day and night as armies are forged, weapons are tempered, and obedience is enforced. Beyond the walls lie vast, dark forests that feed the nation’s war machine and swallow those who flee. Zarr does not pretend to be just—only eternal.

PUNISHMENT LANDS

Zarhell is not merely a prison—it is an island built to erase hope. Encircled by an unbroken stone wall rising from black waters, the entire landmass serves as Galican’s final sentence. Anyone deemed too dangerous, too defiant, or too expendable is sent here, never to return.

The outer wall is lined with towers and permanent troop encampments, soldiers stationed not to protect those within, but to ensure nothing escapes. Beyond the wall, order ends. The interior of Zarhell is ruled entirely by its convicts—gangs, warlords, and brutal hierarchies carved from survival. Cities rot into slums, laws are written in blood, and power belongs only to those strong enough to hold it.

Zarhell exists as a warning. To the continent, it is proof that Galican’s justice does not forgive—and that some fates are far worse than death.

KINGDOM OF GOLD

Danaria is the city of old money and older power, a place where wealth has been polished for generations. Its stone palaces gleam with gold, color, and excess, rising in elegant tiers above gardens, fountains, and marble streets. Nothing in Danaria is rushed—fortune flows slowly here, measured in legacy rather than coin.

All luxuries eventually pass through Danaria. Silks, spices, gems, art, and rare metals are shipped from every corner of the continent to be traded, displayed, and claimed by the elite. More than a city, Danaria is a market for the rich, where influence is bought as easily as gold, and beauty itself is treated as currency.

NATION OF SILENT EXCHANGE

Valorum is the business capital of Galican, a nation where wealth is measured in contracts rather than crowns. Built of black stone and steel, its towering spires and fortified halls house the institutions that control trade, debt, and supply across the entire continent. Markets here do not shout—negotiations are quiet, precise, and final.

Within Valorum’s vast plazas, white-cloaked financiers move under constant guard, shifting fortunes that determine the rise and fall of nations. Armies march because Valorum funds them. Cities prosper—or collapse—by its ledgers. Though it claims no throne, Valorum’s influence reaches everywhere, proving that in Galican, money is the sharpest form of power.

CRADLE OF WEALTH

Ruby Isle is a scar carved into the world—a colossal crater gouged from a mountain, its depths endlessly mined for rubies and rare gems. The stone walls plunge downward in brutal tiers, riddled with scaffolds, forges, and switchback paths where labor never ceases. Dust hangs heavy in the air, glowing faintly red beneath torchlight and fire.

High above the pit, great mansions are chiseled directly into the mountain, their facades carved from solid stone and overlooking the suffering below. These cliffside palaces house the island’s masters, who live in luxury while enslaved workers toil in the depths, extracting wealth they will never touch. Ruby Isle is a place where beauty is born from cruelty, and every gem carried away bears the weight of lives spent beneath the mountain’s shadow.

PORT OF FLESH AND COIN

Devil’s Fork is the largest harbor in Galican and its most infamous. By day, its docks churn with ships, cargo, and coin; by night—and often even under the sun—it becomes a place of excess where rules dissolve as quickly as gold changes hands. Taverns spill music into the streets, brothels crowd the waterfront, and parties bleed from one pier to the next without pause.

Sailors, merchants, smugglers, and drifters all pass through Devil’s Fork, drawn by profit or indulgence, often both. The city thrives on appetite—drink, flesh, risk—and makes no effort to hide it. Authorities tolerate what they cannot control, and morals are treated as another commodity. Devil’s Fork exists as Galican’s open wound: vital to trade, impossible to cleanse, and dangerous to linger in for too long.

LAWLESS SHORE

Cuthroat Reach is an outlaw island carved from rock and storm, a haven for pirates and exiles who answer to no crown. Its people live by the blade and the tide, clad in black armor and veiled faces, their identities as hidden as their loyalties. From its jagged docks, they sail into the Dead Water, hunting any vessel foolish enough to carry gold or silver bound for Valorum.

The seas around the Reach are cursed with constant storms, swallowing ships whole and masking pirate raids beneath thunder and fog. What is stolen is brought back to the island’s fire-lit strongholds, where law is replaced by strength and survival. Cuthroat Reach exists as a living threat—proof that even Galican’s wealth can bleed.