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Formerly a bunch of rough around the edges pirates and rustic warlord squatters, the Sea Princes have developed into a true confederacy of petty nobles who barely work together to ensure mutual protection of their collective lands. There are thirty small states, most of which are represented by thirteen Princes in the Council at Monmurg. The weather is balmy near the sea (surely one reason why the Princes always seem more joyous than dire), but during the hottest of the summer months the temperature can be oppressive. Imagine this area has the same climate as that of the California coast. Through most of the summer the ocean breezes keep the air moving reducing the humidity and keeping the environment comfortable. During Reaping, however, the winds do not blow as strong and in the cities amongst the close-packed buildings the air becomes stifling. This is why many of the coastal Princes retire to their summer homes in the Spendlowe Valley (as the coastal Princes are wealthier through trade these vacation homes and extended getaways are more available to them as opposed to their landlocked confederate lords) and usually do not return until after Brewfest (it's hard to beat Brewfest in Berghof). All along the coast near the few small communities that have sprouted in various bays are citrus orchards and vineyards. Inland the high temperatures are vicious and the land is dry and dusty with water sources defining preferred habitats of both animals and humans. The northern slopes of the mountains are hot, sand-blasted red and black cliffs and form the northern belt of the Hellfurnace Mountains. This large mountain range forms the southern and western borders of the Hold and sections of the range are subdivided into parts more colloquially named. As a comparison, consider this area not unlike the American southwest. Below the mountains the lowlands are hot, dry, dusty, sandy, and scrubby. It is not a complete wasteland though, as there are many desert animals and plants inhabiting areas where there are known watering holes or preparing for the flash floods that usually occur in the bare stone mountain valleys in the month of Goodmonth. Early history of the settlers in this region tell of hardship and desperation, but now the people here have adapted to the angry heat and see it as a benefit in that their winters are so mild. People's schedules are different than most across the Flanaess because of the temperature if they work outside. Early morning, before the sun rises, until just past midday are work times, late afternoon is rest time, and evening is time for people to sustain themselves, which includes food and a pipe of skunkblossom with friends beneath a dazzling starry desert sky. Farmers in the area grow cotton, olives, a couple stout grains and, if blessed with the water for it, tend herds of hearty cattle and ostriches. All along the northern border of the Hold (and even claiming some of it) is the hot, sludgy Hool Marsh. This northern strip along the southern edge of the Hool is similar to the land where Texas and Louisiana join. There is a bit more vegetation and one begins to see more slightly softer leaved plants as one travels farther north right up to the edge of the stinking mire known as the Hool Marsh. There could be no better border guardian than this repugnant barrier which defied Keoish assaults for over a century. As the slowly increasing vegetation becomes apparent one does not recognize any respite from the arid heat as most of the plants continue to be low to the ground and the moisture coming from their leaves is quickly evaporated into the sky. These plants have deep root systems that are tapping seepage from the marsh nearby. However, when within a mile of the marsh the dry air is replaced with thick, sticky, cloying air which is no comfort from the oppressive arid heat of the south. The Hool is a great swath of inundated land beneath open sky and tall reeds infested with all sorts of nasty insects, amphibians and reptiles. Tall trees here are rare so the sun beats relentlessly down upon the heads of travelers while the rising vapor from the marsh suffocates them from below. Traveling at night is worse for its own reasons. The people who live in the Hool territories are not tough as nails, they are wise as owls because here it is better to be watchful and attentive than have fortified willpower. Eventually even the strongest will crumble under the nagging misery that the Hool creates, but to be aware is to find havens of respite from the harsh world and to circumvent further ordeals rather than confront them. Needless to say, most Princes holding these lands do so not out of choice, except amazingly enough one Prince actually chose his plot of land. Javid took an inland plot where the Hool River enters the marsh and now is making a quite lucrative career owning the only overland trade route into Keoland. It is this spirit of finding the opportunities of a lifetime in places where most would not deign to search, this is the spirit of the marshfolk. For some this opportunity is solitude from the rest of the world. For others it is a place where they are allowed not to have a name or a past. And for others it is merely being in a community of likewise sharp-witted individuals who will pull value from the dreary heart of the marsh as part of a daily affirmation of life. Most often they achieve this by being crooked as a crocodile's back. The marshfolks are known to be scoundrels, but as they would say "just keeping their options open." Their chief crop is rice and sometimes a little sugar cane which of course immediately goes into a rum pot. Mud cat (catfish) is a common entree, just fancied up a bit for the lords and ladies. |