Notes

Border Empire
POLITICS:
The Border Empire is a collection of lawless bandit gangs ever at war. Calling them "Empire" may be an overstatement, but as humanity goes, it is prone to mold things into familiar terms.
Thus there is a glimmer of civilisation in this savage hodgepodge of crime where the usual law is survival of the fittest.
But one city prevails in this domain of chaos; throning over the surrounding barren flatlands and gloomy taigas is Mount Ravensberg and the city of Ravensberg.
The walled settlement, make no mistake, is no sacred city or monastery. Nay, nary a more wretched hive of scum and villainy has there ever been nor shall be, but the city has its laws and woe to those that would defy them.
The city is a bustling hellhole whither all the scum of the state gather to whore and barter goods. Although tavern brawls and other such are frequent, no weapon may be carried into the city.
On the summit of Mount Ravensberg, under the hoary withered tree of Ravensgallow, once a year on Lukansahtag, gathers the council of Tingemöte.
The sacrecy of the council and the power if its decisions is ensured not only by the fearsome reputation of its participants but also by the mysterious patron of the city who lives in the caves under the city, a legend-coated one called Zacharrian Erche'Biechere in some tongue long forsaken by humans.
Seven number the leaders of the greatest gangs that attend the council:
Oyvind ov Eversburg descends from a long line of outlaws and even longer line of nobility. With his family stripped of their honour began the tradition of ov Eversburg brigand generations.
  Leader of the Shadowbrook Gang, Gregir Grytte may appear the least of the council's Bandit Lords; an unassuming scholarly man, he delights in poison and subterfuge, and if he speaks rarely it is for he listens often.
The red-haired youthful Hele is quite his opposite; impudent and boastful, the young woman is legendary for several daring exploits alongside with her gang.
Those that know more suspect much of the past of Thoryn Podellac; it is said that the brawny bald steel-eyed man was once the chief of the Galanian secret service, and indeed his fondness for knives and daggers and his skill with them are remarkable.
Villö Rautteskegg is a hearty redbearded berserker. Easily indentified by his roaring laughter and wobbling belly, he could be consideres the honest one in this nest of vipers; be not deceived, however, for were you ever to meet him, he would as likely screw your head off as he would be to invite you to a drink.
Ethreya o'Dwyll is the second woman in this group;  seven times a widow and now seven times five years a bandit, her beauty remains undiminished, as do her ambition and ability.
Jägerhunts is the name given to the band of mercenaries under the merciless Zikmundis Sswartchart, the master bladesman who earns his living not of plunder but as a hired killer.
And such the "Lords" of the "Empire", and by their mercy are granted writs of safe passage for merchants underway to Ravensberg, for none other has hopes of crossing the raider-infested terrain.
Should the Galanians ever get notions of purging this festering wound, however, these Bandit Lords will lead all the gangs in a bloody and cruel rebuttal that would put such ideas out of their minds for eternity.
CULTURE:
Few could find semblance of any culture in this harsh land where the few patches of cultivable land are tended only by those with the skill to defend them and a pile of hot dung to keep one warm is holier than human life.
Long ago, when men first came to these lands, they made their petty states and keeps here; these have vanished into eons of decay and crumbled.
The descendants of many human tribes live here; the most widespread of spoken languages is the Coman Common, but Northung of the Norflungs is also known by nigh all. Weole is a small language of the Comano-Norling branch native to the area.
The Dwarves of Mot are probably the most civilises of the inhabitants of these lands. They live as partial nomads; their males follow the herds of Tuskers, an animal that is their primary source of food and drink aside of being mounts, north in the summer, whilst women tend to the Dwarven Holds in the northeastern reaches of Dolewolds, hunting, gathering, building and guarding them from intrusion.
Whatever rules and traditions the humans abide, though, are instated by the rule of the strongest and most dangerous bandits or those who can otherwise make others follow them.
Zacharrian Erche'Bierche is the only individual who commands any respect without a gang. Few have seen him but legends about him there are galore. He is a dragon, a wizard, a pixie, a demon and a thousand other fabulous things; but whatever he - or she - is, none dare defy the laws she has placed upon Ravensberg
GEOGRAPHY:
A sensible traveller approaches the Borderlands from the middle, where lie the Greymoors and only farmable soils in the areas. The morose, spreading grassfields live up to their name as a place that truly deadens the spirit, but st least the wildlife there is not so deadly. On the other hand, the most dangerous species - humans - is thus more plentiful.
In the west, the land sinks into the coast, creating the foetid Marshes of Dragarr. Between the shifting pools and clouds of stinky noxious gases lurk hags, will-of-the-wisps and other enigmatic creatures; the area is utterly intreadable.
The eastern, or rather the norteastern part of the Greymoors is called the Barrow Heaths. Although a travelling merchant may find recluse here from the highwaymen and robbers, but the veil of unsavy folklore of haunting spectres, malign vampires and bloodthirsty barghests surrounding the place ought not to be taken lightly; forsooth, after spending a night in the mournful plains dotted by overgrown castle ruins and ancient burial mounds, one finds onesself unable to do so.
North of the Heaths is the endless spruce thicket of Dolewolds; it in truth slices through the Border Empire, reaching all the way up to the marshes. The ground is more rugged and uneven and the darkest valleys of the sprawling woods hide the wildest of creatures: winter wolves, giant boars and intelligent bear-folk.
Beyond this natural of dark, impermeable forest strip the ground gains in height and flattens out, giving way to the tundra. The wildlife here is small and few, except for the Tuskers and reindeers that roam the land in packs; such is mostly also the fauna, but in summer, the tundra lights up in a magnificent display of myriad hues and tones.