Licca

“Licca has no enemies. We have clients, partners, debtors. But never enemies. Those who believed otherwise soon found themselves without ships, without markets, without friends. The river is merciful, but it does not forget.”

While the powers of Ravreka rattle their sabres and grapple into the mud, Licca lifts its nose, its nobles sipping anise tea and tallying ledgers in sandstone citadels where war is spoken of only as an inconvenience to trade. Another mark of difference to the barbaric world outside their ancient walls is that the nobility of Licca is not bound to the restraints of blue blood. These are self made families, ones whose ancestors had taken the mighty Conda and wrangled it into submission before wringing its shores for their rightful wealth. One such man is the Paymaster, the democratically appointed minister of the city’s endless coffers. While under constant scrutiny, the beholder of the title is charged with amassing a mountain of gold greater than what they inherited, even after their kind investors have claimed their share.

With all the aforementioned scrutiny, there is one thing that the silk-laden nobility do not look upon: where the wealth comes from. Liccan gold has found its way into the chests of countless mercenary companies, their efforts allowing the Liccan Home Guard to strut into territories whose defenses were utterly neutered and claim glorious plunder from the barbarous foe. This is not to say the mighty city is defenseless. All of this grandeur, stolen or otherwise, lies on a nest which allows for its continuous growth - the only fortifications aside from the distant city of Myrvelier to survive the Downpour. Great sandstone walls, each as wide as a home and tall as three surround the inner city with an iron grip. Their gates, lit day and night by powerful braziers, are composed of a set of steel portcullises behind reinforced gates - all under the poised vultures of the garrison manning murder holes above. The Paymaster resides in a magnificent keep that rises far above the horizon, a fortress that would warrant a dozen stories in itself. It is secluded behind an inner set of walls that shelter a bailey where the city’s most sacred and treasured secrets are kept. In recent times, the Conda has been directed into several artificial channels to allow for numerous barbicans to be added onto the old walls - bristling with canons and traps.

Of course, these walls and winding streets must be patrolled by someone, and therein comes the Home Guard. Formed into regiments that mimic the most successful dwarven mercenaries, they adorn colourful uniforms and simple cuirasses to project opulence and act effectively all at once. Helms are often carried on the belt until battle, where their plumed visages replace feathered caps to present a line of bristling lions in the stead of elegant peacocks. They rely primarily on pikes and dukespowder weaponry, though a move has been made to pursue Trodansk produced guns to alienate Smyklion as much as possible. It is this downsizing that has forged Liccan generals into masters of small warfare - a matter of conquest which progressively disassembles the enemy’s ability to survive in their own territory with precise raids and razing. Their training facilities and barracks are in the indomitable Issta Fort, the world’s first star fortress that allows the city-state to project its power onto the northern coast of the Conda.

The culture of Licca is founded on the bedrock of diversity. Like a crucible forging a strong breastplate, they have made themselves into the forum of the continent. People arrive from the southern reaches by boat, or ride through tundra and hill from the east and north to congregate and try their luck in the city where the stalls never close. Restaurants, inns, smithies and embassies dot the streets and flood them with fragrances which allure and appease. Her great ships are crewed by these diverse populations, all of whom lend their expertise when the time comes to drop anchor in ports unimaginably far for any common man. With the rise of Leoviedo, the question is buzzing on everyone’s lips, fangs and scales - is there coin to be made in the efforts of Kingslaw, and when will the chained hound of Smyklion finally break its bounds to lunge at those who stand to oppose it?