Glenport

Glenport lies along the sun-splashed southwestern reaches of the Thierry Free States, a jewel of weathered stone, warm timber, and the endless sigh of the Altian tide. Although officially part of Rookfort Haven, Glenport beats to its own current—steady, salt-bright, and shaped by the stubborn resilience of the Gleny people who settled here after the fall of their island nation. What remains of their once-proud culture clings to the docks, kitchens, and cliff-top homes like the scent of rosemary smoke drifting on the sea breeze.

The People of Gleny

The Gleny have a reputation across Nyria for their lively generosity. Conversation flows as easily as Wine in Glenport. Strangers are welcomed with the same enthusiasm as distant cousins, drawn into doorways bright with woven cloth and tiers of flowering pots. A Gleny household feels less like a home and more like a communal hearth; doors seldom stay closed, and meals are rarely eaten by fewer than three.

While they have endured war, displacement, and the long decline of their homeland, the Gleny spirit has never dimmed. Their humour is sharp but affectionate, their pride quiet but immovable, and their loyalty fierce as a riptide. They carry their history in songs that roll like surf and in stories told with hands as much as voices.

Architecture of Shore & Sail

Glenport’s buildings rise like grounded ships—sturdy, slanted, trimmed in ropes and Brass fittings, and always braced for storms. Most homes sit so close to the shoreline that during high swell they seem prepared to slip back into the sea at any moment. Wooden ribs curve through the walls like keel supports; balconies jut out like forecastles; shutters open upwards like sails being hoisted.

Stone foundations older than the Thierry Free States anchor many of these structures, remnants from the early exiles who quite literally dismantled their escape Vessels to build their first neighborhoods. Even now, when a new house is raised, the builders start with the “keel”—a long central beam laid ceremoniously while neighbours gather to bless it with sea water, citrus leaves, and a well-worn proverb or two.

The colours of Glenport favor warmth: sand-burnt terracotta, deep umber, faded ocean blues, and bright, sun-happy whites. Everywhere, climbing vines and herbs spill from railings, catching the wind and mixing their scents with sea salt.

Masters of the Sea

The Gleny were once among the greatest mariners of the Altian Ocean, and that stubborn legacy remains unshaken. Glenport’s shipyards are legendary: long, open-air structures perched above the tide, where master carpenters craft sleek Vessels said to understand the sea before they ever touch it.

Their methods favor intuition over measurement—shipwrights work by ear, tapping planks to hear if they “sing right,” and by touch, running their palms along timber until the curve feels inevitable. Outsiders call this superstition. Gleny shipbuilders call it craft.

The Vessels of Glenport are renowned for their grace. Even warships commissioned from Rookfort Haven bear a gentle sweep to their hulls, as though they were built for wandering, not warring.

Cuisine Born of Shorelines

To visit Glenport and not speak of its food would be a civic crime. Meals here are communal affairs—slow, fragrant, always built around the harvest of the sea. Fishermen haul in shimmering nets at dawn, and by noon the day’s catch is simmering with herbs in clay pots, roasting over driftwood coals, or stuffed in bread baked on flat stones.

Gleny cooking favors bold flavours: citrus, garlic, brine, spices carried by traders from the far east of Nyria. Olive-like oils drizzle over everything, turning even simple dishes into golden, glossy delights.

And above all, there is hospitality. A guest at table must be persuaded—begged—to take seconds, thirds, or risk being thought unwell.

A Culture of Warmth

The rhythms of Glenport are as much social as maritime. Evenings bring music—often a single stringed instrument and a chorus of voices rising from tavern patios or cliffside terraces. Markets bustle with laughter, haggling that borders on performance art, and elderly men arguing over ship designs they’ll never build.

Despite their proximity to the more austere militarism of Rookfort Haven, the Gleny way of life remains defiantly relaxed. They repair nets slowly, tell long stories, and measure time by tides rather than clocks. Festivals erupt without warning—any excuse will do—and often end with entire neighborhoods dancing barefoot in the surf.

A Legacy That Refuses to Fade

Though their original homeland of Gleny is long lost, its memory endures in Glenport as vividly as the taste of salt on the wind. Every generation grows up hearing of the island that once rose green and proud from the ocean, but few speak of the loss with sorrow alone. Instead, the Gleny treat their exile as a reason to live more fully—to welcome, to share, to build, and to celebrate.

Glenport is not just a port. It is a promise:

Wherever the sea carries us, we will make a home worthy of return.

— Gleny saying