The following is an excerpt from 'Wenlaws and Warcourtes,' an unauthorized political essay that takes aim at the Federation. As such, its views are biased: 

 

Look upon her and weep, o wretched souls! Grand she stands and grandstand she does, our glorious Wenlaw Federation! 

 

Derision aside, she deserves some genuine praise for having grown as large as she is. And not simply large, but the largest nation on the planet! A great feat indeed, if only the land was being used somewhat competently. Alas, the Federation operates at the behest of the bumbling generals of the Warcourte, her governing body. 

 

“But what is the Warcourte?” you might ask. Certainly I have asked. Certainly I continue to do so. As far as anyone can tell, our founders were drawn to the idea of a stratocracy. That is ‘rule by military,’ for the unlearned (given the state of our education system, I couldn’t blame you). Put simply, when one reaches a specific rank in our fighting forces, one is granted membership into the abstract mass of executive, legislative, and judicial power that is the Warcourte. The detailed organization of its interior is confidential to us outsiders and buried under bureaucracy to the insiders. The only clarity comes in the form of the High Marshals, six in number. Each reigns over one of our six states, intermittently convening to govern the Foundation-at-large via council shenaniganry. Decisions are rare, and the few that are made become paperwork lost in the vast machina of the aforementioned abstract mass. And so we’ve continued to ask: “What is the Warcourte?” But if poking and prodding at the state of our state in its present form is futile, perhaps turning to the past is the more prudent course of action.

 

In the early ninth century of this Second Age of Halrin, a litany of nation-building activities across the continents of Kharne and Ajura resulted in many displaced settlers seeking a new home. As if possessed by the same guiding spirit, all found their way to the shores of Sefria. One by one they made landfall and found community, while conveniently doing some displacing of their own. You see, this was not the first time humans had set foot on the continent. The Plains of Sefria were colored in centuries of native history and culture, all of which was swiftly kicked southward behind the mountains of the Sefri Curtain. At the helm of this violent settler expansion was a divine myth, the same one that had brought the settlers to this place. Her name was Veronia, and her worship became a tool of communion and a weapon of native eradication. 

 

After a century of expansion, the settlers had come to dominate the Plains. But they were not yet federated. Nor would they be for some time, though the Church of Veronia would bind them long enough to face their next great opponent: the rest of the planet. By the year 930 SA, the nation-building efforts on Kharne and Ajura had reached a maximum threshold, and new land was needed to satisfy growing colonial appetites. Fleets of warships crossed the Meridic Ocean, the bounties of Sefria in sight. But our ancestors were ready, engulfed in religious fervor. Spear tips lined Sefrian beaches, commanded by Veronia and her champion, Astorr Wenlaw. Through equal parts divine inspiration and merciless military conscription, the settlers drove the invaders back over a dozen-year period we now call the Sefri-Meridic War. The Federation was founded from the ashes, one that Astorr named after himself because nothing says unity quite like stamping your name over everything. 

 

The Warcourte came soon after, led by Astorr and the five most powerful generals of the War. These became our first six High Marshals, each presiding over a state named after them. And that, unfortunately, is all we have for history. The movements of the Warcourte become opaque after this point, which leaves us asking once again: What is the Warcourte? Clearly, history has left us no closer to the answer. In fact, with the theological additions made, I fear the picture has only become more muddled. Where to turn, then? If not to the state, if not to the past, then to the land itself. To our six states.

 

I suppose it's fitting to begin with Astorria, the beating (or rather, slowly palpitating) heart of the Federation. Here lies the capital Veronis, where the Warcourte’s decisions are made, reviewed, then quietly buried in committee. Astorria also hosts the twin port towns of Gaulderton and Wherton—nearly identical in all respects, though we shan't say it aloud in fear of their fiercely rivalrous sports teams. At the southern edge sits Lainbridge, a domestic trade hub boasting wide markets, grand roads, and corruption so frequent it’s better considered an architectural feature.

 

South of Astorria lies Ehrdel, guarding the southwestern coast with a grim line of ports and proud stories of war. The largest city here is Fort Nakagata, named after Edmund Nakagata, an Ajuran refugee-turned-general-turned-political pawn. The fort was a defensive marvel during the Sefri-Meridic War. It’s since become a heavily-urbanized congestion zone surrounding one of the busiest ports on the planet. Further south is Kellenfel Depot, which began as a humble rest stop between ports before someone stumbled over a phosphate vein and the miners took over. To the northeast is Pauper’s Hold, an intimidating stronghold wedged between the peaks of the Sefri Curtain and guarding the mouth of the River Gaufrey. Its name comes from the idea that even paupers could defend it, an optimistic theory that has yet to be tested. North of Pauper’s Hold is Gaufreiton, a riverside town where farmers ship their produce to markets across Halrin or up to Veronis, depending on who pays more (or bribes faster).

 

To the west of Ehrdel is Tericester, which guards the Federation’s exposed southwestern edge, the only thing separating the Federation from the remnants of its native conquest. The state capital, Lauthemburg, is perched on Lake Lauthem’s eastern bank and serves as the primary station for ground troops. These warriors spend their days patrolling mountain passes, rewriting patrol reports, and looking warily upon the native-founded Kingdom of Apualago to the south. The other major settlement is Welborough, stationed near another pass in the Sefri Curtain leading to the Camerín Wilds, a region so mired in mystery it makes the Warcourte look honest. Over half of Tericester is buried in the Direwood, a definitively dire forest nestled between the Curtain and the Kharnegard Peaks. The River Dire runs through the forest’s north, feeding into Lake Lauthem and establishing the state’s northern edge.

 

Directly north of Tericester lies Albreigh, a state best known for its trees, mines, and the uncanny ability to be important without anyone really noticing. Albreigh is divided neatly (on paper) into four regions: the northern Barlough Timberlands, the midland Kharnegard Peaks, the charmingly ambiguous Albreigh Groves, and the southern stretch of the Direwood. The River Barlough, Sefria’s longest waterway, slices through the Timberlands and acts as Albreigh’s western boundary. Along its banks you’ll find scattered hamlets surviving on timber, wild pigs, and rural stubbornness. The southern portion of Albreigh clings to the Direwood’s northern end, though you'd certainly be hard-pressed to tell where one cursed tree line ends and the next begins. Albreigh’s major settlements, however, have little to do with lumber. Along a slim coast between the Barlough Timberlands and the Kharnegard Peaks sits Brighaven, a grim naval city that hosts three-quarters of the Federation’s warships and all of its supply problems. South of it, tucked into the rock, are Ferriton and Aunuck, towns devoted to iron and gold mining respectively. Neither has much in the way of culture, but they do boast spectacular elevator systems. 

 

To the west of Albreigh lies Reed, a state defined by wide moors and a climate best described as passive aggressive. The eastern border follows the River Barlough, and the southern edge hugs the River Elegen, forming a natural funnel for cold winds and ever-confused merchants. Most of Reed is covered in the Reedmoors, a bleak stretch of misty, uneven terrain where sheep often outnumber humans. The moors extend north until they run into the Lawmounts, a jagged set of mountains that kindly remind us why no one wants to settle any farther north. Among the state’s many fog-shrouded villages, the largest is Reedham, a coastal fishing town whose inhabitants are known for their stoicism, demonstrated by their seeming inability to make eye contact. On the western edge of the state, squeezed between the Timberlands and the river, is Oakleigh. To the residents of Oakleigh, I apologize, for there’s simply not much to say about it except that it exists mostly to remind travelers how far they still have to go. Finally, where the Barlough and Elegen converge, one finds Redwater, a city that derives its name from the brief red tint the river turns during seasonal algae blooms, mining runoff, and/or Veronia’s divine punishment. I suppose it depends on who you ask. Redwater serves as a crossroads for trade from Astorria, Ehrdel, and Albreigh, and thrives on its ability to profit off of everyone else’s traffic.

 

West of Astorria, Reed, and Ehrdel lies Meriston, the Federation’s least populated, least fertile, and most geologically inconvenient state. It is, unfortunately, mostly mountains. Specifically, the Daggerows, a long, serrated range so sharp and uninviting that it had to be named after a weapon. Meriston’s northern border runs along the Lawmounts, under which sits the Highdagger Forest. Now, the nature of this forest has long been a joke among Wenlawden writers, a function of how difficult it is to accurately describe. There’s an enigmatic quality there, one that activates every sense yet eludes all of them. Many have tried to capture this quality in writing, and all have failed. So I will not try. Moving on: though beautiful in the “don’t step there, that’s a sinkhole” sense, Meriston is not known for its hospitality. What it does have is ore. The Meriston Mining Company dominates the state’s economy, politics, and atmosphere (both social and breathable). Its headquarters, Skalder Hill, is a town composed entirely of housing blocks, mine shafts, and pubs that make the problems borne of the first two melt away. Farther north is Daggerun, a large mining town whose name conveniently doubles as a warning. Between cave-ins, strike protests, and occasional sightings of toothy wildlife, Daggerun soldiers on, largely because no one can agree on a safer place to live.

 

Astorria, Ehrdel, Tericester, Albreigh, Reed, and Meriston. Six states, and we’re no closer to answering our question. But the Warcourte is not the Wenlaw Federation. We are. Our state may be as enigmatic as the forest of daggers high, but our land plainly reflects us. It is at times tangled and repulsive, more often cold and awkward, but we live here and so it is home. To write as much feels somewhat like capitulation, but some things can be so simple.

 

Thus, here lies the Wenlaw Federation. Grand she stands and grandstand she does. The machina at her heart is oh-so-enigmatic, and her history is not always proud, but we live here. We live here, and so it is home.