Pembrook, the oldest of Midhelm’s territories. The holy land. The heart of the old nobility.

Pembrook’s history is deep and devout—built on Christian faith, noble lineage, and soil blessed by scripture.

Now, Pembrook stands quieter—distant from the war, but never untouched. Its vast farmlands stretch across golden hills, up into the colder north.

It is the kingdom of harvest, livestock, and quiet judgment.
It is the hand that feeds the realm—and watches it.

Ragnarvik, the southernmost territory—newest to the realm, but oldest in spirit.

Ragnarvik was once uninhabited, lined with white pebbled shores and mountainous forests, until a fleet of knarrs carved its silhouette across the coast.

The shield-folk who landed here came with axes in hand, and fought for a place to reside

Once a truce was met they laid down their weapons in exchange for fishing nets and ploughs.

Thirty-five winters have passed since their arrival, and Ragnarvik now flourishes with fertile soil, black-stone cliffs, and amber-crowned trees.

Just because peace is their friend, trust that the fire, the strength, in their blood has never faded

Worthyn, the eastern shield. The iron fist of Midhelm, surrounded by thick pine forests and grassy plains.

The Greek Worthyn leaders separated from Holy Pembrook when Ragnarvik was accepted as a part of Midhelm, forging a new kingdom away from Norse influence

Worthyn is a kingdom forged in discipline and duty. Its people pride themselves on strength, structure, and sacrifice. To them, weakness is a wound healed only by ruthlessness.

Now, Worthyn stands at the edge of all things—locked in war against the northern forces of Perdyr, guarding the border with blade and blood.

Fairtide, a jewel by the sea, now shattered.

Once a thriving port town beneath Pembrook’s banner, Fairtide was the realm’s gateway—rich with trade, music, and foreign goods. Its open docks hummed with stories in a dozen tongues. Its beaches ran soft with sand, and its streets with life.
But war came, and left nothing behind.

Now, Fairtide stands hollowed. A ghost town with salt on its bones.

Perdyr, the second oldest of Midhelm’s territories. The pagan land. The heart of the old gods.

When they first came to shore, Pembrook led a purge of pagan ways and people, desperate to wipe out every trace of Norse influence. This attack ended with a truce forged by the wives of the Pembrook and Perdyr leaders

Fed by the rich and powerful fjord, Perdyrians survive off of fish and grain.

A free place protected by the gods. Its sprawling grasslands, taper into high rocky peaks and black sand shores.

Though kind, peaceful beasts, they will not hesitate to protect what the gods have given them