The Seas are the heart of commerce – pulsing with life and with every passing second hundreds of ships lay anchor, offloading their cargo and driving forward the flow of wealth and assets. Power stems from wealth, wealth from commerce, and commerce is the domain of the waves. “He who controls this, controls all” – this has been the motto of the peoples of Savoca since times immemorial.

Home to more than 200, the great port of Savoca has long been central to maritime trade in its region. Positioned at the southernmost tip of the Kingdom of Ashland, in an infamous region known by passing sailors as the “Cape of the Morning Sun”, the city has long served as a major trade hub, and station for one of the many Fleets of the Duchy of Sanctaphandri. So infamous is this region that it has been dubbed by many passing sailors “The Mourning Sun”, for the countless ships wrecked, and crews lost along its coast. In such foul environment the warm distant glow of the city is sure relief for any battered and exhausted crew. For many such crews Savoca is simply a single stop on a much greater voyage, however for some it is itself the destination, a place where fortunes are loaded and unloaded, bound for the greater seas, or for cart and wagon to the inland core of Ashlands. Perhaps the most iconic sight of the city is that which any passing or visiting crew first sees, a behemoth structure stood atop a pedestal of marble and masterfully sculpted of bronze, a towering lighthouse dubbed “The Sentinel” by the locals. So long has the Sentinel stood tall above Savoca that none truly recall a time before its watch – most believe it was constructed by the earliest Hrothi settlers who founded the city many centuries ago. It is a masterwork from a long-forgone era, the symbol of a lost time when the City itself was a fledgling outpost for the Hrothi. Though much of Savoca’s classical architecture has been lost over the years, finding itself victim to the gnawing march of progress and the city’s slowly shifting demographics, the Sentinel still stands solemn above. So long has it watched over Savoca that it earns the name not for the life-giving trade which passes beneath its gaze, but instead for the countless faces the world around it has worn in its life. It has seen elections and dictatorships, wars and peace, in its day both fortune and famine have blessed the city. Rivals have come and gone, and even those menn whom have sought immortality have met their ends under its watch.

Even so the Sentinel watches on. Beyond the ancient guardian of the Cape’s passage rests the Harborage, the heart of Savoca which serves host to merchant and warship alike. On its busy banks the treasure of trade fleets are exchanged, bound for the market locked away in the cities depths, or for foreign shores altogether. Along the piers are lined taverns, hostels, and merchants alike all vying for the attention and coin of their transient merchants and sailors. And yet even despite the rapturous roar of the Harborage some still venture further into the stone clad depths of Savoca, for if the Harborage is the city’s heart, the market is her soul.

Deeper into the city, where the newly born Neran hearths of stone and clay give way to lumbering, ancient spires of stone that the market is found. At the core of the ‘Old City’ the Market is a chaotic mess of stalls and vendors, all crying aloud to hawk their wares to traveler afar and locals alike. Fortunes are made and lost in the winding passages of tent and shop, where contracts are written in ink and blood, and Hrothi and Neran alike blend into rolling hills of Mann. In this melting pot of gold and paper cultures blend, and not just those of the Neran and Hrothi who make up the city, but of the merchants of all kin who trade within, beneath the crimson banner of House Karsa. It is this grand market, lined with workshops where Hrothi Masters famed for making much with little work. And it is here that the true soul of the city is to be seen.

For he who controls this, controls all.