Ghenna

At the very heart of Ghenna lies Athin—the seat of wealth, power, and influence. No other continent rivals its grandeur. Bathed in golden sunlight, its lands roll with green hills and scattered pine trees, giving the impression of a paradise untouched by hardship. But beneath the beauty lies order, ambition, and absolute authority.

In the center of these fertile lands rises Apollus, the largest and most dazzling city in all of Ghenna. Built from gleaming white stone and adorned with gold-plated facades, Apollus blinds and impresses in equal measure. Its many marketplaces bustle with traders, entertainers, and citizens from across the world. Towering above them all is the Colosseum—a massive stadium where the blood of heroes and monsters soaks the sand. Within its arena, gladiators clash in brutal duels, beasts from the wilds are pitted against warriors, and even entire naval skirmishes unfold in engineered floodplains.

At the city’s highest point stands the Council Hill, crowned by a circular chamber of thrones—one for each continental ruler. Every ten years, the leaders convene here in a show of unity, recounting their achievements and forging new plans for the realm. When major wars break out—or when the monstrous Leviathans rise—Athin calls upon all continents to take up arms together.

Athin’s culture reflects an idealized version of ancient Greece. Warriors don armor with sculpted musculature, symbolic cloaks denoting rank, and wield glaives as their weapon of choice. They ride massive warhorses, known for their snow-white coats and golden manes, bred for power and ceremony alike. Commoners wear simple, tattered tunics in muted colors, while nobles don flowing white robes, cinched with sashes of rare, vibrant hues.

The gladiators, however, stand apart. Their armor is minimal—helmets, a single armored arm, and exposed bodies trained for speed and spectacle. Defiance in Athin is punished harshly. A soldier who deserts their post may be forced to fight in the arena, wielding only a trident—a weapon both revered and cursed for its symbolism of shame.

The Gold Moon, which changed the fates of Glintmoore and other lands, touched Athin as well—though it birthed monsters instead of curses. From the deep wilds and shattered hills came Minotaurs, Gorgons, Hydras, Chimeras, Typhons, and Harpies. Only the most skilled beast trappers can subdue them, binding them for use in the Colosseum’s most legendary battles.

South of Athin, beyond the lush borders of civilization, lies Glachlund—a land of frozen tundra, howling winds, and merciless cold. The ice never melts here. The sky remains pale, the sun distant, and the land itself seems to reject the softness of the world above. In this inhospitable realm roam the most hardened people in all of Ghenna—barbarians forged in frost and fire.

The people of Glachlund are nomads, carrying the very idea of civilization with them. Their “capital” is not a city of stone, but a mobile encampment—a shifting collection of tents, sleds, and beast-drawn wagons that move across the tundra with the seasons. Their society is communal, fiercely loyal, and built on strength, survival, and sorcery.

Of all Ghenna’s peoples, the Glachlunders are the most attuned to magic. Their origins trace back to ancient Skin-changers who fled the cursed lands of Glintmoore and settled here, far from the taint that twisted their homeland. But Glachlund did not remain untouched. The curse followed—but it evolved, no longer a corruption, but a symbiosis.

All true-born Glachlunders bear the mark of this transformation: split pupils, fangs, and clawed fingers. These traits are not just cosmetic—they are signs of the primal power that lives within them. With focus and tremendous effort, a Glachlunder can assume the form of a monstrous polar bear or a winter wolf, channeling the beast within to overcome impossible odds. In these moments, they are not men or women, but living avatars of the tundra—fury clad in fur and ice.

While others see them as savages or beasts, the Glachlunders embrace their duality. They believe that the soul must be balanced between instinct and discipline. Their shamans, known as Winterbinders, guide them in both magic and war, teaching them to master the change, rather than be consumed by it.

To enter Glachlund uninvited is to challenge nature itself—and those who tame it.

To the northwest of Athin lies the continent of Glintmoore, widely regarded as the world’s source of law and order. All criminals convicted of murder or other grave offenses are transported to the Court of Shandolin, Glintmoore’s capital. The Duke, Gaston Bertillon—a descendant of Alphonse Bertillon, who mysteriously arrived in Ghenna from Earth—brought with him his grandfather’s pioneering knowledge of forensics. He used this legacy to found Shandolin, which soon became the epicenter of investigative science. Gaston established a system of justice modeled closely on Earth’s, elevating Glintmoore into the most sophisticated of all continents and securing its place as second only to Athin in global influence.

Books set in Glintmore

• Murders Witnessed by the Moon

To the southwest of Athin lies the dusty, unforgiving wasteland of Mechanicha—a land forged in iron and ambition. This rugged continent was born from a deal between Baron Bertram Chisolm and Duke Gaston Bertillon of Glintmoore, granting the Baron access to the secrets of modern innovation. With the help of skilled Artificers, he built a sprawling steel empire from the scorched earth.

At Mechanicha’s heart stands a towering spire of cogs and gears—the central forgery that produces the Mechs and the massive coastal walls that shield the continent from the leviathans of the deep. Towns of copper and grit dot the region, echoing the spirit of Earth’s Wild West. Here, gunfights and standoffs are common, and Mechabull rustling is a crime that often ends in smoke and blood.

Mechanicha thrives on invention, risk, and the raw edge of survival—where the clang of metal is matched only by the roar of rebellion.

Deep within the hot and arid expanse of Pharoah, northeast of Athin, lies the ancient City of Apep. Hewn from sun-bleached limestone, its monumental pyramids rise from the sand like jagged teeth, casting long, sharp shadows across a city that feels both timeless and cursed. The entire continent bears resemblance to a mythic Egypt—harsh, proud, and steeped in mystery.

Here, every man, woman, and child wears flowing garments that conceal every inch of skin—not for modesty, but for survival. A curse plagues the land. It began when strange patches of black sand emerged deep in the desert. Digging revealed a thick black ichor beneath the surface, oozing pale blue smoke. Those who touched it found their skin rotting away within days.

The smoke did not stay buried. It drifted outward, a creeping mist that now stains the desert in pale hues. Even the sun can no longer shine unfiltered—its rays must pierce through the ever-present haze, bathing the land in a searing, ghostly white light.

Those claimed by the curse are wrapped in cloth and left in the sands. But death does not keep them. The desert is haunted by the risen—mindless husks who wander aimlessly, but remain dangerously aggressive. Explorers who stray too far often find that the corpses are not as lifeless as they appear.

Pharoah is not just cursed by the past—it is brutal in the present. Deserters and traitors are punished with silence: their tongues cut out, their bodies cast into the wastes to die. But some say a few survived their exile. Whispers speak of a hidden civilization, forged in the heart of the desert, beyond the reach of the curse—and the city of Apep.

East of Athin lies the mist-shrouded land of Xilaran—a mountainous region veiled in fog and blanketed by towering groves of bamboo. Steeped in tradition and precision, Xilaran draws inspiration from the legacy of ancient Japan, standing as the weapons depot of all Ghenna.

Renowned for their craftsmanship, the Xilarians forge weapons of exceptional intricacy and lethality. Each blade, each bow, each device reflects generations of skill, discipline, and deadly efficiency. Their reputation stretches across the continents—not only for the beauty of their weapons, but for the fear they inspire.

Xilaran’s military might is built on three distinct classes of warrior: the drafted villager, conscripted by decree of the Empress; the Samurai, bound by honor and discipline; and the Ninja, shadows trained in stealth, subversion, and silent warfare.

Xilaran is a land of quiet power—its silence broken only by the clash of steel and the whispers of warriors in the fog.