⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Gnarhelm, capital of the Kingdom of the same name, stands as a bastion of Northlander grit and ambition on the storm-lashed northern coast of Alaron in the Moonshae Isles. Carved into the windswept cliffs above Salmon Bay, the city is both a crucial trade port and a military stronghold, famed for its rich veins of copper, gold, silver, and iron. Though its agricultural output is poor, Gnarhelm’s wealth flows through its mines, and its coffers swell from trade with Waterdeep, the Ffolk, and distant sword-coast merchants. Weapons, slaves, fine textiles, and salted fish change hands in echoing markets beneath war-bannered towers. A proud warrior culture dominates, with the city’s cavalry—drawn from hill-born clans and hardened horsemasters—maintaining control inland, while a small, stout navy defends the bay. Rule falls to the Olafsson line, whose iron-fisted authority is both feared and respected across the kingdom.

Gnarhelm rises from the mist like a challenge hurled at the sea itself. Weather-beaten watchtowers cling to the high bluffs above Salmon Bay, their banners snapping in the salt-laden wind. At the harbor, squat stone piers hold fast against ceaseless waves, where ships offload crates of grain, mead, and wool in exchange for ore and weaponry. The city’s steep streets are lined with longhouses and forge-halls of dark timber and basalt stone, etched with runic carvings that glint gold in torchlight. Blacksmiths’ hammers ring day and night, mixing with the cries of merchants, the clatter of hooves, and the roar of the wind. The scent of soot, sea-brine, and smoked fish thickens the air, while guards in fur-trimmed leathers patrol grim-faced. Despite the harshness, there’s life here—bold, brash, and unyielding, like the land itself.