⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Ulf of Thuger, perched precariously on the windswept Purple Rocks within the Northern Trackless Sea, is the rough-hewn capital of Trisk. Its meager dwellings, constructed of driftwood and weathered stone, cluster around a rickety harbor, testament to the islanders' harsh existence. The air hangs thick with the brine of the sea and the smoke of fish-drying fires. Fishing vessels and the more ominous, black-sailed pirate ships crowd the docks, reflecting the dual nature of Trisk's inhabitants, who eke out a living through sparse farming and daring raids. A crude, long-hall stands as the seat of King Selger, a nominal ruler over a people as wild as the sea they navigate. The town, a hub of both desperate survival and predatory ambition, is a dangerous port of call for any venturing into the northern reaches.

Gray skies press low over a rugged coastline where battered huts cluster around a creaking dock, and gulls wheel above black-sailed ships. Smoke coils from fish-drying sheds, mingling with mist and salt spray. Atop the rise, King Selger’s longhall looms—beamed with driftwood and whale bone, its roof lashed with kelp, like the spine of some beached leviathan.