The people of Argos are largely ignorant of the world beyond its natural borders. The mountains to the north and west are vast and home to innumerable dangers. While the sea to the south is typically calm, the fickle, ever changing nature of the skies above Argos render celestial navigation all but impossible. A colossal wall spans the entire length of the eastern border, ensuring that relations with Nemetom, the only neighbor the city states of Argos know, remain distant and aloof.
No single government rules over this fertile, temperate land. Power, wealth and influence are shared in some places, and divided in others, by seven prominent settlements. Each large settlement is surrounded by a network of small villages, thorpes and trade hubs that eventually give way to farmland, wilderness and the occasional rowdy border town. Each city-state polices its own lands and roads, though in practice, many of the routes between the Seven Cities are controlled by bandits, gangs, or worse. Up-to-date knowledge of safe routes, or even better, maps, are an invaluable resource and can fetch a nice price if they can be verified to come from a reliable source.
The pockets and swathes of lands between the Seven Cities are also home to something far more dangerous than bandits and savage tribes: the fey. The truly wild places of Argos share a blurry, mystical border with Faerie, a primeval land that is older than any world. The people and creatures that call this twilight realm home are as varied and beautiful as all the beasts and flowers of the natural world, and every bit as deadly as the claws, thorns and poisons that protect them. Many of the fey are given to caprice that is maddening to mortal minds, while others are as stolid as stone, prisoners of habit and logic that would seem inflexible by even the most traditional dwarves’ standards. In any case, their liminal nature, with feet planted in the natural world, but roots extending to something so far beyond it, an existence that is both newborn and fading, have led mortals to regard them with both awe and terror.
In other places, the border between the lands of the living and the dead have worn thin and gauzy, like a funeral shroud. Nights seem longer, sometimes only separated by feeble threats of dawn made by a sun that never quite braves the horizon. When it does rise, the sun cowers behind thick clouds, providing a wan, gray light that only gives birth to long, ominous shadows. These lands give rise to tyrants and victims. Life either flourishes by preying on the weak, or it ekes out a twisted, stunted and miserable existence. The ultimate reward for either path is undeath.