No matter what some Rhodian scholars may insist, Plymouth is a peninsula south of Virgio and east of Pamlico. Dark green waters girded by a string of shields islands and bridges just off the coast give it a murky water borne ecosystem all its own. Within, lakes and farmland surround its two significant forests: one central and the other on the eastern tip of the state.
Girded by the Albemarle Sound to the north and Pamlico River to the south, the peninsula runs no longer than fifty miles north to south. The capital itself, Plymouth, is situated in the state’s northwestern corner on the south side of the Roanoke River, beyond which lies Virgio. It is a small city by even southern standards.
Plymouth has always been one of the most religious states, but this was taken for an eccentricity until twelve years ago when Father Kepler was elected Governor. Since then his fanatical Purity Party has come to dominate state and local politics, including sweeping the states’ meager congressional seats.
In the wake of this takeover Le Terre de Marie has increasingly been labelled a liability. They do their best to distance themselves from Plymouth, including a loud condemnation of their mixing of politics and religion some call hypocritical.
Public lewdity (broadly defined), all imaginable substances including alcohol, and a wide swath of other activities have been made illegal. Public life is heavily policed both through shame and legalities. All open political opposition against the Purity Party is singled out and punished through catspaws, though a handful of defiant holdouts refuse to acquiesce. The final Capital Party state senator has a round the clock four person bodyguard detail and an extensive counter ballistic wardrobe.
The handful of bold representatives who vote against the Governor’s bills are from towns which have taken on the moniker “Defiance,” signaling their support for opposition of the tyrannical Governor’s acts.
A special genus of berry native to the region is used to brew a something known as Plymouth Juice, or just Juice for short. This concoction, when consumed over the course of one’s adolescence, results in an abnormal musculature. While the long term effects are subject to several governmental studies it is clear that it makes people demonstrably physically stronger.
The Governor’s attempt to ban the substance led to a Federal curtailing of his authority by declaring it a national war asset and moving to guard the berry farmers. This increased friction between state and federal authorities from already rocky ground to borderline fratricidal, and the tensions are only looking to escalate further.
Militiamen in masks and vigilantes operating at night launch attacks against Defiance towns and attempt to murder those who propagate any view deemed contrary to the Purity Party’s pursuits. Daytime shootouts on the byways are increasingly common as factions jockey for supremacy, the natural fallout from their sloppy attempts at spycraft and subterfuge.
The barrier islets that take the brunt of the storms rolling across the coast are hard living, but have some sturdy ruins that’ve stood the test of time and what’s more, some functional or close-to-functional docking infrastructure. That was all it took for the pirates to move in, and relentless campaigns to root them out proved futile to the extent that they are now largely permitted to stay out of tacit admission of defeat.
Before Father Kepler there was a reasonable belief that major infractions would be punished by the Plymouth State Sea Guard, but after his directives focused almost entirely on purging the ranks of “the impure” over minor infractions and heavily enforcing new customs restraints on the states’ few ports, the pirates have easily reasserted themselves. The status quo has gone on long enough to attract larger pirate vessels and whole operations to the area. They swill grog, chase booty, and trade ill gotten gains just off the coast of a totalitarian puritanical state.
The pirates are not alone out at the stormwall islands, however. Something wakes beneath the waves. Various creatures grown in the milieu of runoff that fills the dark green waters along Pamlico’s coast