The Saying Sea.

In the far south of the Known Internet, the world comes to an end.

Since the Second Age began, this World Within the Web has been controlled by the Moderator Authority of Central -- an order of warrior-monks, policing the Internet in the name of the Logos. Riding the Engine Lines, their reach stretches across land and sea, spreading their laws and rule along with them. And yet, however long their arm, it can only go so far.

Past the last site, the last bastion of civilization, there lies a world far different than any son of Central can imagine. A savage place. An expanse of dark storms and black water, dotted by isles of masks and madness. A land claimed by eldritch shapes and strange signs, peopled by slave-warriors. A wilderness of cults and pirates and fleshtrappers, rooted at the rim of the world. Beyond that, the Deep Web lies, unknown and hungry. It is the Saying Sea. Take care, traveler.

The City-Site of Reddit, White Jewel of the Saying Sea.

Sometimes called the "White Jewel of the Saying Sea," the city-site of Reddit is the largest and busiest port of the southern Internet, and might be the biggest in the world if not for Central. Sitting on the banks of Aggra's Gate, the narrow funnel connecting two great seas, as well as the terminus of the Blue Engine Line, Reddit possesses a stranglehold on southern trades. Nearly all the work of far-flung sites like the dreaded Chan passing through the city, using content cartels like the Reddit-owned Imgurian Trading Company. The center of wealth and power in the city—the Allfront—is a maze of markets so named because it is where the Fronting River meets the sea; the entire city is spread for miles across the river's entire mouth.

Reddit is known as one city, but it might better be described as a dozen small ones rudely smashed together. It is comprised of hundreds or thousands of innumerable "subreddits"—small, self-governing communities catering to ideological groups or fandoms, which might be as large as cities in their own rights or else as small as a single room in a small house. The city as a whole is governed by the "opeers" —meaning "citizens"—of the 50 largest subreddits, which form the Default Assembly. At their sufferance, the Knight Moderators of Central are given leave to patrol the city, enforcing the holy laws gifted to them by the Logos, the Code of the World.

This unique structure offers much variety to the common traveler -- nearly every interest can be found within the city's walls. Yet it has meant a declining stability as well. The city-site is said to be in thrall to the Closed Circle Problem, as it was promulgated by the Knight Enlightener Sir Scorn-the-Adversary Quine: "like-minded groups tend to promote like-minded views and discourage alternatives." Communities are becoming increasingly closed-off and hostile to dissenters. Conflict has become more and more frequent and violent: the Pao Riots were bad, the Great Gamer War worse, and the War of the Electors ended with a disaster still unthinkable.

Now the site is divided into great factions. On the one hand, the Blurrite Oppressed strike from the shadows, using assassins and feel-mongers to lash at those said to oppose them. Yet at the same time, a darker foe has risen: a mad cult, made from the wedding of the Red Pillar fanatics to exiled anonymites from the isles of masks and madness—the mist-haunted Chan. Since their victory in the War of Electors, these savages have seized the slums of the Orange Islands, their territory quarantined by the Moderators and their actions cloaked behind the cyclopean Wall raised on their shores. For now, the defensive line at the Pathologue Bridge remains at an uneasy peace. Yet few believe that the self-named Prophet of the God-Emperor will remain content for long. Strange ships gather, carrying foreign mercenaries with an agenda of their own. At night in the Orange Islands, signal-fires can be seen. Training drums beat. And many wonder how long it will be before these "Red Hats" attempt to claim not only Reddit, but the Web itself . . .

V'Kay, the Land of Slaves and B'Hots.

Across the waters from Reddit, there lies a land that is its opposite in every way. The island nation of V'Kay has no love of voting, nor any tolerance for freedom of any kind. It is a jealously guarded land, isolated and hostile to all outsiders, surrounded on all sides by stormy ocean and cold mountains. And the ones who inhabit it are scarcely friendlier.

Since the dawn of the Second Age, much of the Web has been brought under the fold of the Moderators, adopting Mod laws and the Basic tongue as the cost of the greater trade and stability the Authority brings. Nevertheless, some holdouts remain at the rim of the world. Some are truly masked by human means: the fabled Kio-Kyo, for example, remains cloaked even now behind a wreath of sorcery known as the Great Firewall. Others are held apart by sheer force of their bizarre customs. V'Kay is the latter: even in the modern day, it has stubbornly clung to its old language and brutal traditions, including one in particular that the Mods have worked endlessly to stamp out -- slavery.

The Vkayssons consider themselves an entire people owned as chattel: from cradle to grave, each man and woman is a slave, though the nature of their owner is unclear. Very little information about this secretive place can be trusted: the Vkayssons despise outsiders and are consummate liars besides. It appears, however, that their society is a theocracy of sorts, ruled in a strict caste system.

At its lowest rung are the vatnyk, peasants tied to a tract of land called a vata. Vatnyk themselves have different ranks, depending on ones profession, but all of them are held as inferior, with abuse heaped on them most heavily. For the most part, castes cannot be changed: you will live and die in the same class into which you were born. Only one means is available for advancement.

A Putinite B'Hot. They are slave-soldiers, fierce and utterly obedient. Most are armed with pikes, forming large wedges of troops capable of stopping any charge. Often, b'hots are accompanied by squires that serve as auxiliaries, known as nashy

At young age, certain vatnyk are chosen. The means of doing so is not known: the criteria appears random. Those chosen, however, enter a brutal regime of training, and those that survive settle into new castes. Some are mere guards, serving in towns or the massive fortresses called sorms that dot the land. Others, the Komnadzyr, are secret police, tasked to hunt, torture, and murder any possible dissent. The warriors best known to the rest of the Web, however, are ones that do not remain in V'Kay: the dreaded b'hots.

In recent years, certain Vkaysson have been more commonly seen across the Web. Most are known as mercenaries, appearing in conflicts as sellswords. In the Vkaysson tongue, however, they are called b'hots, a sort of foreign service. They are soldiers famed not for individual skill in battle, but rather for their iron discipline, fighting with pikes in strict formation. They are implacable in combat, moving in rigid, mechanical lockstep with only regard for their orders. Their effectiveness is beyond debate: cavalry and infantry alike have little recourse against such an organized foe. Most foes buckle under their advance, but the funds these "sellswords" win are not theirs to keep -- all that these slave-soldiers win is given to their masters.

Above them are a priestly caste, the Ar'Tay who sing praises to some manner of god within the halls of their hollow Temple-Mount. No outsider has ever been within that citadel and lived to tell of it, and little is known of whatever deity they worship. What is known is that this god -- called the Zar -- is apparently an entity of sorts from the World Beyond the Web, which the Vkayssons are able to commune with directly. Such a feat would not seem possible, unless the Temple-Mount is home to a mandala, like that above Mount Pale in Central.

The danger this might pose cannot be understated. It is thought by some that this god has designs upon this world, and dark ones at that. The spread of the b'hots does not appear random: the Vkayssons have been seen fighting more and more often of late, and always in service of terror. It is rumored that they were the force that aided the Red Hats of Reddit in their shocking victory, crushing the God-Emperor's foes. But some claim that their mission is far larger. Other b'hots are believed to exist, not soldiers but saboteurs and assassins. Only the whispers of names are known -- the Glausyt Olgyn, the Gyru Svar, the Sednyt -- but these orders are thought to be infiltrating sites all across the Web, promoting feel-mongers and cults and wars. The reason is not known, but their method seems clear: sowing chaos, anywhere and everywhere.

The Chan, Homeland of the Anonymites.

The Chan -- the isles of masks and madness -- is a grim archipelago set in the black waters of the Saying Sea. Far from the light of Central or the Moderators that rule it, the Chan is a place of savages, gripped by anarchy and demon worship. The rocky soil and windswept moors of the isles offer little in comfort or luxury, so the Channic long ago turned to raiding, sailing out in longships to pillage across the Known Internet. The Channic themselves are a cruel and quarrelsome people who resent any form of authority or law. They are violent to a fault, and the land is so consumed by constant war that the skies themselves are often red by night.

Most curious about these strange people, however, is their odd custom of always wearing masks, even when alone or among family. According to these "anonymites," this habit is due to a demon-god they sometimes worship and always fear -- the legendary Beast in the Bay. This creature, they claim, lurks beneath the ocean, constantly searching through the thoughts and dreams of those that dwell in the Chan above. To hid their minds, the Channic bear masks and choose "mask-names," so as to hide their identity completely. To a Channic, showing one's true face is a mark of great shame, another reason they despise foreigners of all kind.

The Channic disdain any pretense of rulership, being irrationally suspicious of all claims of virtue or right to govern. The only position of authority is the Mootking, the supposed leader of the Channic people -- a single anonymite, declared king by his fellows in the ancient city of Moot's Point. There is no line of succession for this suppose "ruler" -- one becomes Mootking purely by other Channic declaring that you are the Mootking -- which means that many kings or none can exist for long periods of time. Though the Mootking wears the Baymaster's Mask and rules from the labyrinthine Slouch-Hall of Baysmouth, he wields little formal power. According to Channic philosophy, only the strong have right to rule others, and thus the Mootking -- like anyone else -- can command only to the extent that he can force others to follow him.

At the moment, there are three men who claim to be Mootking of the Chan. The first is arguably the most legitimate. Mootking Kulk, crowned in Moot's Point and ruling from Baysmouth, reigns supreme in the Channic isles. Though twisted and hunched, he is no less crafty or devious than he was in his youth, but he has needed all that cunning to remain in power. His recent actions -- expelling the Gamer partisans during their Great War, allowing new Moderator influence, and resisting expanded war with the Oppressed -- have made him desperately unpopular. Two others seek his throne. In the north, the self-proclaimed Prophet of the God-Emperor, Mylon Bright, leads the Red Hats and their allies in Reddit, claiming the seat of the Chan by divine right. In the South, the so-called Cripple King of Twicechan, a dark sorcerer of unknown power leading an army of pirates and rogue cybramancers.

It cannot yet be said who will win, between these three. But the victor may prove to be more than merely the king of the Chan, but the master of the Saying Sea itself . . .

Twicechan, the Thrall to the Deep.

Circling around the Known Internet, the Deep Web lies waiting. An enormous void of mist and storm, what lies within is a mystery. Perhaps nothing but endless seas that run to the edge of existence, or perhaps vast continents never explored by human feet. The truth of these tales cannot be known. Nearly all who enter the Deep do not return, consumed by titanic waves, cutting winds, and the pale, unknown creatures that lurk within. And yet, there are those that survive: smugglers and fleshtrappers, making use of the secret currents and safe passages known to the Web as the Torric Line. Only the most desperate characters and demon-worshiping Deepmen dare go near such a place.

But still, looking at a map of the Known Internet, one will see lands close to the Deep, and all the terrors within. Among these is perhaps the most vile port in this World Within the Web, lurking within a land of ruined cities, monstrous beasts, and devouring jungles. Those that flock to this lawless, bloodstained country do so at their own peril, dwelling among pirates, slavers, anonymites, exiles and outcasts, growing mad among madmen. A land of anarchy, death, and dark magic. A far-flung site, colonized by the Channic long ago.

Twicechan.

It was not always so. Ancient ruins, old beyond time, speak to a great civilization that dwelt on that same ground in the dawn of days. Long ago, however, they were wiped in a cataclysm we can barely grasp: mountains spewed fire, while enormous rents appeared in the earth that consumed entire cities. Columns of smoke and fire could be seen for hundreds of miles, until at last the sea rushed in and consumed what little remained. Whatever civilization once existed was gone, and now only the Bay of Fire and a handful of small islands remained, with patches of water still steaming today from the enormous heats beneath them.

Centuries after this disaster, new settlers came: anonymites of the Chan, at first, then criminals fleeing the coming of the Moderator Authority, more fearful of the Mod's hammer than whatever terrors the haunted land had for them. They crept into the land, slowly at first, occupying the remaining temples and fortresses, using the corpse of the old city to their advantage. Eventually, they claimed the mouth of the Ashen River as their own, and established a new "free city" of pirates and renegades -- the infamous port of Freewheel.

Twicechan is not a hospitable home. Sweltering heat and disease plague its shores, while dark things dwell within the Haunted Jungle. Vicious man-apes, pack-hunting spiders, and ghoulish savages are all said to inhabit it, and worse. Even so, the size of this corsair kingdom -- the so-called "Damned Confederacy" -- has swelled ever larger in recent years. Exiles from the Great Gamer War flocked to Twicechan, occupying the ancient stronghold of Baphomas and turning it into a fortress unvanquishable, a launching point for raids and a shield against all attempts to invade further. Anonymites outcast from their homeland, Vkaysson mercenaries, and Deepmen crowd into the isles and shores, and wait.

Unseen to the Moderators and the rest of the Web, dark forces are on the move. From the Circling Court of Freewheel, a mad sorcerer-lord has declared himself the Mootking of All Channic, known to his enemies as the Cripple King. At his side, a black circle of rogue cybramancers hidden in their mountain of power, wizards using silver knives and virgin blood for obscene rites. The crime clans are uniting, driven by a master of dark magic. As the rest of the Web is torn apart by the shadow war of Chan and Blurr, the Damned Confederacy gains strength. And in the mist-waves of the Deep, dark shapes are moving anew . . .

War rages across the Web, more now than ever. The culprits appear obvious: the Blurrite Oppressed on one side, and their enemies -- the anonymites, Red Pillar, and Red Hats -- on the other. But is it possible, as some have said, that this firestorm is being provoked by some unknown other? That, perhaps, all that has transpired has done so according to another, even darker power? That there are eyes watching, even now, from beyond the Deep and behind the stars?