Lemuria

“Our wars aren't about politics. They're about being the best. The money helps too.”

Lemuria is a republic forged not by kings, gods, or revolutions, but by contract. Where other nations trade grain, steel, or faith, Lemuria trades war itself. For centuries, its people have sold their armies and logisticians abroad, transforming its professional warriors into a commodity and its discipline into currency harder than gold. Lemuria does not conquer. It wins, and then leaves the spoils to whoever contracted it.

Lemuria stands as a nation without illusions. It possesses no vast Shardisite reserves, no divine mandate, no ancient crown. What it has instead is structure and stability. Every citizen is trained, registered, and accounted for. Every war is surveyed and given a price tag. Lemuria survives because it turned the chaos of violence into something orderly and negotiable.

Pitcairn, the capital, is less a city than a clearinghouse. Barracks, mustering fields, drill-yards, and contract halls dominate its skyline. Airship docks churn endlessly as companies deploy across the world, banners furled until payment clears. In Lemuria, neutrality is not morality. It is brand integrity.

To enlist with a company is to fight across the world with Lemuria’s reputation behind you. To negotiate independently is to compete with guilds for profit and prestige. To cross Lemurian forces abroad is to earn legend or annihilation.

Time spent in Pitcairn means ledger-forgery, political sabotage, and contract assassination treated as civic realities, not crimes. To operate here is to gamble against the most organized and disciplined killers on the planet. Lemuria does not promise glory. It promises reckoning. And it always collects.

Lemuria is governed by the Grand Assembly, a republican council composed of elected representatives from the major mercenary companies, logistics guilds, and quartermaster unions. Civilian representation exists, but it is inseparable from military service. In Lemuria, there is no meaningful distinction between citizen and soldier.

Votes within the Assembly are weighted by contribution. Not wealth alone, but fulfilled contracts, casualty ratios, and strategic value determine political leverage. A company that bleeds for the republic earns a voice within it. A company that fails finds itself dissolved, absorbed, or erased from the rolls.

Military law applies universally. Contracts are sacred. To break one is treason not only against a client, but against Lemuria itself. Punishments are severe and final. Exile is rare. Execution is common. The certainty of enforcement is the republic’s greatest asset.

Every Lemurian serves. Some carry rifles. Others move supplies, maintain hulls, forge weapons, or audit ledgers. Children train with weighted staves and mock firearms. Recruitment posters share space with price boards and casualty tallies. Victory parades are indistinguishable from enlistment drives. Funerals are public, instructional, and meticulously recorded.

Lemuria maintains no single standing army. Instead, it fields hundreds of semi-autonomous companies, each with its own insignia, tactics, and reputation. When required, the Assembly can unify these forces into a single armada, a temporary national army capable of rivaling any power on Earth.

Lemurian neutrality is absolute in principle and brutal in practice. Companies may fight on opposing sides of the same war, bound only by the terms they signed. Once hired, loyalty is unwavering. When contracts end, so does allegiance. Grudges are not carried. Ledgers are.

Lemuria possesses no natural shardisite wealth. Its companies accept payment in gold, shard, weapons, or land. Default is not a dispute. It is a seizure. Provinces have been taken as collateral, governed under Lemurian banners until accounts were settled. Some were never reclaimed. No one is certain whether this was oversight, punishment, or policy.

The Iron Ledger, housed in Pitcairn, records every contract the republic has ever signed. Names entered into it are remembered forever. Names struck from it are erased utterly. Forging, altering, or destroying ledger entries is among the few crimes punishable by immediate death without trial.

Lemuria has no state religion. The Choir & The Legion are acknowledged, but neither holds authority. Belief is considered private and irrelevant to contract fulfillment. Priests may march alongside soldiers, but miracles do not alter terms.

The closest thing Lemuria has to faith is certainty. The belief that an agreement, once signed, will be honored. In a shattered world, that belief has proven stronger than most gods.