Maiko's Note
Ah, Drabàshendol - the place where laws go to drown. Where loyalty is a flask passed in silence. And where every plank of every tavern was once part of a ship that didn’t make it.
Drabàshendol is the closest thing the Pashevalani have to a capital — not that they'd ever admit to needing one.
If I were flesh and breath, I think I’d sit by the Drunken Moon's hearth and listen. And never tell them who I was.
The locals say: “In Drabàshendol, your dagger should sleep — but your pants should not.”
…Don’t ask me what it means. Just check your pockets.
The Pirate Capital
Shindjal: Drabàshendol
Faction:
Pashevalani
"No flags fly in Drabàshendol, only intentions."
— Old saying among the Pashevalani
1. Overview
Drabàshendol is a city built by outlaws and for outlaws. Nestled on a secluded bay of the Western Isles, it is a place where the sun rarely touches the streets, and the sea breeze carries the scent of salt and rebellion. The city is a ragtag collection of old ships, salvageable wreckage, and makeshift wooden and stone buildings, stacked atop one another like a fortress of dust and grit.
Here, the law is what you make of it. The strongest hold sway, and the loudest make the rules. It’s a city of roguish charm and perilous danger, where every tavern is filled with tall tales of treasure, betrayal, and the constant hum of the next big heist.
2. Location
Drabàshendol lies at the center of the Western Isles, hidden among razor reefs and ever-shifting fogs. There are no maps to it, only songs, riddles, and tattoos that serve as navigational guides to those born to the tides.
The town itself sprawls across several connected islets, linked by rope bridges, tide-borne rafts, and the hulls of wrecked ships. It is a floating city of scavenged history, ever rebuilt from the bones of plundered vessels.
The people of Drabàshendol are a colorful and eclectic mix of pirates, smugglers, mercenaries, and outcasts. There is no unity beyond survival, and alliances shift with the tides. However, there is one shared rule: trust no one completely. Betrayal is as common as a drink in the tavern, and the city thrives on the chaos that results.
3. Legend & Status
Legend has it that Drabàshendol is not only the largest settlement in Pashevadjan, but also the first ever founded on the Western Isles. Whether or not this is true, it fits the reputation.
Though Pashevadjan is not a united realm but a chaotic alliance of pirate hideouts and island crews, Drabàshendol is their unofficial capital. It is where the pirates come to drink, to barter, to share gossip, to forge alliances, and to make war plans - preferably before they’re too drunk to remember them.
Despite being one of the most dangerous human settlements on Madun, Drabàshendol is not dangerous due to factional war. The crews honor an official truce here. Violence is personal, not political - and fueled by a complete lack of law and a dangerous surplus of ale.
The town belongs to no single crew. It belongs to no one but the Pashevalani as a whole. Outsiders are almost never welcome - with rare exceptions made for trusted Endulani traders, especially those involved in the Pashunarak hunt.
The Empire knows the hideout exists. But due to its placement deep in the maze of sharp reefs, false channels, and island mists, no Imperial vessel has ever reached it. Those that tried either grounded, sank, or met a swift and flaming end at the hands of the pirates.
4. Culture & Society
Drabàshendol is not a society - it’s a moment of balance between chaos and need.
No laws exist, but there are understandings. Theft between pirates is frowned upon. Murder is tolerated if it's quiet. Betrayal earns you a trip to the Tide Chains.
The Truce is sacred while ashore. Fighting between crews is punished collectively. “Bleed at sea, not in port.”
Bartering is more common than coin. Goods are exchanged in terms of value, story, and usefulness. A finely aged rum may be worth a rifle. A captured Imperial officer, worth far more.
Tide rites mark the comings and goings of ships. Salt is thrown, oaths are sung, and every arrival is toasted with a full mug - or a fistfight.
5. Notable Features:
The Grand Rusting Ship: The city's central landmark. A once-proud merchant vessel that now serves as a floating tavern, brothel, and black market all rolled into one. The rusted skeleton of the ship hosts everything from gambling tables to underground fights, and whispers of treasure maps are traded over mugs of Sulborol.
Shady Docks: The docks are always busy, with all manner of ships - from nimble smuggling boats to massive pirate galleons - docked haphazardly. Every boat has a story, usually involving plundered riches and lost souls. It’s the kind of place where a ship can disappear into the mist without a trace.
The Black Coin Market: Hidden in the heart of Drabàshendol is the Black Coin Market, where everything has a price. Weapons, information, and even loyalties are sold here, usually in exchange for hard-earned plundered riches. It’s a dangerous, ever-changing place, known to anyone daring enough to trade their souls for power.
6. Legends:
The Ghost of the Sea: An old myth amongst the pirates - the tale of a spectral ship that sails the seas under the moonlight, carrying the souls of the dead pirates who failed to keep their promises. It’s said that the crew of the Valkyrie once crossed paths with this ghost ship, but that’s another story... or is it
Treasure of the Lost Emperor: Every pirate in Drabàshendol dreams of finding the fabled treasure of the Lost Emperor, said to be buried somewhere beneath the city’s streets. According to legend, the treasure includes ancient technology, old-world riches, and the keys to a forgotten star system. Many pirates have died searching for it, and a handful of old maps have changed hands for a fortune.
7. Relations
Pashevalani: Drabàshendol is their common ground, their parliament, their powder keg.
Endulani: The only outsiders regularly permitted - due to old mutual respect and trade ties, especially regarding Pashunarak meat and hide.
The Empire: Enemy number one. The very existence of Drabàshendol is a middle finger raised at the Imperial map.
Maiko's Note
Ah, Drabàshendol - the place where laws go to drown. Where loyalty is a flask passed in silence. And where every plank of every tavern was once part of a ship that didn’t make it.
Drabàshendol is the closest thing the Pashevalani have to a capital — not that they'd ever admit to needing one.
If I were flesh and breath, I think I’d sit by the Drunken Moon's hearth and listen. And never tell them who I was.
The locals say: “In Drabàshendol, your dagger should sleep — but your pants should not.”
…Don’t ask me what it means. Just check your pockets.
