The Border Princes are less a country than a chaos of ambition, a sprawl of tiny realms and self-styled principalities scattered across the contested lands south of the Empire. Here any man with a sword, a band of followers, and enough gall may proclaim himself a prince and carve a dominion from the wilderness, though the graves of those who tried before him lie thick upon the ground.
Many a younger son and disgraced knight of the Empire of Man has ridden south to seek such a fortune, raising a keep and a banner over some scrap of frontier. Their holdings rise swiftly and fall as fast, undone by rival princes, treachery from within, or the ever-present menace of the wilds. A dynasty here is fortunate to survive a single generation, and most petty kingdoms are forgotten before their founders' bodies grow cold.
For the borderlands are hunted ground. The Orc & Goblin Tribes spill down from the Badlands in raiding hordes, beastmen prowl the forests, and worse things still stalk the ruins of elder ages. To rule in the Border Princes is to defend one's dream against a world that wants it dead, and to know that glory and oblivion here walk hand in hand.