Mundo, Chum and Igor

...The road is well kept by the people who dwell here. Either they have a sense of true pride or officials from the city have harsh incentives to keep everything well tended. There is more traffic as you near the capital, larger and larger shadows of skycraft pass more often overhead and you have to step aside to let faster veyances pass on the hardened surface of the lane. Waiting is not wholly unpleasant, it gives you a moment to ignore the lurid advertisements flashing from your pocket orb to note the tidy, almost grid like arrangement of the various farm buildings and the rectangular proportion of nearly every garlic grove. The freshly yellowing nodules are pungent, hanging heavily from every twisting bough. Dapperly dressed peasant folk shake the trees and the ‘Lic falls into strategically placed baskets. Dumpmen use ‘Lic hooks to swing the baskets into automated feeders powered by draftpeds. The foul golden paste is scooped up from the end of the mastication process and troweled into sealed gourds. Everything here is efficient, it’s no wonder this land is so prosperous. Who would ever dreamed ‘Lic had so many uses, from moisturising cream to munitions? Only an open minded society peopled with hard workers could rise so high. Ah wealth! Even now your attention is dragged back to your pocket orb, A smiling wenchette beckons you to visit Bloorg’s accoutrement shoppe for half off all pleather ascotts. A land where even the lowliest of slaves wears Plowshine sandals while chewing Golden Chumley’s Liquidambar while chilling during an unwork break. Absent mindedly you look up and through a gap you see the city for the first time. It’s much larger than you imagined...it must be at least 15 hectasheets square! The road leads to the fabled Wall of Wonder (over a pit of Gargofiends) through a partially open gate. Beyond you can make out row upon row of buildings of every imaginable type. Smoke rises and swirls between sky craft tethered to minarets. There are hundreds, no thousands of denizens scurrying about, conducting who knows what business. The wealth of Fooburg awaits! Reprinted with permission from the Journals of Aurthurious Treacher, founder of Gruel and Drool. Moot of Fooglee

Type: Pictorial Monarchy Ruler: King Semiceedies the IV Cities: Fooburg, Fooham, 1 Mile Market, Fooville Symbol: 3 overlapped garlic cloves- the Igor, Chum and Mundo Description: The Moot is an a moderately civilized land of rolling hills and garlic groves. The inhabitants of this land cultivate Garlic trees in vast odoriferous groves. Within the Moot garlic is referred to simply as “Lic. The 'Lic is collected, crushed and made into sandwich spread, wine and weapons grade explosive. Three types of ‘lic are produced and are impossible by foreigners to tell apart. The Moot allows almost all travelers egress (Unlike most lands) . The huge capital city of Fooburg is an international hub of activity. There are huge granaries to store grain from Doi which is then transshipped to all lands of the Inner Sea. TMoF is ruled by the milues oldest living king. (There are rumors, however his daughter Lady Ruth 2nd Most High will take over soon). The capital is powered by schools of slave fish which turn a mammoth underwater rotor called the Churn. This powers an entire wurkshop district that produce vast quantities of cheap consumables. Fooburg is home to the most famous Inn in the multi-verse, the Gran Roach and also a hub of Lighter than Aire travel. You can book an airship and travel to almost any civilized spot on the globe. The Moot is a small but prosperous land.