Oceanyka, still known to some by its colonial name of Australia, is a land of contradictions, anarchic yet unified, lawless yet tightly bound by tradition, wild yet deeply scarred by the works of man. It is a confederation of tribes, villages, towns, kingdoms, empires, republics, dictatorships, city-states, and fortified outposts, where survival is not guaranteed and power is measured by the weight of bullets or gold. Beyond the crude palisades of frontier settlements, the sniper towers of urban sprawls, and the labyrinthine bunkers of underground bases, anarchy reigns, and only the strongest, or the most cunning, endure.
The continent's past is one of ceaseless war. Long before foreign boots ever touched its soil, the native Aboriginals and migrating Ferozen waged millennia of brutal conflict, a cycle of bloodshed that culminated in their mutual devastation. This left Oceanyka vulnerable to the ambitions of the British Empire, which bled its riches dry for nearly a century. But no empire lasts forever: a revolutionary inferno in the early 20th century shattered the Jewel of the Empire, birthing a confederation of all its disparate peoples, bound by a fragile yet defiant pact of independence.
Oceanyka’s alignment has never been stable. Initially a loose ally of the Western Bloc 🦅, its path was violently rewritten by the Oceanykan Revolution, which toppled the government and dragged the nation into the orbit of the Eastern Bloc ⚒️ under the iron-willed yet lenient leadership of President Alan Redfort. Yet, beneath the banners of revolution, old hatreds simmer, corporate armies and rogue warlords stake their claims, and the shadows of the bush conceal horrors beyond comprehension.
In Oceanyka, anyone can be anything, or die trying.