Just to the east of Crussia is Cecerome, a rather small barony that is surprisingly rich due to a lively official trade in pearls and shellfish and an even more lively unofficial trade in black market goods, not to mention smuggling into Crussia. It occupies a cove which has a surprisingly good deep water harbor (which is, unfortunately, too far to the middle south to be of conventional and convenient use, historically) and runs innumerable pearl diving fleets and fishing fleets out of its safe, generally calm waters. The resources necessary to survival are imported in; the locals can afford this indulgence, and indulge they do. Cecerome is nothing if not prosperous and active.
It was not always thus. Traditionally, Cecerome subsisted on shellfish, local fauna and good cheer; they used to be thought of in grass huts under palm trees, wading around half naked in hollowed out logs. Cecerome was not conquered because there didn't seem much to conquer. The barony itself tended to eschew regulation, law and rules. This is not a people vastly interested in possession or competition.
They did not lack the numbers but, somehow, failed to put together much of a militia to oppose or join Oberon. Cecerome seemed, frankly, grateful to Oberon; he gave them a Court where they could actually /talk/ to the other ruling entities (who had previously ignored them for much the same reason that Cecerome wasn't conquered along the way). This was not for political reasons; if anything, the barony's representatives seemed just plain friendly and straightforward. With a tendency to bring buckets of shellfish with them (rotting, unfortunately, by Court - but it's the thought that counts, they'd merrilly assure their compatriots), they would meander into the state dinners and balls with happy obtuseness.
The barony's wealth results directly from the recent discovery of pearls off its waters. Actually, the locals had always known about pearls, but since pearls aren't very edible, they didn't pay them much heed. Some of the shellfish brought to Court, however, boasted pearls and, strangely, this struck up a friendship between Cecerome's Baron Ardestin and his twice-removed neighbor to the north, Baron Stephen of Lakewalls. To Ardestin, at any rate, this was a friendship; to Stephen, this was a business transaction.
Lakewalls loaned to Cecerome (at interest rates that were just shy of usorious) a substantial amount of funds and resources with which to build a proper pearl diving fleet and to improve - i.e. build -roads going up through the little Barony. Lakewalls went so far as to lend advisors and planners to design the road system. They shored up and made sure of the harbor and attempted, briefly, to improve the living standards of Cecerome's natives. Only this last was ignored by Cecerome (the natives didn't see much point to live in stone manses - very distancing). To seal the friendship, Stephen married - with the King's approval - his youngest sister, Lady Melicent, to Ardestin. Stephen forgave the dowry he might have expected from Ardestin; Ardestin seemed happy just to receive a bride.
With the opening of a new deep water harboar smack dab in the middle of the coastline, Cecerome unintentinally invited traffic that found it inconvenient to sail up the eastern coast. The transition has been gradual and the percentage of ships that use Cecerome has not seriously dented the primary harbors' traffic to any noticeable degree. It is almost as if, perhaps, this is not traffic that ever went to those harbors. Nonetheless, to Cecerome it goes (along with Cecerome's impressively active fleet) and through Cecerome's new, convenient roads up north to the rest of Old Andros in a steady stream of carts and wagons. Wealth, as a result, pours into Cecerome. Much of it leaves to repay Lakewalls, admittedly; however, Cecerome and Lakewalls are so close (and Cecerome's notions of civic improvement so general), that the gold has been piling up in Cecerome's cellar-pits for decades.
As a place, Ceremone has never been terribly focused on regulation or law. The ships that are merely seeking an equally legal alternative to other harbors that drop anchor with them insist on providing manifests; Cecerome humours them by sending the paperwork along to appropriate agencies (but does not ask for them). There no import or export taxes; there are no income taxes. Indeed, for the last five decades or so, Cecerome has prospered with very little concern for the long run or regulation. They have never had much respect for law; it strikes the average native as amusing.
There is a merry and cheerfully unabashed smuggler's trade into nearby Crussia; for some reason, most of the goods going through there are not tracked in the first place. Crussia routinely goes on mad binges to prevent this; Cecerome largely ignores their efforts and, if forced, will move their efforts further along the border. There is always a market.
The barony, incidentally, did not start out with a palace; now it has an overlarge hut that sits next to a traditional stone pile which sticks out like a sore thumb - the Lady Melicent insisted. The Lady Melicent has insisted on a great many things since her arrival; gradually, through persuasion or - in the end - simply loudly insisting to her always amiable husband, she has managed to introduce to Cecerome the concept of not just commerce but profit. As a result, the rest of Ceremone's economy has been booming for the last decade or two. While building has never been a favorite hobby, the import of luxury goods (which was happening through their harbour anyway) has exploded exponentially and required the introduction of stable structures and a support economy. The always cheerful air of the barony has taken on a slightly sated, decadent air that is somehow just as uninterested in Society and Fashion as ever.
Meanwhile, the roads north to Lakewalls teem.
On the southern tip, where Amber ends, the land reaches out a slim penninsula to curl around the ocean. Much of the penninsula consists of dunes; the land beyond it, where it is not beaches, is slow to move from brush and unarable soil to solid dirt. The climate is balmy; the beaches are extensive and breathtakingly lovely. Lakes dot the land inward from the ocean, known for their unusual properties. They are miniature seas (very miniature) - saltwater and some other odd chemical compounds - that are considered to have healing qualities if drunk or used to bathe.
Crussia is not a resource-rich barony, nor is it a particularly large one. A relatively small proportion of the land is arable, and it's hard to turn sand into industry. The port is a decent one, but it has never been developed into a proper harbor, and is instead used for sunbathing and what amounts to a tourist industry. The barony is known for its exceedingly mild climate, hospitable (if amazingly relaxed) nature, and healing salt baths. Physicians send their clients to winter in Crussia, and the barony's one solid export consists of tonics of lake-water.
People do not live in Crussia. They visit. The barony itself is sparse in native population; everyone else who is there - and the place does not seem underpopulated - is maintaining a second home. The people that do live there make their way through life by selling art, deliberately unsophisticated-looking crafts and knicknacks (particularly featuring shells), supplemented by fishing. (Fishing is not the primary industry because the boats have to go out reasonably far. Plus they can only have so many boats on the water without looking crowded or dingy.) Crussia is the place to be seen for a summer or an Outing; it's required of the fashionable.
The locals nonetheless maintain a determined hold on local policies under Baron Markus. The current Baron is a middleaged and childless man who seems indifferent to just about everything. Uninterested in Court, uninterested in his Barony, he seems to be waiting for life to get around to ending. He was even disinterested at Oberon's drive through the area; he simply stood aside, despite being a very young man. A lack of attachment made the title or the King irrelevant; Oberon has likely not bothered to remove the man or the Barony simply because it's not worth the bother.
The government of Crussia, therefore, is run largely by local committees who are hyperprotective of their land. Crussia is not represented politically throughout the rest of the realm. Within the Barony, however, the drive is toward the resort industry. Villages and towns have strict building codes, and are, in fact, only allowed near the lakes and beaches in certain numbers and combinations. Zoning laws have been reinvented with force - buildings ruin the view, afterall. Beaches have carefully managed boardwalks and outposts and local craft booths, all of which are decreed by a committee that represents the local townships. Even the style of bottle in which the tonics are shipped is regulated.
The locals smile a lot. It's likely the law.
For some reason, Crussia taxes the locals less heavily than those who own secondary homes. They pay, of course. It's for their health. And no one will admit they can't afford it. There are import taxes, sumptuary taxes, and a perilously high sales tax - but no income tax. Crussia is well set up for the nonce, but if the fashionable ever go elsewhere...
Crussia is not so much governed as left alone. The Baron is childless and unmarried and generally uninterested in changing these details; his local population is indifferent. Its primary asset in Oberon's eyes is its unwillingness to bother him - or anyone. Bad for the view.
One of the smaller of the Southern Duchies to the west, Dorcester is home to one of the more popular secondary shipping harbors, and contributes to a noteworthy portion of Amber's naval forces. While it does have some of the trademark southern decadence, it does not pursue this so intensely as some of the others.
One of Oberon's early conquests in the south was the kingdom of Erendel, famed for its silver mines and the skill of its goldsmiths, for its wealth would do much to finance his campaign of conquest and the construction of his new city. It was a land of beauty and grace, and Oberon first came to its court as a friend, for Erendel, never strong militarily, was not strongly opposed to annexation by Amber.
Located in the far southwest, Voiren is situated along the coastline and boasts Amber's finest beaches. The water can be seen sparkling clear blue for miles out, and the fine, pure white sand is a delight to children and glass-blowers alike.
Voiren is one of the oldest duchies in the kingdom. It is a decadent, refined land, pleasantly civilized, and boasting many skilled craftsmen. The duchy is noted for the quality of its glass, and for the talents of its glass-blower artisans. The finest crystal comes from Voiren; rare is the household that considers itself truly sophisticated that does not have a set of wine-goblets from Voiren. So, too, do stained-glass windows, and delicate statuettes of spun glass, and mirrors.
There are a lot of mirrors in Voiren. The citizens seem to enjoy admiring their finely-coiffed appearances.
Baron Ardestin is the most cheerfully oblivious man most people ever meet. Of middling height, browned by the sun, he is the sort of man who is delighted to meet everyone and remembers them all. He is happiest surounded by flowing masses of children and young people and pets and merriment, and that is typically the state in which he is found. He has built a Suitable Baronial Palace to please his wife; he treats it with the same housekeeping-indifferent cheer that he always treated his hut. He booms with friendship for anyone and everyone; he would befriend trees, if he could. He views governing as this mythical thing he does largely by existing; he does not dress differently, carry himself differently or expect more out of life for his rank. Indeed, he treats his wife only slightly differently than he treats everyone else: as amiably, as warmly, with perhaps more adoration. He compliments her often, sends children to bring her daisies and pretty shells, and views the bestowment of a dozen eventual children of his body on her as only a natural exchange of his affection. Her sharp tongue he finds humour (even, as it often is, when it is directed at him) and her deep fascination for ordering people about cute and adorable.
Ciara, Daughter of Zachias, Duchess of Dorcester
Still beautiful but entering middle age is Ciara, born the youngest daughter of Duke Zachias of Erendel, presently wed to Duke Gerold of Dorcester. She was courted by many, but politics dictated the necessity of her marriage. Outwardly, at least, the couple has come to appreciate one another over the years.
Godric hasn't entirely gotten used to being a duke rather than a king. He fought against Oberon in the initial stage of the war, drawing upon Voiren's sizable treasury to fund a force to be reckoned with. He surrendered, with some reluctance, before too much damage could be done to his precious kingdom; Godric is a lover of beauty and of tradition and couldn't bear to see it destroyed. He is not an entirely trustworthy vassal, but he plays his cards with skill, bides his time, and chooses his enemies and allies with care.
He is the picture of middle-aged elegance; portraits of him tend to show him with a goblet in one hand and either a paintbrush or a rapier in the other. He is a man of some wit, always ready with a quick jest, and those who converse with him are never quite sure what he truly means and what is merely his peculiar deadpan sense of humor.
Godric's wives are something of a joke throughout Amber. He's had five of them thus far, and each of them has borne him only daughters. He now has an embarassment of girls, and is searching for his next wife. The previous wives were divorced reasonably amicably, set up with their own small estates outside of the capital, but it's said that some of them still plot against him. Godric's first two wives were political marriages. The last three, though, have been young women chosen for their beauty, talent, and suitability for birthing strong sons. Thus far, Godric has been disappointed, and is rumored to be looking outside his own duchy this time; if he can combine political advantage with breeding stock, so much the better.
As Godric ages, he's getting more and more desperate for a son, and is more and more likely to resort to unscrupulous means to obtain one. He's even taken to trying to track down previous bastards by country lasses, but thus far, not one son has turned up, though several imposters have made the attempt. Meanwhile, of course, his close male relatives are doing everything they can to prevent him from ensuring the continuance of his line.
Gerold has been Duke of Dorcester only as long as Oberon has been King of Amber; he rose to that post as the only living heir following the war and the mysterious assassination of the previous King, his cousin. He is thought of as sophisticated, urbane, and very much a player in the Amber political scene, thanks in no small part to the importance of his small Duchy in securing the southwestern sea. His marriage to Ciara of Erendel was forged a couple decades after the war of annexation.
Baron Markus is a solitary, dour man not giving to expansive shows of warmth. No one knows him very well; he seems uninclined to interfere in his own Barony and has been of that mind since he inherited at a rather young age (just as Oberon swept through Andros). He seems to spend much of his time sitting in his garden, caring for expensive, imported roses and orchids in expensive, imported soil. (This is the inspiration for not only many decorative gardens at lakeside and beachside villas, but for one aspect of the tourist trade.) He has been surrounded by advisors all his life; while unable to persuade him to marry, they have persuaded him to leave the dull details of the barony to them. The chief financier has taken this leeway to extremes, which goes far to explaining the ... unique perspective on life in relaxing, mild Crussia.
Lady Melicent was raised properly to court etiquette in Lakewalls, and she is going to murder her husband one day out of simple frustration. Perhaps she will first murder her brother. The details of this fantasy and the question of which to kill first are the only things that keep her restrained from shrieking at Ardestin - most of the time, at any rate. If she never sees another seashell in her life, it will be just as well.
The mother of eight squalling brats, all of which she is trying to raise to proper standards without much success (due to her husband's influence), she seems downright frigid in comparison to her mate. Tall, slender, always fashionably gowned, her smile often has the air of fine plaster - pretty, solid, and about to break at any moment. Her reputation is one of temper; she tends to lose hers. She cannot entirely be blamed: she hates her life. She is attempting to govern and bring out of poverty through any means a people typically disinterested in the definition of 'poverty' or 'trade' or 'exchange'. Her tendency to hurl objects across rooms and shriek herself blue at her husband's cheerful condescension is viewed as unpleasant and eccentric - but, with the people's affection for Ardestin, it is forgiven. Constantly. It is often wondered, not all that privately, how a woman like that produced such lovely children.
Lady Melicent is not loved. But she is waiting.
Zachias personally saw to the peaceful annexation of Erendel by Oberon during the first war of the kingdom. He is a wealthy man, whose first concern most often is the preservation of that wealth ... which distinguishes him not at all from most of the other Southern Lords. His youngest daughter is Ciara, who was wed to Gerold of Dorcester only a few decades after the founding of Amber.