Liedenstorm was not a beautiful city.

It sprawled across the landscape of the ruined earth like a visceral wound incapable of healing— a wretched blot in the form of a mass of wood, stone, steel, and desperate humanity, all pressed within the confines of walls that promised the illusion of safety but delivered only an odd chance of survival.

The outer districts were the worst...

The streets that were barely wide enough for two carts to pass through ran between buildings that leaned against each other for support, their foundations slowly sinking into the mud and refuse that accumulated despite all efforts to clear it.

The smell was oppressive.

That unbearable stench of unwashed bodies, vomit, piss and rotting garbage, combined with the acrid stench of tanning yards and slaughterhouses that no amount of wind could fully disperse was rather... unpleasant.

People huddled in doorways and alleys, their faces hollow with hunger and exhaustion. Children with shrunken bellies and vacant eyes sat in the filth, most too weak to play or cry. The destitute lined every street corner, hands outstretched for coins from the better off passerbys, their pleas falling on ears as even those that walked past their decrepit bodies were not much better off than they were.

The buildings here were cramped and crooked, packed together with no thought for planning or aesthetics. Most were two or three stories tall, their upper floors jutting out over the streets below in a vain attempt to maximize living space. The wood was grey and rotting with the stones crumbling.

Every structure looked like it might collapse at any moment, and some did, which led to no small amounts of death. Their dead bodies would lay within the rubble, with no one to bury them, the stench of rot and decay becoming stronger and stronger too.

Moving inward, the districts gradually improved. The streets widened to perhaps fifteen feet across. The buildings stood straighter, built with actual mortar instead of mud and dashed hopes. There were fewer beggars here, and those that remained kept to the shadows rather than blocking the main thoroughfares.

The smell improved too, though never disappeared entirely. Pervading decay was not so easy to eliminate, after all.

But the people were already used to it.

This far from the outer walls, the wind could actually circulate, carrying away some of the stench. Markets appeared, selling vegetables and bread and occasionally even meat. Most of the people here looked less like walking corpses and more like actual humans, though the gauntness never fully left their faces.

Further in still, approaching the city's heart, cobblestones appeared beneath the mud. Real cobblestones, fitted together with care, creating streets that were mostly clean. The buildings here were stone rather than wood, two and three stories tall with actual glass in some of the windows.

Most merchants conducted business from proper shops rather than market stalls. Guards patrolled regularly, keeping the peace and ensuring the rabble from the outer districts didn't venture where they weren't wanted.

This was where the city's wealthy lived— the successful merchants, the minor nobles, the Church officials who didn't rate positions in the capital but were too important to live among the common filth. Their homes were modest by the standards of true nobility, but palatial compared to the hovels in the outer rings.

And yet, even here, the decay was visible if you knew where to look. Cracks in the stonework, moss growing in the darker corners, and even a few street urchins that had snuck in from the outer districts with serpentine fingers, running into the shadows with the meager loot they had managed to steal.

The constant, grinding poverty of the outer districts pressing against these islands of relative prosperity, threatening to drag them down.

For all its flaws, Liedenstorm was still a marvel. A city of perhaps five million souls, enclosed by walls forty feet high and ten feet thick. In a world where corruption ran rampant, where Abominations could appear anywhere at any time, where entire towns could be wiped out in a single night, the mere existence of such a place was a testament to human stubbornness and unquenchable desire to live and prevail against all odds.

It was not beautiful...

But it certainly was alive.

***

The Red House sat at the eastern edge of the inner districts, a fortress within a fortress.

The structure was massive, easily two hundred feet to a side, forming a rough square around a central courtyard. The walls were dark stone, almost black, rising three stories before giving way to towers at each corner that climbed another thirty feet into the sky.

Unlike the rest of Liedenstorm, the Red House showed no signs of decay. The stones were perfectly fitted, the mortar fresh and the entire structure maintained with meticulous care. At the base of each tower, runic symbols glowed with a faint crimson light, pulsing slowly like a beating heart.

The main entrance was a massive gate of iron-bound oak, flanked by two Templars, each standing at exactly nine feet in height, both in full plate, standing motionless as statues. Above the gate, carved into the stone, was the sigil of the Crimson Crucible; a sword thrust through a crown of thorns, weeping drops of blood.

Beyond the gate lay the courtyard. It was perhaps sixty feet across, bare earth packed hard by countless boots. Training dummies lined one wall, their bodies hacked and scarred from endless practice. Weapon racks held swords and spears and axes, all gleaming with recent maintenance.

At the moment, however, the training yard was bare.

The main building rose on the far side of the courtyard, its facade dominated by enormous double doors. These doors led to the cathedral—the heart of the Red House, where the faithful gathered to pay homage to the divine and the damned in equal measure.

Inside, the cathedral was cavernous. The ceiling soared forty feet overhead, supported by thick columns carved with scenes of battle and martyrdom. Rows of wooden pews could seat perhaps three hundred, though they rarely needed that many.

The walls were lined with tapestries depicting the history of the Crimson Crucible. Battles against demons. The founding of the Order. The first Templars receiving their blessings from the gods...

But the centerpiece was the massive painting behind the altar.

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