It is 1385, and amongst the fields overlooking the Dragonmere there is a city. A sprawling and rotting metropolis, where corruption was rife and murder a way of life.
This was Red Mist, an urban landscape of decay, full of fading grandeur and ripe with squalor. Districts run like warrens throughout its expanse, from greasy dockyards to gaudy spires and decrepit slums.
That’s what the city of Valkur’s Roar was… in some aspects it still is. Looming over all, the Great Hall and its Reserve Guard of mages and soldiers, the Inquisitors, and the hint of Thayan presence. Supposedly this was all that stood between a semblance of order and lawless oblivion.
To be a citizen in this place was to know need and fear, where most can eke out a meagre existence. A few, the gilded and merchant-barons, know wealth. Whether they are aware or even give thought to the suffering inherent in the city is unknown.
Violence appears inescapable on these benighted streets… at least when there is an upheaval or strange occurrences a plenty. In those cases the majority are either the perpetrator or the victim. The remainder that fit into neither are a minority… a thin line.
Amongst the shrines and temples that dot the cityscape now bathed in red, one looms in the skyline, a large blunt block, dark of stone.
Atrox of House Dureth looks out to the city below from the tower above Hoar’s Barren of Retribution, a creature of vengeance pacing back and forth behind him.
Whatever justice exists, appears only effective when handled with a brutal touch. The weak do not survive long.