Vexenford

Steel and Suffering

I came here hoping for safety, but all I found was more death. The enforcers don’t see us as people—just a burden. They say Ebonmoor is safe, but none of us will ever get past that cursed gate. I’ve seen mothers beg to be let through, only to watch their children cut down for fear of the Blight. If this is survival, I don’t want it.

Vexenford, once a prosperous trade hub in Faulmoor, now stands as a grim stronghold of House Valkenmar. Straddling the banks of the Blackflow River, it serves as the last fortified checkpoint before reaching the bridge to Ebonmoor. Before the Rotmire Blight, its streets were filled with merchants, artisans, and travelers who brought wealth and vibrancy to the city. Now, it is a place of suspicion, suffering, and iron-fisted rule, where the ever-present banners of House Valkenmar hang from its battlements, a constant reminder of the unyielding authority that governs within.

A thick stone wall, reinforced with iron-plated gates and sharpened wooden spikes, surrounds Vexenford, ensuring that only those permitted by the enforcers may enter or leave. The city’s once-thriving population has dwindled, many having fled or succumbed to the Blight, leaving behind a broken remnant of what was once a bustling center of commerce. Now, the people live under the watchful eyes of Valkenmar’s enforcers, who patrol in squads, searching for signs of infection and executing those who show even the faintest symptoms of the disease. Families are torn apart by paranoia, many too afraid to shelter their own kin for fear of being condemned themselves. The wealthy have retreated into the inner districts, fortified and protected, while the poor and desperate linger in the outer rings, caught between starvation and the ever-present threat of execution.

At the heart of the city stands the Iron Gate, the only land route to Ebonmoor, where soldiers scrutinize every cart and traveler before allowing passage. To control the flow of goods and people, the Blackflow Docks are under strict military watch, with only approved shipments bound for Valkenheim permitted through. Those who attempt to bypass these restrictions risk a swift and merciless response. The city’s gallows square is rarely empty, a place where public executions serve as a warning to all who would defy the law. Nearby, the Rot Ward stands as a prison for those suspected of infection, a walled-off district where the condemned await either death or exile. Rumors of inhumane experimentation by the Baron’s alchemists persist, but officials vehemently deny such claims, dismissing them as fearmongering and propaganda.

Despite the suffocating grip of House Valkenmar, illicit activity thrives in the shadows. Smugglers and black marketeers operate beneath the city’s surface, bribing guards and forging papers to move people and goods past the enforcers. The Hollow Crown, a decrepit tavern on the outskirts, serves as a meeting place for mercenaries, refugees, and those willing to take on dangerous jobs. Those with coin and courage might find passage into Ebonmoor, but whether they make it past the watchful eyes of the Iron Gate is another matter entirely.

Among the desperate masses huddled at the outskirts of the city are the refugees from quarantined villages, many of whom have traveled great distances in the false hope of finding safety in Ebonmoor. They are met with rejection, or worse, the swords of the enforcers who see them as nothing more than a liability. Within the city, rumors of a secret cult have begun to circulate, whispered in hushed tones by those who claim to have seen evidence of their work. The so-called Rotmire Cult is suspected of engaging in dark rituals, believing the Blight to be a divine reckoning. While no direct evidence has surfaced, investigators have discovered grisly remains and signs of sabotage in abandoned quarters of the city, fueling fear and paranoia. The enforcers have launched an inquiry, seeking to uncover the truth behind these unsettling findings, but many believe that the cult, if real, has already rooted itself deep within Vexenford’s underbelly.

At the core of Vexenford’s suffering is the Valkenmar Bastion, the seat of the city’s ruling power. From within its cold stone walls, House Valkenmar’s appointed commander governs with ruthless efficiency, ensuring that the Baron’s orders are carried out to the letter. In this city, mercy is a rare commodity, and those who step out of line rarely get a second chance. "Steel and Sacrifice" define the way of life in Vexenford, where the strong rule, the weak perish, and the fearful pray that the Rotmire Blight does not claim them next.