Nestled in the shadow of the southern mountains, Alnair is a fortress of industry and intellect — a gleaming bastion of order against the chaos that stirs beyond its borders. Towering walls of pale stone and iron form concentric rings around its heart, each layer older and darker than the last, telling the story of centuries spent enduring wars, winters, and ambition.

Smoke rises from forges that burn day and night, feeding the city’s endless hunger for progress. The clang of hammers and hum of arcane engines echo through its lower districts, while the upper terraces gleam with spires of polished silver and crystal glass. Airships drift above the city, symbols of Polaris’ mastery of craft and innovation.

Beyond Alnair’s southern gates loom the Ashfang Mountains — a vast, jagged range that marks the border between Polaris and Jesthaen. Few attempt the crossing; the trails are treacherous, haunted by storms and old battlefields where the blood of nations froze in the snow.

Within its walls, Alnair’s High Council governs with precision and pride, valuing reason and structure above all else. But as tensions rise across the borders and whispers of cults and corruption stir in the north, even the shining heart of Polaris begins to tremble beneath the weight of its perfection.