Sardiron of the Waters is the capital of the Baronies of Sardiron, and the city itself is the entire Barony of the head of the Council of Barons, the Baron of Sardiron. Reports at the end of the Great War described it being captured essentially intact when the Empire fell. It is now a walled city built atop a ruined Northern Empire fortress[1], the architecture is notable for its solid, dark construction and use of spikes as both decorative and functional pieces. This was probably the result not just of the cold climate, but of early fears that the Northerners might not be quite as extinct as generally believed, and might attempt to reclaim their property.

All the streets were paved with brick, flags or cobbles... Where the hillside was steep, the streets were built in steps, like a gigantic staircase.
The buildings were built up against each other, with no gap at all between them in many cases, while others left only a narrow alley...
The roar of the river was a constant background to everything, and fountains splashed in a dozen little squares and plazas, as well, as the city lived up to its name. A steady wind moaned endlessly around the black stone towers. On top of this were the normal sounds of a big, busy town- creaking cartwheels, lowing oxen, and a myriad of human voices chattering away.
The great castle of the Council of Barons reared up above the city, high atop the hill, looming darkly over everything...
[He saw an inn but] there was no broad window displaying ale kegs and pewter tankards, nor open door spilling light into the street, as there had been at the village inns he had seen so far-in fact, the only window here was a small one with bars on it, high above the street, and heavily curtained with black velvet. The only door was painted in four triangular sections, red at top and bottom and blue at either side, and studded with short spikes of black iron. It was tightly closed.
However, most of the city's architecture was equally strange and forbidding. He had seen no open doors or large windows anywhere inside the gates. This had to be an inn. He gathered his courage and knocked on the heavy wooden door, between the protruding spikes.
One of the spikes twisted, then slid back into the door and vanished; startled, Wuller looked into the hole it had left and saw an eye staring back at him.
The spike was replaced and the door swung open.

~Portrait of a Hero


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