Whitewall

From Thirdexalt

Directly north from the Blessed Isle lies Whitewall, one of the largest settlements in the Northlands. Located on rocky taiga, it lies several hundred miles north of the coast of the Inland Sea. This prosperous metropolis of more than 700,000 inhabitants is a trade hub for the region. While it was originally founded in the First Age as a center of religious study, it has become a powerful city-state in its own right. The end of the First Age left Whitewall isolated and without regular support. Three powerful beings of ice and silver, the Syndics, took control and hammered out a treaty of nonaggression with the local fae and the dead of the nearby shadowland. They still rule the city with a grip of frozen steel. While Whitewall is a nominal ally of the Realm, the city has never paid it tribute thanks to a combination of factors: the Syndics’ puissance, the city’s isolation, and its usefulness as a trade partner and jade producer.

By the conditions of the Syndics’ treaty, the road to Whitewall is inviolate, and no walking dead, ghost or fae may enter the city without permission from someone inside the walls. The road itself dates from the First Age and is built of virtually indestructible white stone. Ancient enchantments on the road keep it clear of ice and snow in all but the worst weather. Anyone—living, dead or fae—may use the road, and none may harm any other on the road. For the living, the penalty for breaking the peace of the road is death, and stone pillars fl ank the road every 40 yards to mark it and to serve as gibbets for the bodies of those who violate the peace. By the terms of the treaty, the Syndics must set 24 living people outside the walls each year as sacrifi ces. In the past, these have ranged from notorious criminals (such as Mideh of the Snake Fist or the Hundred-Knife Jackal) to reformers or revolutionaries (such as the Snow Peacock, whose body was never found, but whose screams were heard for 10 nights without pause).

The city of Whitewall is a crowded place that breeds suspicion. Its buildings are constructed of heavy white stone, plain on the outside but decorated inside with bright colors, rich tapestries and vivid rugs. While the city’s inhabitants will trust and befriend a stranger once they are sure of her intentions, they will be grim and taciturn until then, watching for signs of betrayal and stratagems. Just as nobody is invited inside the city without proof of humanity, no one is ever invited into a house casually. Any such invitation is a clear sign that the host considers the guest a long-term friend and ally. The land surrounding Whitewall is rich and fertile, but heavy winters sweep down from the mountains. From late fall until late spring, blizzards make travel to Whitewall almost impossible. The winter’s long nights breed fear, paranoia and suspicion. Every few years, some fool or madman lets in a fae or undead intruder, and the city guard must hunt it down in the city’s narrow streets. On occasion, the Syndics are even forced to hire Exalted monster-hunters. Justice in Whitewall is harsh, and penalties range from heavy fines to indentured servitude to mutilation. Individuals convicted of capital crimes (murder, treason, consorting with the fae or undead) are put outside the walls to face whatever calamity comes to them. They are given no supplies and are dressed in clothing to mark their status as convicts, so that no caravan will give them aid. In many ways, a death sentence would be kinder.