The sandy walls tower above a plain that was once alive with grasses and grazing beasts. Surrounding the isolated fortified city an army of black-clad soldiers drill, the smoke from their endless camp fires hanging in the thick air and enveloping the sea of tents so that inhabitants of the fortress see only a sea of grey from the battlements, as far as the horizon.
Anaxis has been under siege for as long as anyone who lives there can remember, even the old men who sit, maudlin, over their bottomless tankards. Life goes on as it always has for them- market on a Wednesday, any post that manages to get through the airspace above the enemy army arrives and is distributed on a Thursday, Fridays are when rations are inevitably reduced as the siege draws on longer than they have supplies for...
There is a way in, via the catacombs, but many who attempt it are never heard from again. Otherwise, the people of Anaxis are alone, save the Order. A handful, maybe, of individuals who have qualified to join the organisation almost solely through their ability to survive long enough to do so. This Order is the last hope of the hopeless, it is said, but only in hushed voices and when the more fanciful were out of earshot.
[Normal rules apply, just have fun with it!]
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