Ad Adwazi, city of lights. Called Neverdark by the beings once indigenous, now foreign to the cobblestoned streets and tight corners. Graveyard to thousands who dreamed of romance and riches beyond the reach of their humble birth-villages, and home to thousands more.
Here, the golden gates of Ahnkarad, where the gilded general himself rode on his black horse through the applauding throngs to pay respects to the new-crowned king. Here, the arch of Razazal, where ten thousand plus ten demons toiled for but four seconds — the holy number — to craft an entryway to the east quarter of the city befitting a magician of Razazal’s renown. Here, the Gardens of Verdant Tranquility, planted by her gracious majesty, the Yanith Queen, whose silver hands, uncovered only in the moonlight, blessed the ground with her holy touch and brought forth flowers undreamed of in the region before or since. Here, the famed Inn of the Ninth Scroll, where the Holy Traveler Lorabesh rested her head for two nights but not three; where Elthred the Wise composed his great epic which is still sung to this day; where Rukyva, Baron of the West Winds, won his bet with the Ilfen Fay; and where the Homeless Friar received his sixth vision of disillusion.