Hall of the Ashen Accord

Rising like a clenched fist from the scorched soil of the Burning Plain, the Hall of the Ashen Accord stands as both memorial and warning. Built from the blackened bones of the battlefield — scorched stone, melted steel, and ash-mortared brick — this solemn structure commemorates the end of the bloodiest war in Belerion’s recent history: the Ashen Accord. Its centrepiece is the Everflame, a magically sustained fire said to have been kindled from the first torch lit at the ceasefire ceremony. It burns day and night in a basin of polished obsidian, drawing pilgrims, historians, and former soldiers alike to kneel in its glow. The flame is surrounded by engraved iron rings, each bearing the names of the dead — grouped not by allegiance, but alphabetically, to symbolise unity in death. The hall’s design is stark and unflinching: no ornament, no grandeur, just raw truth. Its architecture echoes the utilitarian style of field bunkers and supply depots, but scaled to cathedral-like proportions. At its entrance, two massive doors display a mural made entirely of salvaged armour, each piece bearing a notch, dent, or scorch mark that tells its own tale. Once a year, at the Mid-Year Accord, the descendants of the signatories return to the Hall to renew their commitment to peace — or, in some cases, to publicly debate the Accord’s legacy. It is a place of reverence, protest, grief, and uneasy hope. Though the Hall of the Ashen Accord stands isolated on the battlefield, it is not forgotten. Artists leave offerings, poets weep against its cold walls, and lovers carve initials into hidden crevices — not to dishonour the dead, but to tether the pain of history to the warmth of the living. In this way, the Hall becomes more than a memorial: it is a living scar etched into the land, a sacred space where Belerion’s fractured past continues to echo, whisper, and — perhaps — heal.