Chrystemis Capital
Chrystemis, the imperial heart of the Seven Kingdoms, is the oldest and most majestic of Bellyem's cities. Its onyx paved avenues and alabaster palaces bear witness to the power and refinement accumulated over the millennia. When night falls, Chrystemis never goes dark: thousands of candles, arranged from the teeming streets to the highest rooftops, bathe the city in a golden light that rivals that of the sun. Under this flickering glow, every shadow seems to dance.
Fondation
The remains of Chrystemis, today's glittering capital, date back to the year 1000, when what was then a simple fishing village found itself threatened by the devouring shadow of the Vorabyssiem, an endless night of abysses and terror. At that fateful moment, one man stood up - Eucleides, the Shield of the Abyss. The Light had illuminated him with Divine Transcendence and made him its protective Right Hand. He carried on his shoulders not only the heavy armour of the fighter, but also the hope of the Clans united under his banner.
To honour the courage of the man who had given his body and soul for the survival of all, the inhabitants lit a candle every day, a sacred flame destined never to be extinguished. Over the centuries, the tradition continued, until Chrystemis was completely covered in an endless sea of light, illuminating the town with an immortal glow. Each candle carried the weight of a sacred memory: that of Eucleides, and of those who, like him, had defied the darkness to offer a future to the living. Thus was born the City of Light, a symbol of hope where the shadows would never return.
In the dread of the darkness, his blade sliced through the air with the fury of a man ready to sacrifice everything. Yet, despite the violence of his resistance, Eucleides fell, swallowed up by the abyssal hordes, his last breath drowned in the ocean of foul creatures. But his sacrifice did not end in darkness. Thanks to his bravery, the Clans he had united were able to escape, fleeing the night that was engulfing them.
Economy and Politic
Trade routes
Chrystemis is a city built at the crossroads of kingdoms and seas. The hustle and bustle of the markets echoes at every turn, a sound of steel and clashing merchants, where the languages of distant nations mingle in an incessant babble. At the crossroads of the trade routes linking the lands of Tyrinthius with the distant kingdoms of Sympruosia, Phasyneum, Ynopherys, Mosyne, Vielasyn and Erzlygion, it stretches like a spider's web of cobblestones, woven with trade routes and suspension bridges. It also links its shores to the ports of Klaes, giving the city immeasurable control over trade between North and South, whether in salt, spices or weavers' silk. The city is not only a trading centre, but also a gold and shadow exchange, where the currency that beats to the rhythm of the empire is none other than the Solarium, a cruelly heavy gold coin that symbolises prosperity and the weight of power. Like a fixed sun, this coin illuminates all the coasts of the Aiora Sea, ensuring that the empire is fuelled by the golden glow of opulence and war.
There is a rumour among the shadows, a murmur that runs through the narrow streets, that what really distinguishes one man from another, what reveals the extent of his wealth and power, is not the grandeur of his residence or the wealth of his lands, but the quality of the candles that light his home. Indeed, Chrystemis candles, made of tallow or whale fat for the poorest, and scented with the essence of flowers from faraway lands for the wealthiest, have become a currency of prestige and power. It is said that a poor man with a candle scented with Ynopherys beeswax can look down on a nobleman without a flame. And so a tax on candles was introduced, because the light of commerce shines in the darkness, and darkness can reveal unsuspected wealth.
Resources
The shores and surrounding lands of Chrystemis produce the elements essential to the survival of its inhabitants. Grain, olive oil, wine and ripe fruit from the fertile valleys feed its inhabitants, and the great plain rises like a sea of wheat, floating in the shadow of the mountainous lands. It is said that whoever holds the grain of Chrystemis holds the very essence of the city, for there is no life without bread. The fields are teeming with life, and the scorching summer sun never seems to leave them.
But the soul of Chrystemis doesn't just reside in its granaries and fields. It pulsates in its workshops, where forging and weaving take place, where the craftsman comes to life in the smoke of the furnaces, and where the gold of the blacksmith is rivalled by the hands of the silk weavers. Silks embroidered with gold thread, fine pottery, hand-crafted leather and noble metals all shine here. Chrystemis is a bastion of craftsmanship, a centre where luxury is fashioned and distributed like the breath of the wind.
Candles
Slavery
Behind this dazzling beauty, the dark hand of the Empire is never forgotten. Slavery, a cruel and invisible whisper, underpins the economic structure of the city. The chains of labour are tightened, and the sweat of subjugated bodies flows down the same alleyways where rich merchants trade their wares. Iron and silver, extracted from the region's mines, were also worked by the hands of the oppressed, and these precious treasures fuelled the Empire's insatiable quest. The prosperity of Chrystemis is therefore not only the fruit of light and silk, but also of the endless toil of those whose names are forgotten by history, just like their suffering. Such is Chrystemis, a city between light and shadow, a city where roads cross, stars fade and reignite in the scented wax of candles, and where fortune and blood mingle in an eternal dance.Population
In Chrystemis, for every five free humans, two Chayatiem are enslaved to forced labour. Their toil knows no end: carriage pullers, builders of grandiose edifices, labourers in the fields, servants in gilded mansions, mineworkers in the underground or rowers in drifting galleys... Some were sent to travelling circuses, where their bodies became the attraction for crowds eager for macabre spectacles. Such is the fate of the Chayatiem, condemned to live in the shadow of the greatness of others.
The inhabitants of Chrystemis, a people of feasting and effervescent joy, live in stark contrast. Wine flows freely, cured and salted meats satisfy greedy stomachs, while the rare and exotic candied fruits of Phasyneum grace the tables of the lords. The opium of Tyrinthius, with its intoxicating effects, finds its place in their rituals of pleasure, and wandering poets, like wandering spirits, sing to the souls of this people eager for music, laughter and dreams. Their carnivals, unbridled and noisy, echo through the cobbled streets, and gondola races stretch along the city's dark canals, defying time and law.
Fashion is their pride and joy, and the inhabitants adorn themselves in extravagant, brightly coloured clothes, fabrics as numerous as the legends of Chrystemis, adorned with precious stones, glittering pearls and the rare feathers of Nausilythes, whose wings recall forgotten dreams. But behind this façade of splendour, the suburbs conceal slums where forgotten souls survive. There, the poor, dressed in tatters torn from the rich, they sew themselves back together in visible misery, their clothes mismatched and soaked in shame, because nothing they wear should be recognisable. A society of shadows, where the remains of the opulent are their only possessions.
The sons of the great families, enamoured of knowledge and glory, sometimes leave this noisy, feverish capital for the tranquil the peace and quiet of Vielquium. There, at the university founded by the wise Moehric, they pursue studies that prepare them for a life of power and prestige. Far from the madness of the city, they acquire an education that will propel them into the upper echelons, where kingdoms are ruled by knowledge and ambition.
And so Chrystemis endures, a city of opulence and suffering, a place where light and darkness dance together in a harmony as fragile as the flame of a candle ready to burn out.
Eliavitis
Former Royal House
Solmiriath
State
Oeviom
Surname
The Old Candle
Currency
Solarium
Emperor
Neromys IX, heir to the Eliavitis dynasty, brought to light by Peors at the expense of the House of Solmiriath, who had reigned on the throne of Oeviom for three millennia. He embodies both the hope and the doubt of a fractured empire. His marriage to the Eva Phidoeny of Nyovylum, from the vast plains of Klaes, sealed a flickering peace between two powers that had been at war for centuries. Yet this pact seemed more fragile than the steel that bound their coats of arms. The courtiers whispered that this union, though timely, was a jewel box devoid of passion, a reflection of the emperor's reserved character.
But this man of learning, haunted by the weight of the crown, was not forged for the throne. His reserve and aversion to confrontation made him easy prey for ambitious clans and viperous tongues. His fear of disappointing or upsetting the fragile balance of the empire made him hesitant, and his reign was marked by late and sometimes fatal decisions.
Beneath his apparent gentleness, however, lay a tormented soul. The solitude he embraced was not always chosen, but imposed by a cynical court that saw him as a weak emperor. And yet, there are accounts of a look of determination in his darkest moments, a rare but radiant glow that could have reshaped the course of history. For many, Neromys remains the image of a sovereign captivated by the mysteries of the world, but crushed by the weight of a crown he never really wanted.
Architecture
Candles have invaded Chrystemis, and the city glows like a beating heart in the darkness. Tall candelabras adorn the streets, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the worn cobblestones. On the rooftops, candles burn endlessly, and rivers of dried wax drip from the walls, creating thick, organic layers that seem to bring the city itself to life, breathing in the trembling light. Candlelight is not just a commodity, it's a business. The candle-lighter's trade has emerged, enabling the most modest to earn their living by lighting and maintaining these eternal lights. Alongside them, the wax scrapers collect the melted wax, clean it and reuse it, in an endless cycle of light and waste.
The city, a collection of twelve small islands linked by a tangle of winding canals, is crossed by 39 stone bridges, some so old that they almost seem to be part of the water itself. Gondolas glide silently along the dark canals, carrying their passengers through this labyrinth of light and metal. Two of these islands are reserved for high society, where sumptuous balls and opulent banquets are held, lit by candles that burst like stars in the middle of the night. Their lights are reflected in the water, giving the city a warm, almost unreal atmosphere, a floating dream suspended in time.
But in the poorer districts, the light is gradually fading. Candles, once plentiful, become rarities, and the thread of melted wax fades as you go deeper into the dark, forgotten alleys. There, the city becomes quieter, less alive, and the shadows seem to close in on the souls of the disinherited. The light, once so generous, becomes a distant glimmer, a fleeting memory of what Chrystemis once was, before the light is slowly extinguished in the darkness of decline.
Headquarters of the Church of the Holy Light
In the heart of Chrystemis stands the Basilica of Peors, the sacred place where the Pope, spiritual head of the Empire, exercises his authority over souls and kingdoms. This imposing building contains fragments of sky, old shards that fell from the first Vault, dating back to the advent of the Sun. These celestial pieces whisper secrets of a bygone era, like silent witnesses to a forgotten grandeur.
In the depths of the basilica, another treasure lies hidden: tattooed skins, sacred relics of the seven kingdoms. They bear Adam's verses, transcribed in the Hymn of Light, a sacred book that guides the faithful. These skins, given as tribute by the great royal families, are living testimony to their devotion to the Empire. Each tattoo, each symbol engraved in the flesh, represents a covenant of blood and faith, a pledge of eternal loyalty to the Empire and its divine light.
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