Coatlán

Capital of Dajjashi

Coatlán, “The Place of the Serpent,” rises from the valley like a living monument to power. Encircled by towering stone walls and nourished by the river that winds through its canals, the city is the beating heart of Dajjashi. At its center, the Great Pyramid of the Serpent pierces the sky, flanked by colossal statues of jaguars and serpents that keep eternal vigil over the Sacred Core.

Founded generations ago, Coatlán was raised upon ground chosen by divine omen — where a serpent was seen drinking from the river beneath the shadow of the mountains. From that moment, it became a holy seat of power, where rulers and priests claimed their right to rule as descendants of divine blood.

The Sacred Design

The city’s layout reflects cosmic order and the duality of Eztli’s reign.

• The Sacred Core: Within the inner circle stand the Great Pyramid, the Royal Palace, and shrines aligned with the stars. Here, law, ritual, and divine command shape the destiny of the realm. The circle’s four gates, aligned to the cardinal directions, are guarded by the Fangs of Midnight.
• The Market Quarter: Alive with merchants, artisans, and barter, its streets hum with voices and color. It is said the city’s heartbeat can be heard in its markets.
• The Residential Rings: Clusters of stone and clay homes spread outward in ordered grids, bound by canals that bring water, life, and prosperity into every district.
• The Arena of Coatlán: Built beyond the southern gate, the Arena unites strength and spectacle. Here, tournaments, rituals, and trials by combat are judged before gods and mortals alike.

To allies, Coatlán is the Serpent’s Crown: a beacon of order, wealth, and faith, radiating the blessings of the gods. To enemies, it is a fortress of dread — its walls whispering with the hiss of serpents, daring any who approach to tempt their fate.

Coatlán does not merely rule Dajjashi. It is Dajjashi — the sacred seat of its heart, fangs, and spirit.

“I first beheld Coatlán as the morning mist lifted from the valley. Its walls rose like the coils of a serpent, perfect and unbroken, and within them the Great Pyramid of the Serpent pierced the heavens. At its base crouched a jaguar of stone, watching with unblinking eyes, and across from it coiled the great serpent, its fangs bared as if ready to strike.

Crossing the river bridge, all fell silent in our caravan. Even the merchants grew hushed, for the city itself seemed to demand reverence. At the gate, warriors clad in scaled armor inspected us — their obsidian blades gleaming, their stares sharper still. They bore the mark of the Fangs of Midnight, and in that moment, I knew why none dare test Coatlán’s defenses.

Inside, the city pulsed with life. Markets rang with laughter and barter, incense curled from shrines, and canals carried both water and drifting petals of bright flowers. Yet the closer we came to the Sacred Core, the quieter it became. The chants of priests and the beat of drums echoed up the pyramid steps, and I felt as though I had entered a place where gods themselves walked.

And then I saw the Arena. South of the walls, its great circle waited — a place where fate was decided in blood. The locals spoke of it with awe, and even fear, as if it was as holy as the pyramid itself.

To call Coatlán a city is to call the sun a torch. It breathes. It judges. It belongs not to mortals alone, but to the gods themselves.”