Easifatun Temple

The Shal’Azuran temple of the Storm Lord, poised at the heart of Amana district, was not merely a sanctuary; it was a testament to the grand ambitions and engineered majesty of those who worshiped Kord. Its foundation was hewn from a rare, teal-veined marble quarried from the valley floor centuries past, but as the city ascended, so too did the shrine, growing skyward with every generation of faithful. Today, it loomed over the Grand Bazaar as an Olympian spear of colonnades and tiered buttresses, each level ringed with obsidian glyphs that shimmered and spat electric blue motes at dusk. The spire, itself an architectural act of defiance, was rumored to be the tallest in the city—taller, even, than the domes of Warda, though only the most irreverent would dare say so aloud.   Within its halls, a thousand banners of cloud-woven silk draped between columns, each stitched with the sigil of a past hero of the Separ Talsam or the icon of an ancient storm. From the temple’s highest gallery, one could cast their gaze across the entire city, to the salt-flats in the distance and the tumultuous sky above, and, on rare, clear days, see the ragged peaks of the Wadi Adkhar far below, as if Shal’Azura itself were a ship sailing the clouds. For many, the temple was a lighthouse—guiding, intimidating, and inescapable.   It was here, amid the relentless tolling of bronze bells and the scent of charged air, that the Separ Talsam had established their dominion. This order of storm priests and martial devotees served not only as the custodians of faith, but as the unyielding muscle of the city’s law enforcement. They kept the lightning rods humming, the leylines pulsing, and the hearts of the devout in perpetual, adrenal reverence. Their meetings were held in a sanctum half-vaulted and half open to the sky, exposed deliberately to the tempest; they believed the pain and clarity of the elements to be a necessary part of holiness.