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The Cursed Blue Rose
Nothing interrupts the southern grassland for a long way in any direction, and Bareshum sits in the middle of it: a major city on open ground, raised in the first wave of expansion after the original foundations and grown far past what that beginning promised. Grass country is easy to cross, which is both the whole of the city's fortune and the whole of its problem. Bareshum lives by arms. Horses, mustering fields, forage contracts, long low ranks of barracks and stores, roads kept clear because a road that cannot carry a column is not a road. Herds graze the surrounding plain, but they are remount stock and fodder before they are anybody's supper.
The people are Ashanar, keepers of covenant, and here that habit carries into service: terms of muster, contracts of arms, obligations counted out and honoured to the letter. Bareshum is the seat of its own allegiance. Nothing above it gives it orders, and the settlements of the surrounding country look to Bareshum instead, so that a decision taken on this grass is simply a decision taken.