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The Cursed Blue Rose
Far from any coast, in the dust-coloured interior where the continent's rains give out, Celasor sits on ground that offers nothing except what lies beneath it. The desert here is temperate rather than blistering, cold at night and hard-baked by day, thin in grass and thinner in water. The settlement is small, a working place of cuttings, spoil heaps and windbreaks rather than a proper city. Mining is the whole of its livelihood. Shafts and open workings follow the seams outward, and every load that leaves must cross a long stretch of dry country before it becomes worth anything to anyone.
Celasor belongs to the youngest layer of settlement, raised in the fifth and most recent wave of expansion. Its people are Lohanar by descent, though the accord-keeping habits of the southern cities sit differently this far inland; the Celasene reckon a man by the weight he shifts. The town answers to the Creed, and the Infernal Creed is the faith kept here, a hard discipline of mastery and obedience that suits a place where labour is measured in ore.