Imer
The capital city of the Protectorate of Menoth, Imer was once a vision of
Menoth’s will made manifest on Caen. Every wall, structure,
and flame in the city was a testament to the might of the
Creator. From the Holy See, the city was ruled by the Synod
of Visgoths and by the priest-king known as the Hierarch.
These structures still remain, but fewer Flameguard stand at
attention before their massive gilt doors, and those Visgoths
who survived the Claiming and the ensuing chaos are now
paranoid and ever watchful, uncertain which members
among their flock—or even among their own number—can
truly be trusted.
The Protectorate of Menoth had always been a land dedicated to the ideal of vigilance—a place where scrutators held vast powers and where torment upon the wrack was seen as a way of becoming closer to the Maker. But today, more than ever before, no one is safe from accusations of heresy, and the handful of faithful who remain in the capital city know that one day they too may be dragged from their beds on the orders of paranoid men who have lived to see their dream of a Great Crusade broken.
At the height of the Protectorate’s power, Imer was a teeming city of thousands, but today it holds barely a tenth of that number. Empty, boarded-up buildings outnumber the city’s populated dwellings, and most of those who stay in the capital are either guards of the Visgoths or attendants of the Holy See. In what was once the seat of Menoth’s power on Caen, the streets are now eerily empty and silent, and the closer one draws to the city’s outer walls, the more likely one is to encounter something inhuman that has found its way into the city from the desert beyond.
The Protectorate of Menoth had always been a land dedicated to the ideal of vigilance—a place where scrutators held vast powers and where torment upon the wrack was seen as a way of becoming closer to the Maker. But today, more than ever before, no one is safe from accusations of heresy, and the handful of faithful who remain in the capital city know that one day they too may be dragged from their beds on the orders of paranoid men who have lived to see their dream of a Great Crusade broken.
At the height of the Protectorate’s power, Imer was a teeming city of thousands, but today it holds barely a tenth of that number. Empty, boarded-up buildings outnumber the city’s populated dwellings, and most of those who stay in the capital are either guards of the Visgoths or attendants of the Holy See. In what was once the seat of Menoth’s power on Caen, the streets are now eerily empty and silent, and the closer one draws to the city’s outer walls, the more likely one is to encounter something inhuman that has found its way into the city from the desert beyond.
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