The capital of Durnhalm sat proudly at the southern tip of the nation, where the land ended and the vast, endless ocean began. At night, the city glowed softly with lanterns and torchlight, their warm flickers dancing in the salty sea breeze.
From the high stone walls to the busy ports below, everything in Durnhalm carried a sense of strength and order. The streets were wide and clean, lined with dark-roofed buildings made of thick stone, built to endure harsh weather and war alike.
Beyond its strong military, Durnhalm was known across the land for something far simpler—its fish. Ships came in and out of the harbor even at night, carrying nets full of fresh catch. The air always carried a trace of salt and smoke, mixed with the sharp, savory scent of grilled fish from food stalls scattered near the docks.
