The capital city of the Torch Empire. A towering, heavily industrialized nexus of brutal metallic urban architecture looming over a craggy wasteland. Ruined war machines, industrial garbage, and mounds of greasy rubble litter the surrounding landscape, cast in shadow by the smoke pouring from a dense cluster of interconnecting, grime-streaked structures. Hundreds of military and merchant airships flit in and out of the superstructure like bees wandering a hive. A central tower with three spires glows ominously through the gloom, like a castle of black steel. Around and over it, above the chaos of the city, float lavish fortress-mansions atop cone-shaped miniature steel islands.
Floating even higher above the city are a pair of gargantuan spherical braziers. Crimson fire bellows within each, adding to the smoke and drenching the city and its surroundings in ominous red-tinted light like miniature suns.
Population concentrates towards the center of the city, and wealth concentrates upwards - the richest live in flying mansions; the poorest scrape a living in the filthy undercity. The sun rarely reaches any residents, however; the thick, noxious smoke of industrial engines fills the sky.
Ruled directly by the Councils. Much of the Council of Iron lives above the city and conducts their business here.
Usually policed by a regiment of the Torch militia.
The center of the city, massive apartment megacomplexes that house most of the citizenry. The well-to-do, a rung below the grand merchants and noble houses, live in luxurious penthouses that require elevators to reach. Comfort and wealth diminishes closer to the ground level, the buildings melding into the grime of the undercity at the base.
A vertical marketplace that starts below ground level and climbs halfway up to the skyline, consisting of a chaotic assembly of stores and customers. In stalls, alcoves, and walkways climbing the metal towers, merchants hawk mundane and exotic wares, shouting over their neighbors, food stalls cook with live fires and vie for choice windy locations to advertise by smell, pickpockets run amok amidst the clamor and volume of people, and the local militia brutally but vainly attempts to keep it all in check. All sorts of bridges, stairs, and ladders traverse the markets and floating machines ferry people in between.
The markets stretch about halfway around the circumference of the Towers, avoiding the often poisonous fumes wafting from the Forges.
Near the base of the Towers can be seen a collection of glowing red, squat, blocky buildings venting pillars of the smoke that dominates the Twinpyre skyline. These are the Forges: massive arcanic factories to mass-produce the arms, armor, and siege weapons employed by the Torch Empire. Traffic in the area is choked with shipments of materials in and produced goods out, on land and across the sky bridges that web throughout the city.
Accidents and fires are common, probably the origin of the nickname Burnmen for the factory workers.
A strange stone chamber lies deep within, accessible through the Undercity.
The bowl of the crater sinks below most of the roads and structures of the city. Vagrants, addicts, orphans, and others unable to make a living in the city free from harassment from the militia come here to survive on the scraps.
A handful of illegal enterprises can be found down here, including the hideout of Nargat's gang of goblin kin.
Located east of the Towers complex, the primary point of arrival or departure for travel and trade in and out of the city. A cylindrical, tiered tower rising above the smaller buildings outside the complex and the nexus of much of the airship activity around the city.
Smaller ships fly in and out of the building, while larger ones are moored off to the side or rest on the top. Much of the traffic is from merchants and mercenaries, making the surrounding area surprisingly cosmopolitan. For every foreigner or unusual sight, however, there’s a bureaucrat to match to deal with taxation, travel documentation, parking, and inspections. Aside from their identification badge, they’re oppressively blandly dressed, counterbalancing the otherwise spectacular foot traffic of the docks.
Given the general chaos and proximity to valuables, a significant number of relatively disciplined militia (harder to bribe) are scattered throughout the docks. Surface-to-air weapons dot the perimeter of the building, locked away from public usage but ready to respond in case of hijacking or similar. Merchants often employ complementary mercenary guards - Twinpyre is home to several legendary larcenists, and the wealthy are willing to part with a bit of coin for peace of mind.
High-class inns surround the docks, their windows facing away from the smoky city center by contrivances of architecture. It’s said that most of a merchant’s job takes place here, making arrangements above or below the table. Belowgrounds are seedier inns and, of course, taverns to divert the mercenaries from merchants’ business.
The closer one travels to the edge of the crater, the fewer people one can find. Squatters and outlaws occupy derelict buildings, an eye to the militia ships patrolling overhead. Gangs, cultists, and conspiracies flourish here, away from the eye of the Torch.
A handful of locations are still worth visiting - the Rusty Dagger, under the crater's edge, is a middling bar on its own merits but an excellent place to find like-minded legally flexible associates for a job.
The wealthiest and most powerful residents of Twinpyre live far above the urban detritus in magically-airborne estates. Most residents of Twinpyre have never set foot upon one, but rumor abounds of the sorts of ostentatious and depraved luxuries the elite cavort with in the smoggy sky.
House Invernus resides in a picturesque villa, the atmosphere magically cultivated to match the balmier climes from which they hail.
Ozu of the Sapphire hosts extravagant markets in the crystalline Starthrone Court, far enough above the city to see the sky through the smoke.