Zehazel (rhymes with "parcel", not "hazel"), otherwise known as the City of Five Spires, is a sprawling megalopolis of more than a million souls. It nestles between a range of impassable mountains and a permanently mist-enshrouded sea; the coastline stretching out in either direction does not lead anywhere within travelling distance.
Approaching Zehazel from the west, the mists part before a traveller's ship to reveal a wondrous sight: a sprawling mixture of architectural styles rising up into the foothills of the vast Carnassial Mountains. The eye is caught by five towering spires at different points in the city. The most impressive is a central structure that appears to be some sort of palace: windows peep out from its ivied and ornately decorated walls. This is indeed the residence of the Emperor of this place; of the other four spires two lie above and two below the Imperial Palace. Closest to the harbour is Low Spire, a weather-beaten column topped by the statue of some unknown dignitary or hero, staring sadly out to sea, his hair white from the attentions of seagulls. A little higher up, to the left is Old Spire, a tapering monolith of grainy stone inscribed with spidery characters from an arcane and forgotten alphabet. Above the Palace and to its right is High Spire, a proud and well-kept marble monument; and highest of all, to the left again, is Bright Spire, a gleaming belltower with windows of stained glass, golden in the light of the sun.
The traveller will soon put in at Zehazel's impressive harbour, no doubt with the assistance of the Gulliver, the harbourmasters there. Whatever sort of vessel he has arrived in, it will probably be no stranger than any of the other ships docked there. Splendid galleons sit side by side with rafts, triremes, gondolas and more: all manner of lost seafarers find their way to Zehazel, though most depart not long after they arrive. The traveller may wish to join some of them for a drink at The Port Of Call, justly renowned for the diversity of the stories that its even more diverse clientele vie with each other in telling.
After the refreshment of a drink and his fill of tall tales, the traveller may make his way into the city proper. He already knows that the harbour is run by the Gulliver, who (as they have informed him with some pride) are the only residents of Zehazel that can navigate ships through the enveloping mists to the "islands" beyond and back again. They are only one of twenty "allegiances" that have power in the city - each has their own area of domain.
If the traveller does not hurry on past them, his first impressions of the city will be formed by the seedier districts just beyond the docks. In one direction lies the prison district, run by the often brutal turnkeys of Vermiform; in the other the neighbourhood of brothels and gambling dens overseen by the organisation calling itself the Lascari. Presuming that he is of refined character, the traveller will hasten to reach the slightly less rundown streets of Dionysian, home to Zehazel's theatre and more aesthetic forms of debauchery.
He is now almost within the shadow of the Palace, but perhaps he will stop to consider making a leftward turn to the districts clustered round the Old Spire. He will probably think better of it, considering the reputation of the belligerent soldiers of Antioch, the nocturnal overlords of Revenant with their dark practices, and the mocking, aloof magicians of Caliban. The opposite direction would seem to be somewhat more pleasant, leading as it does to the elegant dwellings of the socialites of Melmoth, and beyond that the windmills and observatories of the eccentric artificers of Daedalus.
But let us follow our traveller to the very foot of the Imperial Palace, so that we may wonder along with him at the stories of an Emperor within who has been asleep in his throne as long as anyone can remember, lulled to eternal slumber in a garden of soporific blooms. It is said that he dreams everything that happens in Zehazel, and that the sleep of every other citizen is a dreamless one. The Palace is immediately bordered by three relatively affluent districts: that bequeathed to the sorcerous initiates of Gatekeeper, the hereditary guardians of the Palace; the domed townhouses and libraries of the philosophers and scholars of Bartholomew; and the district of Arbiter, containing the Court of Law and the parliament house where political decisions are reached.
Moving rightwards the traveller climbs to High Spire, which stands where Bartholomew adjoins the mansions of the aristocratic families of Vervain, and the sometimes vulgarly ostentatious splendours of the merchant quarter of Sardanapalus. He can browse the market here and hopefully find enough bargains to forestall the need to revisit Lascari and its black marketeers; or moving on, find the Temple of All Gods at the intersection of four domains, and discuss matters of faith in an ecumenical environment.
Beyond the Temple our traveller arrives at the slopes of Palatine, home of the Bright Spire under which the white-cloaked Knights of the Citadel drill and pray. Palatine neighbours Mordecai and Gethsemane; the former home to ascetic monks striving towards physical and mental perfection, the latter a verdant garden tended by the kind and charitable healers of the same name.
Gethsemane is the easternmost domain of the city, but outside its walls exists a shanty town inhabited by some of the Jugurtha barbarians who dwell upon the lower slopes of the Carnassials. A simple but hardy people, whatever secrets the Carnassials hide, only they can possibly have glimpsed them.
The traveller has so far encountered eighteen factions represented in Zehazel's parliament; there are two more to tell of. The voice of the common man in the city is represented by a Demagogue of Tatterdemalion. By far the most populous of the domains, Tatterdemalion is usally the most overlooked, but its servants are everywhere, including the tunnels of the Undercity on which Zehazel is built. In contrast to their numbers, the mysterious assassins of Barabbas are believed to number only a few; at meetings of parliament their representative always appears in a featureless black hood, twin swords crossed over his back.
Perhaps our traveller will now turn away from this city of tensions and contradictions, return to the harbour and set sail again in the hope of finding whatever place it is he calls home. Or else perhaps he will remain here, Elsewhere...