"Cressfil is absurdly monstrous, obscenely colossal and blasphemously bloated. It is man's cockprint on the surface of this tainted earth, his matter-of-fact threat that "I am here, I am now, my presence is a permanent one that you will NOT endure". A city so large that it might as well better be described as a collection of cities, for that it how it truly came to be; it's near perfect circular curtain walls a pretty facade for the fence it truly is with the purpose of containing the unstoppable growth of the the cities that spawned it into existence. Such vastly different corners it contains that they diverge from each other as much, or even more, than all the provinces of this empire of ours. One could live an entire life amongst the noble mansions that lie betwixt the palace and temples and believe it all to be heaven on earth, completely ignorant of that horrors that lurk beyond, of the crushing existence that punishes the millions of hapless souls condemned to walk those streets. The underhill of the cressborg is, at so many points, so condensed, so utterly packed with edifications three, four or five stories high, wider with each one, that it is perfectly possible for a man (or the empty husks that they call men there) to cross the entire west bank of the city on a sunny day and not see the resplendent face of our Holy Father. On cloudy days, it may as well be midnight, for the hill will block any shred of sunlight that could struggle to even search for an opening amongst the never ending tile roofs. The different areas and gates of the city open up to spew forth a myriad of peoples with such vastly different tongues that one could have twenty neighbors (a common occurrence in this nightmarish hellscape) and be completely incapable of speaking with any of them, ea h with their own monstrous barbaric language, uncivilized dialect or mongrel bastardized half-language. The air is a combination of mold, mud, feces (human and animal alike) and rotting corpses. This last one indistinguishable from the one that proceeds from the ever so present whorehouses, which so ineffectively attempt to cover it with perfumes and incenses. It's temple hill, it's Gotshora, is a colossal affront to any sense of piety anyone might have ever had. It attempted to appease all the souls and religious inquietudes of this realm… and yet managed to insult each and everyone of them. Each temple, monument and altar made with such intent to please all those that would not kneel before it, it resulted alien in nature to all those who might have called it divine in another time and place. This stone, brick and shit contraption is a stain on the creation of our gods. The sooner it is gone from this earth, the sooner it might heal, and we will be better for itobscenely