Perched at the northernmost edge of the continent, Rhyl endures where few others would dare to live. Battered by harsh winds, buried beneath snow for much of the year, and locked beneath layers of ice that seal its harbors and mines for months at a time, Rhyl seems an unlikely place for any city to thrive. Yet thrive it does — not through wealth or comfort, but through endurance, discipline, and a culture shaped by centuries of hardship.

Rhyl’s soul belongs to the dwarves. Their influence is etched into every stone, from the heavy, angular architecture to the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the city streets. Though other peoples dwell here, it is the dwarves’ stoic and ascetic worldview that defines the character of Rhyl. Life here is plain, purposeful, and without indulgence. Joy is found in honest work, duty, and the quiet satisfaction of survival.

Often called the “City-Monastery,” Rhyl has long been a destination for those seeking redemption. Outcasts, penitents, and those with heavy pasts come north to start anew, adopting the city’s unspoken creed of humility and restraint. It is said no one asks why you came to Rhyl; they assume you came to leave something behind.

Though its economy lags behind more fortunate cities — its mines yield moderate wealth and its harbor freezes solid for much of the year — Rhyl holds a quiet, undeniable power. Long ago, the dwarves of this city crafted a code of law so balanced and enduring that it became the foundation for the entire continent’s legal traditions. To this day, no major law is passed without first consulting Rhyl’s dwarven elders. While they wield no formal veto, any law pushed forward against their counsel would risk scandal and undermine the fragile unity of the realm. In this way, Rhyl remains a silent guardian of order — a cold, austere beacon whose influence stretches far beyond its frozen borders.