Vas Voran

Foyle, worldly wise, competent and confident. Don't cross Foyle, matey, 'twould be a sore thing to do.

Old even a thousand years ago, Canal Cursed Solis sits on a rocky outcrop at the mouth of the Dal, brooding and malevolent, a slumbering dragon with a thousand teeth and breath of flame. In the distance, the dying light of a winter sun glints silver reflection off the Canal that caused her downfall. And at the head of that cursed Canal sits Dal-Haven. Gate Guard for the City States up river, defending trade and acting as warder against the viperous thing that people call Solis. Solace, Solis, Soul- less. What was, what is, what will be.

A strange place with an even stranger past.