Factions

        Tucked upon a sun-warmed ridge, nestled between forests, where the mountains give way to mineral-rich earth lies Emberdale, a city built on stone, softened by silk. Its veins run with silver and iron, but its heart beats to the rhythm of hospitality, guarded not by armies nor oaths — but by something rarer: balance.

        Once no more than a rugged mining outpost, Emberdale was carved by grit and guarded by gold. In its earliest days, mercenaries stood as the sole law, their loyalties as fluid as coin. But from among their number rose two figures of striking contrast and unshakable devotion: Caritas, embodiment of Charity, and his wife, Luxuria, embodiment of Lust.

        Though born of vice and virtue, their union was not scandal, but legend.

        Caritas, the shield of the poor and forgotten, gave freely what others hoarded: food, arms, shelter, wisdom. His presence calmed the blood of hired blades and turned raiders into residents. Luxuria, for her part, wielded desire not as indulgence but as influence — a master of the unspoken, the unseen, and the irresistible. What she could not charm, she bought; what she could not buy, she bound willingly with promise.

        When Emberdale grew too vital to ignore, both were knighted — not for blood spilled, but for lives preserved. Together, they became Lord and Lady of The Gilded Rose, a house as strange as it is admired.

        Their banner bears a single bloom: gold-petaled, thorned, and unbending.

        Despite their growing influence, The Gilded Rose has remained neutral in the rising civil fracture between The Burning Lily and The Lone Delphinium. Neither pledged to the crown of Humilitas, nor to the ambition of Avaritia, they instead offer Emberdale as sanctuary to all travelers, traitors, pilgrims, and princes alike — provided they leave their battles at the gate.

        This open hand has made Emberdale beloved by the common folk and viewed with wary respect by both thrones. To the desperate, it is a second chance. To the ambitious, a neutral ground. And to the weary, it is temptation incarnate.

        At the heart of that temptation lies the brothel — built long ago for the miners and mercenaries who first carved the stone halls of the city. Now it is a palace of velvet and discretion, known across The Garden for both pleasure and safety.

        Its mistress, however, loathes her title.

        Castitas, sister to Caritas and personification of Chastity, governs the brothel not with delight, but with discipline. She does not indulge in its offerings nor pretend to sanctify them. Instead, she sees to the well-being of the women and men within it — protecting them with silent ferocity. “If the world demands beauty,” she has said, “then let it be guarded.” Her paradox is whispered with reverence across Emberdale: The Chaste Madam of the House of Desire.

        Though Caritas bears royal blood — cousin to Avaritia herself — he has rejected every summons from Vandylcourt. "Greed calls not to family, only to itself," he once told a spy who came bearing his aunt’s seal. His wife, Luxuria, agreed with a wry smile and a drawn blade.

        Emberdale endures as a rare third path: a city not of conquest, but of refuge. It is whispered that even Patientia once visited its halls in secret, and that Humanitas sends letters to Caritas sealed in blank wax.

        But for now, The Gilded Rose watches from behind its mineral walls and velvet veils — offering warmth to those who flee the growing storm, and wondering how long neutrality can bloom in a garden overrun by thorns.