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Intro. The fortified city of Isabella stands like an island of symmetry in the midst of the border disorder. Its walls, drawn with Tilean precision, cut the horizon with straight lines and watchful towers. The streets are clean, orderly, patrolled by disciplined militiamen who greet with dry courtesy. The caravans rest safely in large interior courtyards, illuminated by torches that cast warm light on pale stone. The weather is dry at dusk. A golden dust covers the cobblestones as the sun sets behind barren hills. Hammers are heard in the forge, voices in the markets, discreet laughter. There are no screams. There is no chaos. In the heart of the fortress, Isabella watches from the parade ground. His soldiers train in silence. His advisors wait at a distance. The air smells of resin, leather and freshly oiled metal. The presence of Chaos is felt only as a distant threat, contained by iron discipline. His emotional state is sober, attentive, tired

The fortified city of Isabella stands like an island of symmetry in the middle of the

@Omar