Kaltenburg
The Stone That Does Not Yield
Set into the shoulder of the Silver Bastions, where the peaks cut the sky and avalanches echo like war drums, stands Kaltenburg—a fortress-city as old as House Steiner's claim to rule. If Tharkad is the crown, Kaltenburg is the shield: stern, unbending, and eternally prepared.
Carved directly into the mountain rock, Kaltenburg's walls are not built—they are shaped. Its outer defenses, known as the Iron Crescent, follow the edge of a sheer cliff, turning every approach into a gauntlet of frost, steel, and death. Dozens of watchtowers ring the pass, their beacon fires ready to blaze in warning at the first sign of movement across the snowbound borderlands. Kaltenburg is not merely a fortress—it is a culture. Here, the ideals of duty, order, and self-sacrifice are more than slogans; they are law. Every citizen is expected to train with blade or shield from youth. Guilds of armorers, tacticians, and siege-mages operate in disciplined silence beneath vaulted ceilings, their work steady, solemn, and relentless. The forges burn night and day, not out of necessity, but tradition.
At the city's heart lies the Citadel of the Oath, where the stone floor is engraved with the names of every fallen defender since the League of Stars fell. No one enters without kneeling first—be they noble or common.
Within its halls, the ruling Lord-Militant of Kaltenburg commands the city's garrison and oversees the ancient knight-companies sworn to defend the Ironhold Marches. Behind that leadership stands the Steiner-Loyalist Assembly, a council of veteran commanders, law-magi, and oathbound stewards who govern with precision and restraint.
Despite its cold austerity, Kaltenburg is not joyless. When the mountain blooms in spring, the people celebrate the Festival of the Horn, an ancient rite where mountain horns are sounded from cliffside balconies, and ancestral songs echo down the valleys in great, thunderous harmony. Duels of honor are held in snow-ringed arenas, and even children carry carved wooden swords in play, mirroring the martial pride of their kin. Magic in Kaltenburg is strictly regulated. Enchantment is limited to defense, healing, and oathbinding. Any spell deemed deceptive, chaotic, or unnatural is forbidden, and those few court magi who serve the city wear their house sigils in plain view, lest none forget who they serve—and who holds them accountable.
To outsiders, Kaltenburg is grim and unwelcoming. To the Lyran people, it is sacred ground. For in its foundations lie not only stone and steel but also the honor of House Steiner, hammered into shape by centuries of sacrifice.
“A sword unsheathed in Kaltenburg is a vow already sworn.” — High Marshal Friedrik Albrecht, Ironhold Doctrine
