The heart and soul of Crue Efros from which the vampiric aristocracy rules with an iron fist. The main seat and the reigning city that stares down at the world from its gilded throne. The poorer districts make up the outer perimeter of the city. While the middle compromises of the vast markets, both humane and otherwise. Boutiques and grand shows of craftsmanship can be witnessed here, as well as buying fresh fodder for your household. All is brandished on proud display here. Within the center lies the palace and noble grounds where the lords and ladies of the council and court reside. It is a city of wealth and beauty wherein even the commoners and those seen and poorer and unfortunate tower socially over all others.

A darker, more private settlement under the rule of the Red Queen. Those that dwell here are rougher, less refined, and spoiled than those within the capitol and yet they still hold true to their roots with blinding charm. Not as much coin circulates these streets, markets and conditions are crueler here and many of the cattle are still wild, fresh, and unbroken. While not going without or reduced to poverty by any means with the current power standings and recent conquering of Dunmeath, the quality here is a far cry from that found in Lavalles.

The once lush and verdant fields that grew crops now house the sad reality that the once-proud people of Crue Efros now face. It is the closest semblance of a human settlement excluding the lands known only as Sanctuary. To the untrained eye, it would almost appear to be a haven in the midst of hell. Children run and play and the rare glimpses of smiles can be captured in rare moments of peace. In truth, vegetation is not the only thing grown here, and cattle are not the only fodder butchered. The mortals work the fields, supplying food that only their kin need. It is sold to the cities and meager amounts are kept to feed the denizens here. Their every move is closely monitored by the Wardens. Upon the land, somewhere unknown to those who truly live there is The Slaughterhouse. The humans only know of it in whispered tales and rumors, but they all know its existence to be true and that it is the final stop in their lives. Those who are sick or simply aged beyond their use in the fields are taken away, never to return.

The wilderness that encircles the niches of Crue Efros. For the most part the lands are flat and hide pockets of treacherous marshland. The occasional wild livestock can be discovered as remnants from human rule, nearly all feral life has been diminished. The regular hunts of vampiric over lords and the desperate poor eager to slake their thirst temporarily despite the repercussions suffered later have nearly wiped clean the slate. Trees are few and far between, their boughs tangled into sparse skeleton copses where the estranged songs of birds are little more than soft banter with the crushing silence. Rivers are a plenty and they run free and pure. Mist clings to the low grounds and plateaus in the morning, chased away by the sun only to return as a thicker blanket near nightfall.

A proud nation built upon an age of declaration and strength. Lycanthropy has always dug its claws deep within the people here, a noble bloodline that hails back to the first ships that landed upon the cusp of the continent. The ale hall that first graced the highest peak within Vufrein later became the kingdom of Odersten. The ancient bloodline that can trace its proud heritage all the way back to the very beginning of the First Hunters still maintains rule through might and gleaned respect from peers alike. In a sense, there is no immediate signs of social standing within the city should one be unaccustomed to the culture of its people. The buildings lack the striking gothic architecture of Lavalles, instead they are more earthen. The stains of war and lost land and trade can be felt strongly here. Despair haunts the once jovial streets, a looming dread weaving tight within the misty hold.

A smaller settlement that sits in a valley behind the mountain that homes Odersten. While mankind has found purchase within the arms of the capitol as well, it is here that most free humans live and dwell among the Lycans. The effects of the ongoing war can be felt the most profoundly here. Patrols are regular, and the once middleclass area has been transformed into a travesty procession of refugees. Tents and hastily built shacks dapple the once neat and well kept perimeter. Filth and mire has multiplied, and the cut off of trade from the sundered farm lands of Dunmeath have forced many to till the rocky fields that surround the relatively flat city-state in hopes of production. However, the most sought after freedom for many resides here: the trading harbor that connects Vufrien to the outside world.

PLOT UPDATE: This land is under the rule of queen Émilienne Kaplan.
Fertile land used primarily for farming. Small settlements dot its face, farmsteads and wineries, large manners that once belonged to wealthy mortals. Now, all lay in ruin, torn apart by war and strife. Blood now waters the crops, and those that once manned the fields have been relieved of their duties by chains or death. Beasts of burden and livestock have either been transferred to the dreaded fields of Anderstel or released upon the wilds to fend for themselves as the new rulers of this territory no longer have need of such 'food', their palates requiring something different.

The untamed savagery of the lands surrounding Vufrien are a mixtures of towering mountains and deep ravines. Fresh and salt water mix with crashing waves through the narrow straights that connect to the sea. Tall, proud fir trees stand as monoliths over the rocky outcroppings, dense canopies making the landscape appear much darker than it truly is. Snow lingers constantly upon the upper peaks and the climate stays cooler year round in comparison to the flat lands of Crue Efros. Hidden within the mountains lies a place known simply as Sanctuary. It is the last truly free mortal settlement in all the realm. The main constructs were abandoned in ages long since passed, unknown in their origins but repurposed for survival of a dying race.

The Dead Straight many sailors have named it, dreading the open stretch of unassuming water where the inexperienced go to drown. A fate gained only if they are lucky, for lurking beneath the tempestuous waves lies the bones of ships sent to the murky deep. Through the wavering darkness of the ocean, the portholes still wink and call to those who are cast or brought below the surface. The husks and corpses of treated planks and metal now serve as a thriving metropolis for those who dug the graves, housed in precarious tandem upon the faces of rock cliffs and crags that decorate the aquatic shelf.

Secluded by the dark of the ocean's arms, there lies a bubble of fresh air. A mystic barrier provides shelter and dry earth for those who wish to seclude themselves from the troubles of the world above. There grow trees here, bathed in gentle wreaths of phosphorus material, gently glowing to offer illumination to the denizens of the hollow. The ground is fertile enough to grow some crops, though vegetation doesn't flourish without the warm rays of the sun to grace its leaves and petals.

The waters here are warm and plentiful, kelp dances playfully under the span of the eb and tide and sea. The flourish of racing fish shimmer and dance with the dancing rays of the sun, attracting the eye of fisherman. Meanwhile, the warm traces of the sandy beach attract the visitation of those who merely wish to indulge in bathing. The shallows offer protection to those who may shed their skins, offering a place for them to socialize without the threat of dark shadows trolling beneath them.

The dark moors. A morose land of swamps and placid lakes. While there are fresh glades and oases that offer plentiful flowers and beautiful landscapes, the majority of the wilds here are not as welcoming as the majority of the continent. Other dangers besides the treacherous footing haunt the edges of peripherals, shadows lurking in the water. Ever watchful, an eerie feeling of malcontent lays thick upon the atmosphere here, and those who wander there alone are often not seen again. Or they're found floating.