Rainoga

Kintyre lies entombed in the glacial depths of Cania, the eighth layer of the Nine Hells—a silent, frozen city preserved in a state of mysterious stasis beneath miles of blue-black ice. Vast and uninhabited, its architecture is like nothing known in mortal or infernal realms: asymmetrical spires, ribbed domes, and sharp-angled vaults etched with symbols not yet deciphered. No records name its builders, and none claim dominion over it, yet its presence suggests a civilization lost or a dark purpose awaiting fulfillment. Some infernal scholars whisper it predates even Mephistopheles’s rise, while others suspect it is a prison, a vault, or a dormant weapon hidden in the cold. Reaching Kintyre is perilous—the air brittle with frost-magic, the ice cracking beneath one’s feet, and the presence of Cania’s native gelugons and pitiless winds ever near. Those who’ve glimpsed it speak of a humming beneath the silence, as though the city still dreams, waiting for something—or someone—to awaken it.

Dimly visible beneath layered ice, Kintyre’s towers jut like jagged teeth, shadowed in eerie blue light. Strange, spined structures curl impossibly upward, frozen mid-reach. The ice above glistens with frostfire veins, and the cold is so deep it bites through magic. Silent and vast, the city seems to listen, as if it remembers everything buried with it. Nothing moves—but something waits.