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.