The ramshackle heart of the Marashi, Ksenar is less a city and more a gathering of scavenged dwellings, woven tents, and towering wooden scaffolds built into the cliffs. Smoke rises in twisting spirals from its countless fires, where warriors sharpen their blades and shamans whisper to the bones of the dead. The Marashi are a people of movement, seldom staying in one place for long, but Ksenar endures—a city of restless spirits, of shifting alliances, and of warriors who bow to no king but the desert itself.