It sits on the border of two provinces, appearing only at night as a black city of glistening stone and shining golden lights. It is said its inhabitants are descended from shape-changing spirits who intermarried with humans, this heritage distinguishes them with the conspicuous lack of a nose. Each third night of the month all the local townsfolk from the two provinces to either side of Bilbiring row their boats, laden with goods, out to the glistening black city to do trade and make merry love with its inhabitants.
In the cold north waters, far from shore, through the mists, following the smell of boiling blubber on the breeze, you can find the city. Its harbor crowded with strange ships, the clapboard houses rising up around the tryworks, brothels, and blacksmiths. Odd blubbers are sold here. Products of things which one might hazard to call whales. And even odder are the many manners of whaler, cloaked in oilskins which conceal atypical bodies.
It is a country of reverse spires sunken into the ground, and of inhabitants who walk backwards and speak backwards and proceed through all of their life in reverse. Visitors are provided with charms, little necklace bells which ring before you shake them, that allow for interaction, though it remains a headache inducing process. Folk who peddle in the arts of harm oft covet the blades of Esrever, able to wound before a blow is made.