Irithyll, at once the most beautiful frozen jewel of the Boreal Valley and the most deadly. Pontif Knights stalk the frosted paths of the city with a grace unlike any other warrior in plate armour. They lead processions of the last townsfolk to remain, subservient husks of lives once elegant. Among them exist twisted specters. the first and last of them to be seen is their ghastly glowing eyes gazing from shadow-steeped alleys and backrooms. What madness has Pontif Sulyvahn brought to the city, who can say but, what is known is that Irithyll is His and no trespasser shall be permitted to walk freely..