Very far away, in the center of a vast ocean of black waters, surrounded by eternal storms, is an island with seven hills. Here lies grim Stygia, home of the color-eaters.
The streets of Stygia are beaten iron, as are the buildings and structures. The poor live in cramped iron homes by the rusty docks, while the rich live in iron towers at the top of the hills. Shady parks, broad plazas, and quiet agoras are common. Morose horses pull iron carts between rows of tradesmen and temples. There are few taverns in Stygia, but there are many "affectivity centers." Here myriad color is sold as dusts and potions. The Stygians take their colors in groups or alone in private booths or private rooms, locked behind them. Once ingested they become consumed by a fierce, specific emotion associated with that color for up to several hours. Color is the only way the citizens of Stygia can feel any emotion.
Color is the most important commodity in Stygia. Gentle oranges and bright yellows are burned in iron lamps on the streets at night. Grainy rimson powder is combusted in the firearms constructed here. Enemies of the state are tortured with neon red, and interrogated with rose. Color is used in trade as often as the iron coins stamped in the cities mint.
The smiths of Stygia are legendary, and it is here that the demon Nuhdriel built the Soulforge, the vast factory that drains the bodies of the damned of color, and turns their bodies into molten steel. This Stygian steel is legendary for the edge it can hold, and no Stygian sword has ever broken in battle.
Few meet the men of Stygia on the roads and tunnels of the Bleaklands, although they are usually peaceful enough. Only the iron soldiers of Stygia need to be feared, for as often as not, they are looking for captives to drag back to the Soulforge to feed the color quota.