Below is a description of the City of Necromancers.  The sword-style of the city is Dössian Whispering Edge.

Döss ...

If the Circle Sea is a crown, then Döss is its dark gem. Döss is a city consumed by dark desires and its own love of death, or perhaps its own deathwish.

As the Free Cities go it is young, though you would not think this were you staring at its dark cobblestones and ashen archways. The more favorable lands for building cities were already used when the Necromancers came. To them were left rocky crags split by hungry rivers and surrounded by dark swamps.

But the Necromancers were patient and not easily cowed.
They built. Their workers never tired, for to tire requires life. They cared not for danger, as they had no hearts or souls to feel the thrill of fear. They worked night and day, bringing forth the dark alabaster that adorns so many of the buildings of Döss.

And finally, after nearly a year, the Ghost Council was ready to receive visitors and do business. The lifeless servants were hidden away, and the only the most ominous silk robes were worn.

One does not travel to Döss to find silks, though silks dark as night adorn the Ossuary where the Council meets, and black silk bandages wrap the bodies of the respected dead in their mausoleums.

One does not travel to Döss to buy gold or gems, though the Necromancers are said to be rich beyond measure.

One travels to Döss only when one must deal in death.

Elixirs are known in Döss, it is said, that can prolong a man's life.
Potent charms can be had in Döss that will fortify the heart and provide life even though the body is rent and torn.
There is a well full of black water that whispers the secrets of a man's life, if one is willing to take a sip of the dark liquid.

A sword to steal a man's life? It can be had.
A powder than can bring an endless death-dream to those that breath it? Sold regularly in the silent markets.
Immortality? The Ghost Council is living proof of the availability of this commodity.
A talisman to bind the soul of a treacherous lover? Easily found if your purse is deep.

Life, death, souls. These are the things Döss deals in.

Döss provides the forbidden. Döss traffics in things the other Free Cities shy away from. The worst blasphemies occur behind closed doors, but the magic fashioned by such rites always finds a buyer, eventually.

The first Necromancers were outcasts from the Pentatra. They fled when the ruined Temples had not recovered from the Beneath's Rising. The holy facade that their brethren adopted could not hide the dark obsession that burned like a fever behind their eyes.

Later they were joined by exiled ælven mages, masters of similar dark arts left homeless by the civil war within the Ælven Empire of Xauphinelle. With them they brought stolen artifacts and scrolls the Empire thought destroyed long ago.

From a small cluster of dark vaulted roofs, Döss grew. Only the truly desperate and fallen sought out the rocky shores and the depthless marshes. But they came, and perhaps even the Ghost Council was surprised with the city's growth.

Döss is a place where the doomed come to rest. Where the flagellated soul can find service with those even more despised than they.

In the early days, the Free Cities saw Döss as a tool to use against their rivals. Peddlers of curses and dire magics, fell arms and dark enchantments. Then the aging rulers of some of the Cities sought them out as their health began to fail them. Everyone knows how the Despot of Choldai has lived so impossibly long, yet only a scant handful know the price he must pay for each year of life.

Though the Ælven Empire frowns upon death magic, it is said they have forged bonds with Döss, perhaps even reinstating the ælven liches as citizens-in-exile. The Pentatra, now finally recovered to some measure of its old strength, fears to move against the City of Abominations, lest the Empire bring its wrath against them.

Of course, Döss is not without teeth of its own. Undead soldiers are only six feet away, though the silent steps of the Shy Muses dissuade many would-be attackers. More than one dead Pentatric priest has been blamed on the Muses and their undying masters. Against hostile magic, Döss is warded and sealed. Even the mighty Pentatra has not yet pierced their mystic defenses.

Maggots crawl in the City of Corpses. Dark gondolas slide along the stone canals. There is a taint of evil to the city, it is true, but beneath it all, the Ghost Council are essentially merchants of death.

The dark attire, the fearful populace, the grim delights of the midnight bazaars, the unseen assassins; these all serve to enhance the mystique of the reclusive Necromancers, scare the Holy Pentatra, and create business for the city. The rulers of Döss revel in their gaudy evil, knowing full well that they are merely businessmen with no morals who provide tools to those without the means to manifest their own petty spite and vanity.

The true Evil, whisper the Ghost Council, flaps on slow wings above the palaces of the Vezanti.

Yet some folk wonder. Why go through such hardship, risk the fires of the Pentatra, and build a city from nothing? Can it truly be for love of money? To one who has mastered death, what allure can coinage hold?

And yet, if they do not love money simply for money's sake... what do the Necromancers of Döss seek to fund? To what endeavors do agelss lords of unlife turn their coin? Are there yet further heresies that demand their research? Are there things in the partially flooded catacombs that the Ghost Council keeps hidden? What of the archaeological expeditions that are seen leaving Vesh, and are rumored to be secretly funded by the Necromancers of Döss?

Some folk wonder, and hope the truth is not so foreboding as their dire speculations.