The capital of the Mandateum is the city-isle of Marrowcrown. Originally an imposing spire of unforgiving rock ringed by tiny islands and rocky shoals, Marrowcrown has long since been mined and developed to capacity. Steppes sheltering blocky houses and offices have been carved into every possible rock face. Travelers make their way up and down the spire by circuitous stairs, alternatively exposed to the open air and plunging into winding caves, always marked by watchful eyes. Imported stone and timber blossoms out from the stone in increasingly precariously-engineered attempts to claim more space for the ever-expanding bureaucracy, the bickering nobility, and their vast pyramid of supporting services. The entire structure resembles an inverted pyramid, as near to collapse as the empire it supports.
Nothing but mold grows on Marrowcrown; there’s no soil nor groundwater. Rainfall is collected for drinking through gutter systems, oil-burning stills on the outlying islands supplement water. Fish and crustaceans harvested from the extensive shoals are the local delicacy, if Marrowcrown can even be said to have one: foods are imported from the rest of the Shattered Isles as part of the imperial tax. Marrowcrown’s primary export are laws and litigations, though marriages, contracts, and betrayals form a close second.