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Sundren City.
Or what’s left of it.
The city floats high above the landscape it used to occupy, once friendly brooks, fields and rambles now a distant and hostile nation. The vast chunk of Cheapside that failed to take to the air as well as the rest of the city remains a gaping wound in the cities silhouette. Many of those in that district remember the screams as it crumbled and fell. The terrible screams of the earth in pain, the bestial howl of people screaming their last breaths away in panic, the roar of houses packed with terrified refugees and residents as they folded in upon themselves and rained wasted lives and rubble onto the ground so far below.
Life within the city remains tense, amongst the clouds water may seem to be everywhere, but the endless damp and chill of the air has left much of the city coated in green and unpleasant algae. Cheapside has been affected the worst, it’s densely packed timber buildings seem to attract the worst of the mists and rain, leaving fetid pools of water in its mud logged streets, in places mud so churned and fouled with all manner of waste that it threatens to suck the unwary to a stinking and horrific grave.
Clean water is a precious and rare commodity, rain water, pond water or worse is a staple for many and disease, sickness and fever stalk the streets, communicable diseases multiplying rapidly in the dank atmosphere. Rumours speak of a priestess of Talona within the city, many people pick at these rumours in the hope that with the right donation to Plague Mother that they will be spared from her illnesses.
The Legion does what it can, distributes bags of flour or pots of hot gruel, but too many of its men are hardened soldiers, men who’ve been forged in the heat of battle against monstrous foes. The scars of combat experience can be seen in the actions of many men as they work, alert, twitchy and ready for violence amid the desperate clamour and press of hungry bodies.
The Triumvirate is almost besieged, the stern stance on travel within the cities districts means many of the most desperate cases cannot travel to their lavish temple in the Aspirations. Amongst the population a percentage have turned against them, accusing them of terrible hypocrisy as they keep to their bastion of righteousness far from the suffering people.
Those of Ilmater do what works they can amongst the poor, tending to fever, injury and sickness, teaching the people to carry their burdens. But their numbers are few and their supplies limited. Against the thousands of voices clamouring for their aid and assistance their works seems futile.
The users of magic in the city are feared now more than ever, feared for the power they wield and for the terrible consequences of its use. Minor talents have been known to simply disappear at night, swallowed up by the city. Some blame the shadowy figures of the 13th Legion, others lay the blame the Hands or the very magic that keeps the city afloat as they talk of souls consumed in the dark to keep the cities mass afloat, a handful simply smile at the news, sit back and say “Better dead and gone than here to doom us all.”
Myrios Tebran Dular, commander of the 5th Legion and well known for his love of finery, pomp and circumstance, has nearly trebled the guards on his Legions stables. Public announcements say this is to protect the fine bloodlines of the Legions finest horses during times of hardship. Quite what they’re being protected against is anyones guess, though stories persist of Dular being overheard at a party saying it was from “wretched beggers and bloody poor people” who might consider his prized beasts as food in such hard times. Several chariots have been lined up in the parade ground with the guards instructed to break anyone attempting to enter unauthorised upon them. Some cruel mouths suggest it’s something of a surprise that there is at least one food that Dular doesn’t want to eat.
The agents of the 13th work the city at night, visiting justice upon those thought to harbour anti state sentiments or work against the workings of the Legion. Printers responsible for publishing the many posters used by anti-state agents have their equipment and stocks seized, their lists of customers taken for examination. The public speak in whispered tones about this Legions furious work, dark armour and angelically faced helms.
Amongst it all the city lives, it’s populace hungry but glad to be alive. They’ve heard the stories of the things that stalk the land, of their fellow men turned to bandits and killers by desperation or descent into madness. Despite its flaws, despite the hunger, the illness, the thirst and the fear the people of the city are alive and for some simply surviving is a win.
Or what’s left of it.
The city floats high above the landscape it used to occupy, once friendly brooks, fields and rambles now a distant and hostile nation. The vast chunk of Cheapside that failed to take to the air as well as the rest of the city remains a gaping wound in the cities silhouette. Many of those in that district remember the screams as it crumbled and fell. The terrible screams of the earth in pain, the bestial howl of people screaming their last breaths away in panic, the roar of houses packed with terrified refugees and residents as they folded in upon themselves and rained wasted lives and rubble onto the ground so far below.
Life within the city remains tense, amongst the clouds water may seem to be everywhere, but the endless damp and chill of the air has left much of the city coated in green and unpleasant algae. Cheapside has been affected the worst, it’s densely packed timber buildings seem to attract the worst of the mists and rain, leaving fetid pools of water in its mud logged streets, in places mud so churned and fouled with all manner of waste that it threatens to suck the unwary to a stinking and horrific grave.
Clean water is a precious and rare commodity, rain water, pond water or worse is a staple for many and disease, sickness and fever stalk the streets, communicable diseases multiplying rapidly in the dank atmosphere. Rumours speak of a priestess of Talona within the city, many people pick at these rumours in the hope that with the right donation to Plague Mother that they will be spared from her illnesses.
The Legion does what it can, distributes bags of flour or pots of hot gruel, but too many of its men are hardened soldiers, men who’ve been forged in the heat of battle against monstrous foes. The scars of combat experience can be seen in the actions of many men as they work, alert, twitchy and ready for violence amid the desperate clamour and press of hungry bodies.
The Triumvirate is almost besieged, the stern stance on travel within the cities districts means many of the most desperate cases cannot travel to their lavish temple in the Aspirations. Amongst the population a percentage have turned against them, accusing them of terrible hypocrisy as they keep to their bastion of righteousness far from the suffering people.
Those of Ilmater do what works they can amongst the poor, tending to fever, injury and sickness, teaching the people to carry their burdens. But their numbers are few and their supplies limited. Against the thousands of voices clamouring for their aid and assistance their works seems futile.
The users of magic in the city are feared now more than ever, feared for the power they wield and for the terrible consequences of its use. Minor talents have been known to simply disappear at night, swallowed up by the city. Some blame the shadowy figures of the 13th Legion, others lay the blame the Hands or the very magic that keeps the city afloat as they talk of souls consumed in the dark to keep the cities mass afloat, a handful simply smile at the news, sit back and say “Better dead and gone than here to doom us all.”
Myrios Tebran Dular, commander of the 5th Legion and well known for his love of finery, pomp and circumstance, has nearly trebled the guards on his Legions stables. Public announcements say this is to protect the fine bloodlines of the Legions finest horses during times of hardship. Quite what they’re being protected against is anyones guess, though stories persist of Dular being overheard at a party saying it was from “wretched beggers and bloody poor people” who might consider his prized beasts as food in such hard times. Several chariots have been lined up in the parade ground with the guards instructed to break anyone attempting to enter unauthorised upon them. Some cruel mouths suggest it’s something of a surprise that there is at least one food that Dular doesn’t want to eat.
The agents of the 13th work the city at night, visiting justice upon those thought to harbour anti state sentiments or work against the workings of the Legion. Printers responsible for publishing the many posters used by anti-state agents have their equipment and stocks seized, their lists of customers taken for examination. The public speak in whispered tones about this Legions furious work, dark armour and angelically faced helms.
Amongst it all the city lives, it’s populace hungry but glad to be alive. They’ve heard the stories of the things that stalk the land, of their fellow men turned to bandits and killers by desperation or descent into madness. Despite its flaws, despite the hunger, the illness, the thirst and the fear the people of the city are alive and for some simply surviving is a win.
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