The Dead City continues ever onwards and remains resistant to sense. It's apparent that there is an underlying order and consistency with the goings on of the inhabitants, but it's unclear what the cause or the purpose is. I can assure players that the city revealed itself fully and made its plans known, that the undertow is there, occasionally sweeping us all along.
What do we know?
The dead do not often stay dead
The thief (put down by his friends after a failed attempt at curing him resulted in excruciating pain) and the the fanatic (head constricted off by mind worms) continue on "living", but their un-lives are distinct. One is blind and sees only by the light of the living, while one remains in robust health as long as he eats brain matter. Inconsistent.
What becomes of the nobles and peasants we've killed is another mystery, never having stayed long enough to find out.
The city doesn't care
After a few weeks of timidity it became clear that the city was far less chaotic than it was imagined. Instead of a burning hostility we instead found a simmering indifference. The inhabitants have their ways, and they will not be interrupted. The most significant disruptions was the liberation of the colosseum and its gladiators. Has it been ignored because of the injured god of murder that claims it? Or is the city just slow to react?
The lovers know something
The twin lovers of the ivory and grey towers, first advisers to the king, masters of the 10th emanation. have, by royal decree, set their full faculties to freeing the city in its entirety. Their towers were intricate and made no sense, abandoned and rotten. We took the eye of a god and fled, content to return and find what happened to the lovers another day.
The towers are now sealed. Cocooned in crystalline snot and arguing amongst themselves. It's obvious they are heading to a course of action, but no one has returned or heard anything more of them.
We have astral tails
Found via happy accident, and trailed to a church of many gods and sermons. There is a way out.
The shores of the river have beaches of gold
The river flows back and forth seemingly at random, picked over for its meagre offerings of flesh by the stilt people. It washes up from down stream, but we were too fearful to find the source. It is beyond the edge of the city beneath the cliffs, and unkind things come with it.
Flesh is valuable
The rich store it in iron boxes, the richest wear it in all its corpulent glory. The poor are just bones.
No comments:
Post a Comment