POMERIUM - Twilight City

 CITY INTRODUCTION

GALEA
FUMO
BRIGHT TOWN
POMERIUM
CALDERA
CALIDUM
HISS
TENEBRIS
MOUNTAIN TEMPLE

© Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali

POMERIUM

No weapons of war are allowed. No magic may be cast. Soldiers and Magistrates immediately and effectively resign their privileges upon entering. No farms, and no undead are allowed within. The heart of the city is watched by the ghosts of the ancestors, whose gravestones form its boundary. They watch, and they ward... They often miss concealed knives.

The Wall

The priestesses built The Wall around the Pomerium themselves. They blessed every stone and made all their gods present to witness their deeds. Strong stones taken from the deepest depths of the mountain, or trekked mile upon mile from fallen Glazz'gibrar, carried by hand in the darkness, to be the walls of the city's beating heart. They took the grave markers of their own ancestors to make this wall. They poured their blood and bits of their flesh into it, with countless precious livestock exsanguinated upon those stones. To the old Houses, The Wall is not simply a wall, it is The Wall. It's personal. It's their history. It's a reminder of their solidarity, of their eternal greatness. Their ancestors are buried in that wall. Their ashes mixed all together with the glue. The Wall holds the old Novan patrician class together like cement, reminding them of their inalienable truth: that we are Novan, and those outside are not.

The Wall is showing signs of weakness. The city is so much more than it was back in those days, when The Wall was all, and outside The Wall there were only bereft hinterlands and birdherds on the mountain. As the city expands year after year, The Wall slowly crumbles at the seams, like an old leather belt fraying under the weight of an excessive meal.

And with it goes the solidarity... A prophecy was made by the High Priestess Amantia as she gave her flesh to the stone: 

"When this Wall falls, the wolves will eat their own."

The prophecy was interpreted to mean that The Wall would last forever. That the impossible would need to happen. Like 'when pigs fly' or the like. It is common knowledge in November, after all, that wolves do not eat their own. The timber wolves of the Feyfjord lands, after all, do abhor cannibalism. They say so themselves. Nobody has heard of, much less seen such a thing.

But the wolves don't remember the hard times, before their covenants with the two-legged gods. Wolves will indeed eat their own when the bread runs out.

D1: The Great Forum

Where the Adamantine Stair meets the Amantian Way, and so divides the Pomerium into four quadrants, like the chambers of the heart, to the four Ruling Deities of the World and their temples: Hydur, Dolena, Manmanuk, and Tiamat.

A copy of the Calendar is displayed for all to view. Official pronouncements are made by loud-mouthed hawkers, standing elevated on barrels or makeshift stages. Sometimes they comically hang from ropes or chains from the ceiling, hoisted up with pulleys by sturdy freedmen so that the whole Forum can see and hear them. Folk call them 'String Puppets' mockingly. Hawking is not an honorable profession.

At any particular time, except on important holidays, there are 2d4 trials happening simultaneously throughout the Forum. It's extraordinarily loud, with every judge, juror, witness, and plaintiff all trying to be heard over the din. A booming voice is a necessary trait for a lawyer.

The Great Forum is cleared out frequently for festivals and triumphs by the priestesses of the Temple of November. Idols from the temples, paraded around the city, often enthrone here at the end of their journeys.

The Reservoir of Vatluna

The pure waters of the Keystone Temple flow out into a public reservoir haunted by the ghost of its architect, an Affjordian dwarf named Vatluna. The grave stone which is her spirit's home stands upon the water's edge. She is seen sometimes walking out on the water, as a shadowy mist, staring down at the reflected sky.

Temple of Jabber-Dal

Also called The Temple of Law, the Temple of Fjordan Hydur, and the Manxome House. 

So inscribed above the threshold:

Grasp the rope around my neck
Pull as hard as you can, you gods
Even all together, you cannot lift me
And tear me from this throne.

Hydur is the god of air and vengeance. And here he is also a god of law. His twin sons by Tiamat were parting blades. Their names are Jabber and Dal. Before this house the wronged wail curses for vengeance and capital crimes are punished.

The most common form of execution is defenestration, usually from the windows of the Temple onto the rocks below. More severe crimes often warrant death by crush - by rolling a giant boulder down a parabola containing the condemned.

The Bisecting Sword

Wielded throughout the ages by Blackguards and Paladins of legend alike, this profusely heavy horse-cutting-sword requires tremendous strength and skill to wield. However, its strikes never fail to cut its target in twain. Lower from upper, left from right, soul from body - those struck by the sword are always split in perfect halves. It's said that the sword was wielded by the first mythic hero of Elves to split night from day, man from woman, the land from the sea, and heaven from earth.

It is kept in the Manxome House, a sub-house of the temple complex. It is adorned with many mirrors, that from any point within one may see nearly the entire interior. There it is guarded by the Manxome Cult, whose members split their souls in twain. Each cult member carries two bodies: each holding half of their personality and memory. Most often, one is fearsome, hedonistic, and violent, while the other is demure, calm, and rational - like Hyde and Jekyll.

The Sword is kept with eleven identical false copies, each one bearing a Curse of Instant Death upon those who would manipulate or touch it. Only the High Priestess of the Manxome Cult knows which Sword is true, and she is split into a coy liar and a cryptic truth-teller.

The Keystone Temple

Also called The Temple of Legacy, The Temple of the Stone, the Reliquary of Dolena's Eye, or The Temple of Thought.

The forefront of the temple contains Dolena's Eye - a pool shallow at the edges but very deep at the center, like a spin top in profile. It contains the memories of Amantia, the Second Spider Queen, greatest of the old monarchs in works and in legacy. The pool is administered by the Seven Psyches - seven virgin boys possessed of strong psychic potential, selected by the seclusive Aquan Cult. The position brings great prestige to the House or family whose boy has been selected... provided their religious vows remain untarnished for their thirty-year term. Assaulting one of them is a death sentence, punishable by boulder-crushing.

Keystone of Kin

The Keystone of Kin was acquired from the sack of the Walled Forest of Kin, and preceding Evocation of their goddess of springs. It was said in legend that as long as the Keystone remained within the Forest its walls would forever repel invaders. This was evidently true.

It's said that the Keystone is a fragment of the Spring Goddess's mind. From it flows a crystal water containing the memories of the foundation of the world.

Water carries memories. One must know its language, Aquan, to read them. This secret is guarded jealously by the Aquan Cult, who maintain their monopoly on psychic powers by sensing and inducting young candidates into their order. (In practice, it is something like the X-Men if they all had the powers of Professor Xavier.)

The water lingering in underground aquifers is old and pure. It has travelled long and slow in its journey. The memories in these pools produce lucid thoughts, like watching a video of something happening.

The Halls of The Keystone Temple are long and twisting, full of Romanesque arches and somber refectory pools. Within the thoughts of visitors resound and echo with tumultuous noise. To not give way intention one's thoughts must be excessively shielded.

Its priests train themselves to completely silence their thoughts, acting purely on bodily instinct, that they may move throughout the Temple quietly. They drink directly from the spring, filling their minds with the music of eons past that it resonates in perfect clarity within the temple.

Historically, these priests were used as assassins against enemies of Glazz'gibrar. They trained to be empty vessels of death: instincts honed to impossible speed, never surrendering information to the enemy - quiet, invisible, and deadly as nerve gas. The elves called them the Deadly Silence, for entire Houses would quietly perish without so much as a peep. Sometimes undiscovered until the bodies were rotting and the smell began to bother neighbors.

Temple of Hell's Mill

Also called The Temple of Birth, The Temple of Tiamat, or The Temple of Matron's Make.

Sea serpents of stone enwrap the great columns, teeth bared wings spread. It's humid and hot, and at any given time there might be up to thirty women in labor within the antechamber. Tiamat, that deep sea thing, watches over them with shining eyes. The conductor-priestesses are excellent midwives. Ushering in new life is good training for the use of Hell's Mill.

Tiamat, dragon-goddess of ocean and disaster, from whom all are descended. To pray to her is to pray for mercy, to preempt catastrophe in little manageable portions to avoid greater turmoil down the road. It is tradition among the Novans for pregnant women to sacrifice to her once every trimester and once every month to ensure a safe birth and healthy offspring. Sacrifices among the noble Houses can be quite extravagant, particularly if it is a noblewoman's first child.

This practice led to the downfall of the monarchy. Facing the possibility of an infertile Spider Queen, the royal house kidnapped and sacrificed the noble sons of the equestrian Houses to assuage Tiamat's wrath and give the queen a child. Human sacrifice was no rare occurrence in Glazz'gibrar, but this crossed the line. The noble Houses could not abide such flagrant tyranny.

Hell's Mill

A modest-sized mill bequeathing to its users limitless oil, flour, and phosphorus. It takes the strength of six laborers to grind it. Pilfered from the Deep Dwarves, whose god gifted it to provide sustenance and comfort for their people.

The oil produced by the mill has many uses: cooking, lubrication, illumination. It burns bright and long, and effectively protects hair while giving it a beautiful luster. Foods cooked in it are delicious and filling. Even a cup of the flour, when cooked into a flatbread, is dense and high in sustenance, keeping a strong adult fed for a week. It is the panacea for armies on the march, and an ambrosia to the hungry. The phosphorus glows in the dark, and has numerous military, agricultural, and alchemical applications.

If it has so many good uses, then why is it called The Mill of Hell? Because all of these substances are extraordinarily flammable. In irresponsible hands it has been the cause of countless deaths, by flame, asphyxiation, or explosion. Legions of mill-turners and priests have perished in fires related to the Mill, not least because the grinding of the mill increases this risk all by itself. It is a greed trap: turn the mill too fast and it will spark, setting everything alight.

Thus, within the Temple of Hell's Mill there is the ever-present steady tempo of drum and pipe. To the somber beat everything is extracted with careful consideration by priest-laborers constantly skirting the line of maximum production and total annihilation. There are special roles within the Temple: the musicians whose ability to keep tempo, the Conductor-Priestess who commands the speed of all things, the strong men and women who grind the wheel, and those who guard against sabotage.

No flames are allowed within the Temple. It is a place of total darkness. To the drow this is not an inconvenience. It is, however, very cold. The Temple is guarded by large cultures of Brown Mold. Any flame brought into its dark passages will be swarmed and snuffed out by the icy fungi. The priests of the temple know which passages to traverse and which to avoid, and how to step among them without causing the Mold to attack. Infested skeletons patrol the halls, and there are many hidden pits and mold-seeking phosphorus traps.

Temple of Chaos

Also called The Temple of Rule, The Court, The Temple of Manmanuk, and The Senate Chambers.

Foreigners often find it ironic that the highest body of government of the republic frequently gathers under the auspices of Manmanuk, the Mad Dreaming God. From his idol's perch above the amphitheater do the senators, shrieking in their argumentative tongues, gathered in their silken crescent, ever seem the grin of chaos. From his seat it is not hard to reckon. Nor is it from any public attendee, who must instead listen upon the steps of the Temple, or out in the Forum where the enticed mob gathers, listening to the relayed echoes of rhetoric being shouted down the way.

The State is a living thing. It gestates in the womb of a city, dreaming the dream of Politics. All the gods and all the miniscule People dance upon the stage of its dream, arguing what is to be said and what is to be done, while King Manmanuk dozes in the front row, confused and inattentive. That is, until the Chorus cries out in unison, and the Mad King stirs. So the Senate floods into the din, like an irregular tide, shaping the chaos.

Aside from the initial call to order, there are no hard rules in the Senate. They can gather anywhere, go anywhere. (It may look awfully silly: some hundred-odd wealthy grandmas marching in a long train throughout the city, escorted by muscly lictors with the righteous authority to beat people up.) They conduct trials and investigations, giving question however they please. They can summon whoever they please. Whatever be the concern of the State, they can deal with it, personally. It must be personally. The further from the dream and the stage, the less power they have. 

If the Senate wants to arrest you, they will ultimately do it themselves. Though many of them are old, they should not be underestimated. Every one of them, after all, was a soldier. Every one of them was inducted in the Cult of the Moon and given the rites to abrogate their fear of battle. They may be old, but they're killers. Every. Single. One.