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.

Ivory Towers

Found in the Ivory Towers hex of  Wizard City Hexcrawl

"Can you sue a god? What a ridiculous question!

...Of course you can sue a god! This is Wizard City! Anything can sue anyone. A ham sandwich can sue an Archmage if it can string enough words together into a proper sentence.

Winning, though, is another matter entirely..."

At some point, some lawyer or philosopher or bum on the street somewhere must have wondered how we started worshiping the Incorporated as 'gods'. That, by the legal and commercial traditions of the wizarding empire, a not-insubstantial portion of the populace now pledge their souls and offer their prayers to an incorporated persona known as "Ecstatia Doppeldorf Engenheimer LLC." How they offer their thoughts, their money, and their very real time, to the propagation of a entity which is, according with all official intents and purposes, a real, 110% legal, dream-holding, personality-wielding, actual property-holding... "Person".

Not a person like you or me. A person that's beyond a person. Higher-dimensional, distributed, Incorporated. Dare we say: divine? A person made of persons and places and things and dreams of shareholder value. Your flesh is their flesh, and your coworker's flesh, and the stock-holders' flesh. (Well, only a part of the stock holder's flesh that is that particular fraction of their investment portfolio, but I digress.) Their dreams are different from your dreams - and they do certainly have dreams (as established in MagnaCock II v. Archmage's Secret Police c.559)

Tenure-holding historians might argue that is was really sort of inevitable: that this was the natural conclusion for the Train of Progress chug-chug-chugging along, occasionally accosted by some bomb-throwing apes but otherwise stalwart in its inertia. That eliminating the last bits of "inefficiencies" that were holding back the potential of BUSINESS (hallowed be thy name) was inevitable as the evolution of wings... or perhaps the anus.

But does it really matter how we got here? Offer your prayers! (Your loud, verbal, very public prayers, preferably those pre-approved by your Incorporated's partnered advertising collegium!) Offer your paychecks! Sacrifice the finest fatty cow's thighs and pour libations upon the Altar of Consistent, Reliable, Quality Goods at Affordable Prices (tm). Upon the Altar of Service Your Can Trust! (tm). Upon the Altar of XOX: Cool, Refreshing, XOX... To Take the Edge Off of Life! (tm)

(...Yes, you have to say the whole name. You can't just call it Xox. It's gotta be cool and refreshing and yadda yadda yadda... You won't get that promotion, or corporate sponsorship, or Xox-Day discounts if you don't say the whole thing.)

Image: Jared Rodriguez, Truthout

Chronulus doesn't have "temples". Temples are for far less economically-developed cultures, who reserve interpreting the blemishes on animals' internal organs for primitive notions like winning battles and passing laws instead of market trends. But it does have Ivory Towers: the base of these corporate offices having big public spaces with monuments and clerical staff and places for charitable contributions offerings and advertising prayers. The Ivory Towers are the shining, pointed teeth of the city, if the whole thing was grinning like some upside-down goblin.

Incorporated Entities (I.E. if you're short on time) occupy a space somewhere between landlord, crying baby, and amoeba. They tend to start with very little personality, hungry for just about everything: money, people, market share, assets, low interest rates. They grow bigger over time. They can't die, though, only subsume. Sometimes they merge with other entities, becoming some mix of each other, like if Zeus and Poseidon went back into the womb and merged together into some super hybrid brother made of ignored HR complaints and waterfowl.

~~~~~~~

Here are the big shots, and how to read 'em.

Stock Directory Symbol: you want to find this Incorporated Entity's listing on the stock market, this is what you'll look up.

Persona: How the entity manifests in our world. Or, if you will, its logo.

Domains: 'Assets', if you prefer. Monopolies. An Incorporated Entity typically doesn't achieve a 'Domain' unless it has at least some monopolistic or duopolistic power.

Blessings: What prayer can get you.

Prayers: What the Incorporated Entity wants you to do, to get its blessings. Frequently called 'Advertising'.

~~~~~~~

XOX

Merged from Hayden Magichemical and the Clean Oxygen Company. XOX makes "XOX: cleaner than air, fresher than fresh!" That's X-OX, in case you're wondering. Oxygen gas mixed with some other trade secret goodies that make it extra extra "clean". It's a nice product affordable to anyone who can sustain an addiction, if you spend all day sniffing magitox disposal or you live by a chemical factory.

Stock Directory Symbol: XOX

Persona: A dove. What's cleaner than the idea of a dove? (The idea of a dove, you philistine!) A cloud of shiny gas. The shine on a bald man's head. Wax on marble.

Domains: Clean Air, Cleanliness, Drugs, Bleach, Decontaminants, Chlorine

Blessings: Clean Air, Euphoria, Water Breathing, Enchantment Boons, Wind Spells

Prayers Include: "XOX: cleaner than air, fresher than fresh!" - say it with gusto and preferably in front of 3 or more people or it doesn't count; "Take the edge off life: with XOX!"

C-SEC

Chronulean Security Enterprise Corporation! Who could forget you? With your bloodthirsty wizard mercenaries and cutthroat mercantilism! Who can forget the organization which crafted the robotic killing machines with demons' souls trapped inside of them, that stalk the darkest corners of the city and feed on the souls of the innocent? Who can forget those little red signs people post on their lawns, with skulls and bones, warning "BEWARE OF LETHAL AND IRONIC TRAPS! INTRUDE AT YOUR OWN RISK!"

Stock Directory Symbol: CSC

Persona: A human skull biting a wand... (Why the fuck is it always skulls with these guys?)

Domains: Security Systems, Booby Traps, Unfeeling Killing Machines, Foreign Legions.

Blessings: "Security Contract Experts" showing up like ritually summoned assassins, protection from horrible demon murder machines, conspicuously-appearing contract muscle work, trap spells

Prayers Include: various blood sacrifices done in basements, thanking your local "Peace Expert",  signing up for the subscription mail list, "C-SEC: prosperity and security"

Killer Whale

Merger created from the holding company of the King of Whale's sovereign slush fund and the waste management conglomerate Landfill-Kille LLC. Controls 55% of the city's water resources through collection, treatment, and distribution. (Another 44% controlled by the University of Chronulus.) They've even got an olympic-sized swimming pool in the lobby, for the whales.

Stock Directory Symbol: KW

Persona: A handsome whale-man hybrid holding a trash can, inexplicably sexy and short-skirted smooth-skinned HR representatives, Waves, Cloud of Mist, an oil lamp flame.

Domains: Water, Waste, Beauty, Fuel, Transmutation

Blessings: purify food and water, extending fuel use, making minor bits of trash disappear, getting a quick glow-up, fire spells

Prayers Include: (You hum a little jingle) "Killer Whaaaaaaale!", fulfilling customer satisfaction surveys, 

Locke-Key International

The jury's still out on whether these guys are part of the criminal underworld or they're legit. Extradimensional spaces are a legal grey area at best. At the highest level it's a partnership between two wizard dynasties, but on the ground they're just everybody's landlords. Better pray rent on time, or else expect your front door to scream harsh words or open up into the bottom of an extradimensional latrine.

Stock Directory Symbol: LKI

Persona: Lock and Key, Magic Mouth, a dark and stormy tower

Domains: Real estate, extradimensional portals, 

Blessings: discounts or approved delays on the rent, Knock/Hold Portal spells, 

Prayers Include: paying the rent on time, talking about how great it is to live in a Locke-Key-managed rental property, "Locke and Key, for you and me!"

Scrivener

Wizards need spells. Spells need parchment. Parchment needs skin. Five million wizards need five million wizard's worth of skin. Do you have any idea how much skin that is? Let's just say you measure it in a unit bigger than 'hectares' and smaller than 'acres'. You've heard of a pig skin, right? Well Scrivener is a proud patent owner of the 'Skin Pig'.

Stock Directory Symbol: SC

Persona: Quill and Scroll, Inverted Nike Swoosh, Dawn on the Horizon, a Muse, a very fancy signature.

Domains: Scrolls, Spells, Private Libraries, Textbooks, Cattle

Blessings: spell scroll coupons, cheaper spellbook replication, skin spells (Stoneskin, Barkskin, etc.)

Prayers Include: Donating excess, unwanted, or 'medicinally unrequired' skin to your local skin in-box (a.k.a "skin-box") - wizard skin makes the best spell book material; reporting second-hand textbook donation to your local intellectual property manager; grow your own Skin Pig!

Angel Venture LLC

This Incorporated Entity fucks. Don't get me wrong: exactly 0% of anyone working for this thing has or will ever have sexual congress. They simply do not have the time nor the energy (and most of them are either undead already or self-castrated to keep themselves focused on work). What I mean is that Angel is venture finance par-excellence. They're the bacchanal of capital, the unwanted pregnancy of private equity. Acquisitions, conquests, mergers, seed fundings, initial public offerings, impact investing, open partnerships, asset lubrications and liquidations, equity after dark, a_al (it's a wizard finance term). Angel's got a lot going on... financially speaking.

Stock Directory Symbol: AV

Persona: a cute little cherub, a foxy siren, reflections at the bottom of the bottle, a rotting corpse

Domains: Arbitration facilitators, hollowed-out brands, fast food, ruins

Blessings: Spells of entropy and destruction; temporary elimination of hunger, sleepiness, or other bodily desires; grind mentality

Prayers Include: brand loyalty, using the word "disruption" a lot in casual conversation, 

Darklantern

 Follow up to City of the Siege 

Tenmenfend stands as a ruin of its former self, a double-walled city built around the deep chasm which contains the Darklantern - a pyramid of runed black stone immersed in a shadowy pall.

The neighboring city which has been Tenmenfend's lifeblood collapsed a century years ago, and along with it the commerce that allowed it to prosper. What once were fertile lands in the great-grandsire's time have gradually become cursed with a blight known as Egg Mold, for the foul rotten egg odor it gives off. The people have long forgotten the Green King and his impetus to wipe the Darklantern from existence. All that stay are those too stubborn or fearful to move.

Five hundred people remain. Of them, there are five clans of import: the Watchs, the Sutlers, the Knights, the Diggers, and the Makers. Each can trace their lineage to folk of import in the Green King's glorious army, if they still bothered. What began as roles in the siege has largely intermingled overtime to the point where they are now indistinguishable from one another. Now they’re just meaningless names. Although… An elder or two among them can pass down stories from their grandparents about when that wasn’t the case.

And in all that there is exactly one dying old man, recalcitrantly upholding tradition, who is unknowingly holding back the Darklantern's tide…

THE PLACES OF TENMENFEND

Tenmenfend lies between a double-walled envelopment of the Darklantern. The interior wall facing the toxic chasm and the Darklantern is called The Short Wall by the locals. The exterior wall that once anticipated reinforcements is called The Long Wall, stretching many miles in a perimeter around the city. Both are mighty and high where they've been maintained, reaching 50ft above an incline soggy ditch, with towers and gates long ago converted into now-abandoned homes.

Between the Darklantern and the Short Wall lies the Toxic Chasm, with sheer cliff faces plummeting some 200ft down into mist and poisonous gas. It is traversable by great risk. Some parts of the Short Wall have collapsed down into the chasm as the poison erodes the earth beneath it.

Across the Toxic Chasm lies The Causeway - also called The Bridge of No Return - formed of runed black stone. Like the Darklantern is bears no markings of age, and any structural damage it sustains is repaired in a matter of minutes by the Darklantern's self-replicating structural defense systems, like living tissue healing itself. Overlooking the Causeway is the Tower Inn on one side, and The Evil Eye on the other. The Eye lies just above the Darklantern's gate, seemingly an inert lidless eye carved into the threshold's stone. It fires a disintegration beam at anything crossing the bridge, reducing anything to gas and dust in an instant, save potentially those protected by the archaic defenses once espoused by the Green King.

Tower Inn
Made from an ancient siege tower that was to roll down the Darklantern's Causeway. Facing the bridge of no-return are the remains of a giant basilisk head mouth agape - once housing a giant battering ram. The ram itself, a rectangular prism 20ft long, enchanted with such ancient spells of destruction that it could bring down any gate or wall, now serves as a dining table. If one were to make anything vaguely structurally-dependent upon the table it would immediately collapse. Nobody knows what it is anymore.

Managed by Dorothy Watch and her cousins Dana Watch and Damsel Watch. They make a wonderful mushroom stew that is very slightly hallucinogenic. It tends to kick in when one tries to sleep, giving them potent and strange dreams.

The Watch cousins often dream of infatuation with a beautiful young man, with blonde hair like the sun and bright hazel eyes piercing like diamonds. (It is the Shadow King infecting their dreams in his cryogenic sleep. Even hibernating the King prepares the way for his return.)

GOINGS ON IN TOWER INN (d6):

1. Dana is trying to build a gingerbread house on the ancient battering ram. It keeps crumbling to pieces. She's very frustrated, and thinks the cookie recipe isn't quite right. Or maybe the sugar-glue.
2. Damsel is complaining to Dorothy about wanting to leave. Business isn't what it used to be, and lots of people have moved away already. Misfortune seems to rule this land now. "No use staying in a sinking ship."
3. Three farmers retiring after a long day with some ale and stew. Speaking about the mold growing over their crops - it's bad this year. Horrible violet stuff: chokes out plants and withers everything it touches, gets in the food and spoils it. One of the farmers swore he saw a clump of it moving... The other two don't want to believe him.
4. Mayor Bill Sutler is here, gambling with some mercenaries at liar's dice and losing badly. The mercs are doppelgangers and are reading his thoughts. He's about to put up his family house, against everything he's lost, and lose. Secretly he's almost hoping for this outcome. He wants to take his family and leave town.
5. Doppelganger meeting. A dozen folk all eerily turn their heads at the same time when somebody enters the inn, then simultaneously go back to pretending to talk to one another. They're having a secret telepathic meeting, and you just interrupted by arriving.
6. An old man falls down. Hanlon Digger, sulfur miner. It's the bad kind of fall when you're old and frail. He can't walk anymore. Someone will say: "The vapors finally caught up to him. Happens to everyone who lives by the chasm."

Church of the Bivouac

A pavilion tent which has stood for a thousand years, as the Pavilion Priest Expeditious will attest. He is a balding but subtly fit man, capable of feats and strength and knows every rope knot in existence. Glorious back in its heyday, the tent itself is a Ship of Theseus of tents. Big like a big top tent. Mighty ropes adorned with faded green ribbons. Patterns of a basilisk’s curved horns and their searing eyes adorn the cloth. Horned warriors in green livery fight trench soldiers and bone giants commanded by frail old men wearing fractal-pattern masks.

Expeditious offers ritual: libations of wine soaked into long triangular banners, flown on the wind in offering to the heavenly gods and Flax - a local god of cloth and strength. Flax is said to be a saint who apotheosis’d in the days of old. He was a harbinger for the Green King, who designated the very foundations of this church for his masters great Pavilion Tent (of which we now stand!).
Flax is depicted on icons of cloth and on flags as a rather pointy green-haired knight. He grants blessings for: finding the proper ground, foraging, riding, and feasting. Such blessings can be used to automatically succeed dice checks made in those topics, to maximum result.

Curiosity Shop
Built into the catacombs that were once siege trenches. Minded by a changeling named Miss Curiosity - the child of a doppelganger spy from the Darklantern and a wandering woman. She is a marvel of feathers and expensive (looking) stones. A generalist in all things magical and a purveyor of information. She knows many things (for a price!).

Wrapped up in mystic-seeming auguries and divinations, she’ll offer her ancestral knowledge of the Darklantern for barters, deals, and binding promises. She knows the ways in. She knows that the poisoning of the land is due to the Darklantern. She’s hedging her bets… The Heroes prevail, she’ll buy up the pickings. Darklantern unleashed, she’s loyal to the new regime.

CURIOSITIES FOR SALE:

1. A silver (tundsted) amulet. Can be used to cross the Causeway without provoking The Evil Eye. Quite expensive. 1000g. (The one on display is a fake, made of only silver! Worth 50sp) She'll only bring this up if an interest in the Darklantern is given.
2. Preserved biological abomination from the Chasm. Undecipherable mass of flesh submerged in alcohols. Dredged up by a youth twenty years ago. Would fit well in any freak show or wizard's lab. Also makes a good conversation starter! 20gp
3. One cigarette. Called a ‘smokestick’. Brings vitality and focus! Acquired from a western trader. 10gp
4. Ancient Fire. Kept in a jar. Alchemist’s fire, but five times as potent. Strong enough to burn through even the Darklantern's exterior (although Miss Curiosity doesn't know that for sure). 70gp
5. Saint Flax’s Sock. A woolen sock worn by the Harbinger himself! Kept in a precious metal box. Wearing it increases ride speed by 10ft and causes Horses to always like you. Won it in a game of cards from Expeditious. She'll play again for similar stakes. 500g
6. Eyeware. A bin of veils, cheap hats, and hoods. Anything bearing the Eye of the Darklantern may protect one from its denizens… perhaps. 1-10gp based on item. There's a loose and torn Mold Priest veil with one black circle on it - denoting the lowest priestly rank. Repairing and wearing it grants immunity to the Darklantern's point defense.
   
   

Megaham’s Hovel
Old Man Megaham runs the traditional parade still, all by himself, around the entire perimeter of the city. Fifteen miles, once per week. If he dies as ordained in three weeks, the parades stop, and the automated defenses of the Defenders will recognize that all external resistance has finally subsided, provided nobody else takes up the apparently futile cause. It will begin to wake them up… soldiers from the Wars of Old, one by one from their long slumber.

Megaham is an impoverished lonely grump. Immensely traditional, and given he has no real authority, immensely unlikable. If someone is actually kind or curious enough to join him on the parade, he’ll spend the whole time complaining about it.

A parade consists of a lot of walking, some praying, a bit of banging, and a moderate amount of shouting.

THINGS MEGAHAM WILL COMPLAIN ABOUT

(d6, or whatever's appropriate):

1. "Whatever happened to walking right? Children nowadays don't know their feet from their asses!"
2. "You call that a prayer?? No wonder the gods hate us!"
3. "Adventurers these days are nothing but god-cursed heretics and cooked sausages! In my youth we used to have pride in what we did! They acted like it, too. Not like you lot!"
4. "Why do you travel with these demented gremlins?" (Saying to one party member, pointing to others.)
5. "The fact that you haven't offered to carry me -your elder!- betrays your ignobility. This is why we have no heroes anymore. Because of lots like you!"
6. "Don't you lot ever shut up? Folk used to say less and do more! Nowadays they need a committee to take a shit!"

His hovel is an untidy mess, as he has nobody to take care of him. It contains a beat-up cot, a second set of clothes, a bloody bedpan (due to his terminal bowel disease), and his parade gear: a faded green standard, a pointy green hat, and his walking shoes.

Knight Manor
Albatross Knight is the big man around here. Rouster of the town militia (about 30 people at this point, mostly relatives). ‘Greeter’ of suspicious travelers. Guaranteer of the law. The Knights are relatively numerous, and live in a big house of faded glory on the highest hill. He wears the green tabard bearing the basilisk. He carries an heirloom sword.

The family's wealth has been generationally sold off in order to maintain its position. At this point, the only thing of worth that have are big stone walls, fancy silverware, and Albatross's sword Stonefang.

Stonefang - a relic side sword wielded by the first of the Green King's knights. It is more important to Albatross than some of his children and it never leaves his side. Biological minions of the Shadow King must Save or turn to dust when struck by it, and other bitten by its blade must Save or receive accelerated Tetanus. It will not dull or break save by a Disintegrate spell or higher. It also reveals the presence of the Shadow King's minions when drawn - making Doppelgangers take their true form - something Albatross would quickly learn if ever he deigned to unsheathe it.

His biggest concerns:

• Crops  are doing poorly. The blight is spreading. He’ll offer his daughter and his son in marriage to anybody(s) who can fix the problem. (They’re twins!) It would be really weird to marry them both (but he’s not against it if results are produced).
• The fortifications need repairs (they’ve needed repairs for literally about ten generations). Know any excellent masons? He’ll settle for a half-decent carpenter.
• Twenty square miles of toxic north of the Darklantern lies the Cannon Swamp. Ancient trenches and tunnels flooded with the foul waters of the chasm. The remnants of an ancient cannon shaped like a basilisk’s head stick oblong out. Vines of creepers grow over it. Sickly goblins live in the swamp, subsisting on big horse flies and stomach-churning molds. They are "sickly and barely a threat to anybody", but Albatross is concerned that they're stealing food and multiplying. (Which they are, although it's the doppelgangers stealing food. All part of destabilizing their defenses.)

Digg's Place
There's no sign or markings to indicate that this is Digg's Place. It's nothing more than an abandoned home wedged between two other even more abandoned homes that Digg bought for the cost of a (mostly) safe-to-eat ham sandwich. But you'll know it from the smell. It smells like savory cooked meat, and sulfur - like the Egg Mold plaguing the land. Digg takes rotting food and carves the edible bits out of it with a dull knife. He spends half of his time scavenging for carcasses and moldy grains to make meat skewers and fouled ale out of. It all tastes actually quite decent... but you'll have chicken shits for a week.

Digg not infrequently gets accused of purposely spreading the Egg Mold, which is why he lives in the abandoned outskirts of town. The townsfolk cuss and kick at him for trying to sell tainted meat and ale, which in yester years would have put him in the stockades, but nowadays people don't even bother, as they're wise to his act.

See him on the streets, and he'll be a smiling ragged man: missing a few teeth, hands full meat skewers wedged between the fingers, all excitement and hustle like he's liquifying his assets before the recession.

Which, to be fair, is exactly what he's doing. He wants to leave, but can't seem to save enough supplies to go. Still, he is too proud to beg. In his mold-dusted bed he tosses and turns in his sleep, prophesizing doom for the town. His screaming rarely reaches others' ears. He's so frail that even a solid kick could send him into seizure, and scream a doom:

DIGG'S DOOMS (d6):

1. "SHADOWS! SHADOWS BEHIND THE EYES! SHADOWS BEHIND THE SKINS! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE!!"
2. "TEN TRILLION HUNGRY LITTLE STALKS!! THEY WILL DEVOUR THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE AND THE LIVESTOCK ALL!"
3. "IIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAHHHH!... THE BEAUTIFUL FACE MASKS FORMLESS VOID! IT WILL DEVOUR THE WORLD! IIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!"
4. "THE GREEN KING CANNOT SAVE US! HE IS FOREVER GONE, AND HIS SUCCESSORS DO NOT KNOW THEIR WORTH!"
5. "THE POISON WILL SPREAD ACROSS THE LAND - A HARBINGER FOR THE ARMIES OF DARKNESS WHICH WILL BRING THE WORLD INTO SHADOW!"
6. "THE SWORD! THE SWORD! THE SWORD IS SALVATION, BUT IT IS NOT MEANT FOR THEY IT HANGS ABOVE!"

The Bakers Maker
It smells like warm bread and mushroom stew, heavy with spicy mustard seasoning. The childless bakers, Charles and Matilda Maker, make good bread and stew, but their real passion is botany. They're tight-lipped about where they get the fresh herbs, but they give out cuttings often enough that nobody presses the issue.

In the ruins of neighbors homes, they have a secret garden inherited from Matilda's side of the family, mother to daughter, since the time of the Green King. In a hidden atrium between four houses, behind a secret door unlocked by a hidden candlestick lever, are her greatest treasures: spinach, parsley, chives, basil, oregano, dill, rosemary, basil, a pear tree, and even tropical limes - green fruits and herbs that have no business growing in such little light. The secret of it all lies in the center, at the ancient statue of a kneeling maiden, holding a vine-covered grail of aged copper: The Grail of the Green King.

Touched by the Green King's lips when he still walked the land, water kept in the Grail, when spilled upon the earth, provides ample fertility to green-colored crops. Even tropical fruits like limes. More than that, it has the power to dispel the devastation of the Egg Mold, and can wither the fungal forces mastered by the mold priests within the Darklantern without fail.

...But Matilda doesn't know that. Charles does, but that's because a doppelganger replaced him a about a month ago. The real Charles was thrown into the Toxic Chasm by his replacement - his shattered body is dissolving on a rock somewhere down in the mist, embalmed by the foul gasses. Mattie thinks they may both be losing theirs mind. She loves Charles very much, and to learn of his grisly demise or malicious replacement would devastate her beyond sanity.

TOPICS OF CONVERSATION FOR A WOMAN WHO'S LOSING HER MIND... (d6):

1. "Charles always loved extra dill in his mushroom soup. Always! And now he can't seem to stand it at all!"
2. "He's always following me when I leave the house. He thinks I can't see him, but I know my husband's footsteps anywhere. I thought he was just looking out for me, but I'm not so sure anymore."
3. "People have asked me whether Charles was acting strange. I told them I didn't know what they were talking about. They said that he acted like he didn't even know them."
4. "Is it me? I feel like I've been forgetting things more and more often. Why, just last week I forgot that I had some loaves in the ovens, and burnt a whole batch! Charles was furious, and he raised a hand against me - he's never done that before."
5. "Things aren't all bad! Charles stopped snoring recently. He'd done it for so many years I'd gotten used to it, but to have a quiet night like that was quite nice."
6. "I think we may have a child on the way! At last, after all these years! I'd almost given up on hope."

WAYS TO GET INSIDE THE DARKLANTERN

AMULET
A plain metal amulet depicting a closed eye. In True Darkness (such as a Darkness spell), the eye will be open and visible, revealing its true nature. The Shadow King can see through these when open, and will sometimes open on their own when nobody is looking.

The Defenders have always been watching. Every so often they’d send out a spy to recon the besiegers' defenses. These spies were given tungsten amulets to identify them to the automated defense systems, which won’t shoot at anybody who is displaying one of these amulets. A few of them never returned, and the amulets are still out there. One or two of them even remain in Darklantern, passed down as secret family heirlooms to spies who settled outside the walls.

BATTERING RAM
The Ram in the Tower Inn, if it can even so much as touch the front gate of the Darklantern will rip it apart like paper mache. The Ram is indestructible, but the people carrying it are not immune to the Darklantern's laser defense systems.

HOUSE

One of the Houses is ‘cursed’ according to the locals. Used to be owned by a Sutler family, but all of them went missing. The braver of the townsfolk investigated and found a big dark hole in the basement wall. They sealed up the hole and the house, and nobody has gone in it since. It offers a way into the pyramid, albeit through a horrible siege line tunnel filled with toxic gas.

CHASM

The chasm between the pyramid and Darklantern is deep and long, but one could potentially climb down into that dark pit. The bottom is filled with toxic waste, and horrible things dwell down there, but a disposal sewer entrance can be found in the mist. It’s an awful climb down and an awful climb up. The mist emanating from the Darklantern erodes the walls of the chasm, making unsure footing and rockslides likely.

NAME DROP /  WHITE FLAG

If one goes out onto the causeway and declares that they are an emissary of The Green King seeking to present terms for the castle’s surrender, then the automated defenses will let you in. They’ll wake up somebody capable of making a decision (The Assessor being most likely) to meet you and discuss the terms in the Darklantern's Muster Yard, just inside the gate . Something similar will happen if you take a white flag onto the causeway. It would take a brave fool to try this approach.

WALL BREACH

It's incredibly dangerous, but one could attempt to burn a hole into the Darklantern's exterior. It would take a world-shattering force, and it'll heal up in a matter of minutes, but you may be able to slip in unnoticed before it crushes everyone in the derma. Madame Curiosity's fire oil may do the trick, as might a Disintegrate spell or Passwall.

Class Social Features

Unsatisfied with the number of class features in PF2e/5e that pertained to the social characteristics of each character class, I went and wrote a few. The idea is that every player gets to pick one for their character. Character class need not match up with the corresponding ability below. So a wizard could take the 'Bard' ability, etc.

But everybody wanted two of them, so I said: "Well, okay. You can get a second one at level 10 or something."

Barbarian

You are accountable to traditions and customs that are not local to this land. If ever you do a faux pas, you may stake a claim to a foreign authority or tradition to absolve you of your crime. You are only ever guaranteed to get away with this once for each type of offense and group of people. It does not protect you from particularly severe consequences (like murder), but you may be able to, say, insult the mayor of a town or sleep with a wealthy merchant's daughter.

Bard

When you recap the last session at the start of this one, however you recap it become the history of the party. Your recap becomes a song, poem, or story that's shared wide and far. As you continue to develop this history, you will gradually become more famous.

Cleric

As a 1 Turn Ritual, you can spiritually determine whether a place is consecrated or desecrated (whether gods are watching or not). You can tell whether your devoted god is watching at any time instantly. If your god is watching and you do something glorious, you will be bequeathed a blessing.

Druid

You can concisely recount any knowledge you possess orally. You know the age of anything at a glance. You are exempt from all taxes. You may freely Speak with Animals provide you apologize to said animal and give them something tangibly valuable to you (a ration, a gold piece, a craft that took time to make, etc. Bigger animals like bigger/more things). You are forbidden from writing down your knowledge.

Fighter

You can assess anybody's physical 'Power Level' at a glance. The more time you spend studying them, the less vague your determinations.

Monk

Your personage is considered sacred. Any offense against your body is considered a sin. Anyone who's not a total rube will know it. If gods are watching, they'll know it.

Paladin

You instinctively know when oaths that you have professionally witnessed have been broken. This power does not tell you which one of those you've witnessed. You have a legal right to take from an oathbreaker that which they swore upon, and deliver it to authorities you recognize (state, religious, or otherwise).

Ranger

You know hidden pathways, water sources, and supply caches due to your membership in a Ranger's association. Each Association has about a half-dozen members, and oversees the wilderness and roads of the region you are currently adventuring in. Once per [a convenient amount of time] they all meet somewhere interesting - a smoky bar, a sacred grove, a place of power - to discuss professional matters.

Rogue

You can tell what class a person is by studying them for a minute, even if they're trying to hide it, unless they're an extraordinary actor. You always know the minimum acceptable bribe for a given situation.

Warlock

Your oathbreaking and lies cannot be detected unless you want it to (false negatives are automatically generated), even by magical means, even by a Paladin. You may masquerade as any other magic caster, and only masterful magicians can tell the difference by your practices.

Wizard/Sorcerer

You are part of a Wizard Gang, College Fraternity/Sorority, or Secret Society. You can instantly identify members of this organization, and you know their Cult Sign to verify it. Members are friendly by default, and will usually do their best to help you out. In any town you can spend a Watch to find fellow cultists.