Okay, as I have time I’ll do some lore posts that will give a hint about the theme of the world and what changed, though it is still medieval stasis adventure-fantasy. So starting areas, beginning with Arx itself.
The Necropolis
“One stands before us in Durance. Speak thy name and testament.”
Arx is a city of history and memory. If one wished and spent time in the Great Archive, they could learn of each different age of the world. Of how the Great Necropolis of Arx was built, of how the Compact of Arvum rose with the now city of Arx as its capital, and how the Compact spread through all the world. In these walls, you could learn of the Sixth Age and how this place came to be the greatest city in all the world. We have no shortage of memorials with the names of deeds of the great heroes from those past ages, and there are reminders all around us of how many spent most of their all-too-brief lives here. Near all rest here, in our Necropolis. We built a golden age, an empire with Arx as its crown jewel.
That was before the Penitent’s arrival and the Shroud over Arx.
To this day, we don’t know who the Penitent is. Or was. There were always guesses, and the most popular was that he was the god of Justice descended in mortal form, the Sentinel made manifest and come to Arx to shield the city from what was to come. The Sixth Age ended with the Penitent crafting the Shroud over Arx, a great gray haze of a barrier that prevented all entry. The Penitent was near never seen, but we felt his eyes upon us always, and those inside that threatened the city were struck down by the Penitent’s magic without a word. Not quite without warning, his statues would turn to give notice, but near enough for most. We wouldn’t quite call it a prison, not when the Shroud only blocked entry to Arx, but any could pass through if they chose, never to return. It was, we were told, a safety measure against the end of the world, for the greatest city that ever was, a city of three million people, to ride out the apocalypse. Most at the time thought it would pass quickly.
It has been a thousand years.
“As Arx endures, we remember.”
Years winnowed us. There were the Great Callings, when the greatest among us would be gathered by the Penitent and ride out through the Shroud, never to return. Over the years, more and more stifled under the Shroud’s gray sky and the unceasing watch of a being we know nothing about, and traveled to see what world remained beyond. Age after age passed, underneath the Shroud, and we kept and honored this city despite a malaise that tested us all. Few who were born here did not at least consider leaving, even knowing that we could not be certain anything at all existed beyond the barrier. Of the three million when the Greatest City was sealed, there are under fifty thousand living within Arx today. But at least we were safe.
And then came the Vanishing.
Five years ago, during the Eclipse of Mirrors masquerade under the Blood Moon, a great mist entered the city and with it came the demons. Those with magic to fight, our Gifted, were not great in number in our current age, as how many could stand to remain and languish here when possible adventure called beyond the Shroud? But few as their number were, every last one of our puissant was killed or taken from us on one night, shocking us to our core and breaking that lifetimes long lethargy from us. We could see cracks in the Shroud now, fractures in the gray sky, and not a word from the Penitent as our city was gutted in a surprise attack.
We still know not what directed the attack, who the demonic foes were, or where those captured were taken. Some believe the city could have been massacred, and know not why it wasn’t. Some left the Shroud to seek answers, never to return. And we started to see beasts, corrupted abyssal things prowling the lands around the city. Minor foes we could handle, but more proof they could penetrate the weakened Shroud.
“Still Here.”
And now the Shroud has broken completely. The sound of breaking glass, like a million mirrors all shattering at once during the night. The lands are open to us, and as we are to them. Those with strength to do so gather to go forth. Others panic and pray, hoping that the Penitent will answer, despite that he has never done so during the past thousand years. We were born and raised in a city of ghosts and echoes, a Necropolis that has been the resting place for the greatest men and women of every age. But if one cares enough to read their stories, some believe they know what the gods will ask of us.
Because most of the heroes were born here too.
