Emeraldin, Heartland of Forgotten Ancients
In northern Sidellean territory, you see the skyline of jutting towers. You see domes, spires, swooping arcs and gorgeous architecture. And as you draw nearer, you notice the peculiar rise of smoke from the center of this strange settlement. Wandering the streets, you lose sight of the smoke as the towers now loom over you, casting deep shadows in the streets and alleys. The sun keeps being obscured by the walkways that, almost haphazardly, connect the buildings. They reach over the streets, weaving over one another. Your vision is slowly more and more obscured; there's a mist that perforates the cobblestone walkways. The mist turns to a thick fog, and you notice it doesn't smell like smoke. The keenest of your group, the tabaxi cleric, can see somewhat well... at least, comparatively. Your group, curious as ever, ventures onwards, somewhat off-put by the lack of even beggars in the streets. After almost an hour of aimless meandering in this dense fog, she sees the source-- just in time, too. The goblin rogue almost plummets, but she catches him; hidden by the mist was a hole of unknown depth and width. The sorcerer finally takes this opportunity to use Gust, in the hopes of clearing the fog. Unfortunately, it worked. The hole was not fully uncovered by this, but a large enough swathe of the ground-trapped cloud was cleared. If it's a circle, you estimate it's almost a mile wide... and the bottom is now visible. Your hearts sink into your stomachs, as before you is a gruesome visage of cruelty; a sweatshop of blood, rust, and torment, normally obscured but now, horrifically visible. You see, deep below, countless people and racks of steel, wisps of fog rising from great subterranean machinery and toiled by hundreds of raggedly-dressed peasants and dilapidated warforged. They seem to be carrying girders, bricks, cogs, chains, tools... and they look beaten. Physically, sure, but more... their hope has been squelched. Their shoulders, even the warforged's, sag. They shuffle, crawl, and limp. None even notice the sudden flood of light from above. The smog that rises from this... contraption, it seems to be what wafts through the streets. Now that you study it, you can't even begin to discern its purpose. It appears to be a stadium-sized lump of complex motors, cogs, and cables, with variously-sized openings in seemingly random places. You'd think it was a pile of scrap were it not for the careful construction of it all.
Wealthy members of society live on higher levels of the buildings, and they forego the fog in the streets via countless walkways. Some of the poorer members of society gain the privilege of serving these people, but the rest are left to their fate in the fog, the lowest level of the buildings, and the Pit, wherein construction of an Abjure Field is underway.
City of Smog, Smokestack Bridges
Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild