Life Storms

The world is cast in a pale green light. The air crackles, its metallic scent sharp. The abyss lets loose an ungodly howl. The world trembles. These are the signs the Green Year is beginning. Get inside. You have little time.

The Godking builds power like most of us breathe, if we were never allowed to exhale. A constant flow, constant growth, filling a quite limited space. Think of it not as a pit--which would, over time, overflow--but more as a wineskin filled to bursting. It could be mended, of course, after the fact, but it would always be damaged. Any vessel thusly broken is doomed to someday fail. When the vessel was new, the storms weren't as bad, a small leak that was easily mended. But somewhere around the tenth time Tristane lost control, we noticed that things were getting worse. The period of madness for which he locks himself away has begun earlier, lasted longer, the recovery period so long that we hardly see our ruler at all. And when we do...well, madness isn't a fleeting thing, no matter what the council tells us. Damage of the mind does not just fade. It scars. The husks are proof of that.

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Effects

General

The green year brings with it heavy rains and a persistent fog, as well as a violent energy akin to lightning in shape and the ruin it brings. Unlike lightning, it seems to have no pattern.

On Nature

As the wilds did in the first green year, all plant life touched by the wild storms become a thing nearly sentient. Roots crawl free from the earth, seeming to seek out the living. Trees tear themselves from the ground. Smaller plants grow rapidly, become more violent as they increase in size. I watched a daisy eat our family's cat. I have heard similar stories from others.

On Magic

One of the most difficult aspects of the green year is its effect on magic. In some cases, the magic grows wild, acting seemingly of its own accord. Some are able to harness this power, using it to embolden their casting, but other less fortunate casters have had their magic turn against them, left as nothing but a dark stain on the cobbles, quickly washed away by the rain of the storm.

In The Wrecks

The Wrecks are often left most damaged by the storms. They sit outside the city walls, unguarded by the imperial watch and left to wither and rot by the Godking. The Pruners* and The Pesters* stay within the walls, and so the damage caused to the wrecks often goes untouched. The streets are a jagged mass of craters and plateaus formed by the shifting ground and writhing vines, the buildings so often pierced by roots and brambles that the walls would collapse without them. Those unfortunate souls who call The Wrecks home have learned to build around all this, to live with what the nobles fear.

In The Crawl

A direct pathway to the imperial palace made entirely of water. What more is there to say? The crawl was never meant to be residential, and those foolish enough to make their homes near the canal quickly learned why. The Crawl is, more or less, a continuation of The Wrecks, only made more profitable by the canal and the constant merchant traffic. The buildings here are better kept, but made of easily attainable materials and generally poorly built.

In The Highrise

The High rise is closest to the palace. It stands to reason that it would suffer the most damage. Somehow, this isn't the case. Of course, the place is under the constant watch of The Pruners and Peskers, and those have their own means of dealing with plants. By the time the masons come around, one would hardly know The Highrise had just been hit by something near-apocalyptic. All the while the nobles hide in their shelters, chambers hidden beneath their homes deep enough to escape the wrath of the wilds and stocked with food and ample drink. For them, the end of the world is just another party.

In The Howl

The Entertainment district, which for reasons unknown to me is built around the damned abyss. I will admit, it's a hell of a show when the pit starts screaming and the nobles, mostly too drunk to walk, have to scramble over one another through cramped streets and alleys and the carriage crowds. A bit less fun when they start to pile up and the killing starts, though I know some would disagree. Can hardly blame them, either--all that shrill screaming from the pit is just a prelude to the void's searching grasp. Tendrils of shadow claw their way from the abyss, and those unfortunate enough to feel their touch are dragged into the depths with barely time to scream. The way they move through the city is fascinating, though. The tendrils move indirectly, sweeping as though searching, though for what I couldn't say.