Novemgrad - The Precipice

The Streets and Mist Cliffs

Novemgrad is the westernmost city in the Eastern Shelf, the great upspring of land that rose up with the Cataclysm. Surrounded by the Murk on two sides, many quarters of the city were swallowed by the Murk.  Those that survived the initial flood of mist risked being completely leveled as the earth rose a thousand meters.  Only through the actions of builder's guilds did the city survive, as the men and women masoned for weeks straight to salvage what they could. Much of the city's historical sections, including the legendary Palatine Regium, a stronghold and castle dating back to the old Imperium of millennia ago.  What remains is a mix of absurdist architecture met with the few remaining ancient spires, creating a patchwork of monumental impression and determined desperation.  When the Murktide shifts, several teams of workers move quickly to continue to shore up the foundations of the westernmost plazas before the mist returns.
 The Principate of the City, Bratan Novikov, has forbidden the searching of the Regium for unknown reasons.

Economies of Danger

Novemgrad holds lush lands and mineral rights in the surrounding countryside, but its primary mode of enrichment is the flock of traders and explorers who see opportunity in the Murk.  These brave souls chance fortune and fate, either floating above it in great zeppelins or delving into it in search of lost artifacts and secrets.

Faith, The Call of Deliverance

Being a metropolitan hub in a metropolitan region, Novemgrad has a litany of different faiths that work in concert while also vying for the souls of the populace. These are not mutually exclusive in any given moment, and ostentatious displays of charity and giving, not to mention a few "miracles" performed by competing for clergy within and across lines of belief are not uncommon methods of drawing away parishioners to the shepherd who may bestow them with the greatest view of the divine.
As a whole, the interfaith competition is generally peaceful, if not always fair. A miracle foiled by a servant of an opposing faith is met with indignation and scorn but seldom do words become weapons. The exception to this rule is the secret cults that form to worship and draw on the Murk and whatever denizens it masks. Such rituals in the night at the precipice are rumored frequently, though no names are ever mentioned as to who may have joined them.
Prior mentions excepted, most faiths decry The Murk, and the Magisters who created it. Prior to The War, the leaders of Faith saw themselves as the only check in the growing power of the Magisters and their Spires. They chastised those that practiced Alchemy as attempting to breach the heavens and become gods themselves. The hubristic fall of the Magisters and the resulting Cataclysm served as further proof that they were right. As a rule, any who practice alchemy are often shunned in circles of faith, if not outright excommunicated, and made persona non gratis. If it wasn't for the need of the Magisters to continually retain the great sea of mist, then they would have surely been put to the torch by now.

The Spire, The Seat of Fallen Gods

High Magister Valeska II sits over the smoldering ruins of a city she has loved since childhood. Raised here as a pauper daughter of a rudimentary alchemist, Valeska slowly and methodically works her way up the magisterial ladder. Even when she had attained the rank of Magister, and unlocked the sixth seal, she was barred from ascending into the nobility. The old blood of the spire worked against this Novus Homo, stopping any further raising no matter the merit.
Three things saved her from spending her life in mediocrity. Firstly, she was a gifted alchemist, one of the best in her generation. This granted her access to the second reason, Grand Prince Milov of Novemgrad. Milov, an aged man and uncle to the current Prince Bratan, saw in her both the political guile and raw potency of this young woman, and implored the Council on her behalf. Lastly, it was the prejudice of the Council and the old bloods that spared her life. Having been made a member of the council, they left her in the dark on their great plan to win The War. When they left her behind, she wept bitter tears to not share in the honor of the victory. Then, The Cataclysm occurred, and her loss became both a victory and an albatross.
With no others to blame, the populace turned on the now High Magister. It was only through the action of Prince Bratan that they did not send her to The Murk as symbolic punishment of all the Council's hubris.
Valeska now sits atop a creaking and failing system. Her Magisters work thanklessly and tirelessly to keep the wards up, saving the remnants of the city and its inhabitants. But many, both outside and within the alabaster walls of The Spire now work in secret to enact regime change. Hers is a great burden, for all know that it was the Council and the Spire that set forth the great Cataclysm, and no act can redeem them.

Princely Ambitions

Bratan was never meant to be Grand Prince. His uncle, Milov, despised him for much of his life. "You are too soft, you know nothing of the world." He would hear his entire childhood. Constant comparisons to his brave and steadfast cousin, Rikov, a prince of great prowess in battle and two years his senior. While he and Rikov were good friends outside of court, his handsome and athletic cousin never understood the bookish and sickly Bratan. Bound to be an administrator for life, Bratan dove into works of philosophy and fiction. Then, The War began. Milov and Rikov left Novemgrad in his hands while they amassed their armies, their Magisters, and their courage to face the West, and never came back. Bratan thus inherited the shattered remains of his home, having to rebuild in the shadow of his heroic family.
Bratan is a wise ruler for a man so young. He surrounds himself with knowledgable men, and disregards the corrupt will of the Councils when he sees the plight of his subjects. An enlightened despot at heart, he strays into hardheadedness and micromanagement infrequently. He trusts few fellow nobles, though he keeps them close. A palace coup may always be brewing, and he, while he looks frail, within his gaze, lies otherworldly insight.
He frequently seeks out High Magister Valeska when in need of council. Their meetings are polite and friendly, as the Magister needs him for survival, and in turn he needs her guidance in esoteric matters. Something deeper may connect the two, but station has always forbid such unions. Still, they speak as kindred spirits, left behind by more formidable and foolish forebearers.

Type

Large city