Do we have any imagery of what the “deathlands” outside the lightning fences look like? There is mention of miasma and strange flora and fauna…
i’m imagining something like a “nuclear winter” landscape – lots of barren-ness and strange half dead trees and plants… along with some new things that have adjusted to living in the environment – poisonous/aggressive fungus/lichen/vines… some “demonic” animals and plants etc?
Book of Eli, The Road,.
Anyone else got some ideas?
Endless whispering, that you can almost convince yourself is just wind. Beware when silence falls.
ooh, i like that 🙂
Some imagery I think of:
Thick ash covering the ground, which when disturbed by even the slightest activity, kicks up into the air into a cloud of noxious vapor, requiring heavy breathing apparatus to be worn at all times.
Eyeless birds still perch on withered trees, cawing and screeching into the wind.
Animals that are familiar, yet twisted somehow.
Crows with serrated beaks. They don’t caw when you see them – they just stare as you trudge past along the ash-covered road.
Ghosts and not-ghost things draw close as ambient light fades. Use an enchanted lantern to drive them off.
It’s never silent, not truly. There’s the wind, the whisper of ash moving, the creaking of trees and the shuffle of something moving out of sight.
Portals to other planes of existence, rent by gatherings of spirits all tortured and empowered by the ghost field. A black hole in the ether, if you will.
(and then the word “soulpatches” came to mind, shh silly side of the brain)
It’s been centuries, so most of flimsy buildings of pre-industrial people are gone. Nearer the remaining cities, people have occasionally tried to build out and those ruins still exist, painfully similar in style to the modern fashion but devoid of any sign of life. There are, of course, the rails to remind you of civilization in the wilderness, rusting, sparking and looming. A few toppled towers or similar superstructures of the old world still exist, but mostly it’s natural ruin.
The weather hasn’t changed so terribly. There are even seasons, although all are cool or cold. It rains often in some places, hardly ever in others. There’s snow in the north but not in the south. The wind never quite stops; even when some structure or heavy clothing should block it, you can feel something like cold wind gently billowing behind you. You might think it was your imagination, but you can see it too; dust and ash is everywhere outside of the cities, blowing in that gentle, half-existent wind.
Without a sun and lacking the alchemical geniuses of the cities, there’re no living trees and little other plant life. In defiance of the strangeness that passes for natural order, trees still stand as black and twisted corpses keeping a vigil over the desolation. Lightning that connects with one might set it ablaze for a little while, but there’s so little substance left that they gutter to ash before true forest fires can spread.
The ecosystem was destroyed with the rest of the world. Scavengers and bottom feeders dealt best with the changes. There are some bioluminescent plants that still live, feeding on the corpses left by scavengers and the meager light of the moon. Small mushrooms are common, leaking glittering spores into the wind, as are vast carpets of moss. Don’t be seduced by the softness and warmth they radiate; the moss slowly consumes and poisons anything that touches it. You’ll awake to suffocating paralysis under that blanket. Sometimes you’ll see copses of flowers or iridescent grasses, but beware of beautiful things in the desolation.
Animal life exists, at least of a sort. The ocean teams with life, mostly unpleasant. Sightless creatures and pale or black hides abound. Birds are more common than mammals, but reptiles are essentially extinct without the warmth of the sun. Insects thrive underground and aggressively defend the little chunk of non-toxic soil they’ve found. Again, there’s more diversity and success near cities. There are otters whose starry pelts reflect ghostsense and sight, and that scavenge or hunt near human habitation sometimes. They’re pests, knocking holes in lightning barriers and wrecking oyster and clam farms. They’re nice compared to the other things that have survived. This world was truly magical once, and the carnivorous life shows it. Inhospitable Iruvian desert and Skovland snow might make it easier to survive; at least there it’s only the weather and starvation that mean to kill you.
Some folks still live out there, crazy though that sounds. Maybe they’re the descendants of pre-cataclysm nomads, or exiles that got lucky. There are treasures out there for those that have some way to survive without the lightning barriers; artifacts, pelts, and raw materials infused with the untamed energy outside. They trade in the smaller cities and at rail stations where repair crews huddle and hope not to be lost like the last crew. What could be so valuable to stay? What could they hate in the cities so much that they wouldn’t stay?
And then there are the ghosts. Newer and smaller ghosts tend to stay near the cities where they beg at the barriers for entrance or glory in the ambient energy of the ghost field. Further out, the ghosts become scarcer. Pre-cataclysm and feral things, they’re incomprehensible to human minds yet continue a stubborn existence. Most don’t look remotely human anymore, more incomprehensible animal mixed with mysterious shape and substance. They’ve killed every animal large enough to notice, barring those with natural defenses, and continue the slaughter if they can. In some places, the only color in the landscape comes from these occasional corpses and splashes of red. They’re invisible most of the time, but even the unattuned could feel their coldness and anger before seeing them. Opening yourself to the ghost field outside of a city feels overwhelming, like you can see past the horizon but every point is full of light and little is distinct, like something was bathing the world in blinding light.
now that was awesome John Dornberger!
Agreed, excellent. 🙂