An idea I had…
Vaedh (“Ar” is a Skovlan prefix for “new”) was the grand capitol and pride of Skovlan. The stone marvel spanned a large portion of the Emerald Shield (the name of the cliff of beautiful, green stone on the southern border of the island and bulwark against invasion). The Shattering splintered the Shield into massive spires of jagged, towering stone, the once-beautiful green now sickly. Mighty Vaedh plunged into the hungry ink, its inhabitants swallowed by stone and sea as the world broke.
Where once stood a city to rival fabled Kar’uatha (kingdom of the Other Ones, fae-like beings of legend) now stands Arvaedh, a grim and stalwart collection of steel and stone platforms linked by bridges of the same. The capitol of Skovlan and seat of Imperial power in the north. It is a city broken in body and spirit, but it still endures, a testament to the people of this harsh land.
An oddity of Arvaedh is the horizontal lightning barriers below the platforms, preventing ghosts from “climbing” to harass the living. Falling (or being thrown down) into the barriers is called “greeting Grenjhal” (the Skov god of storms).
Vaedh still resides far below its surrogate city, the shattered remains clustered around the spire bases and drowned in the waves of black. The deathlands scavengers (as well as foolhardy and desperate relic hunters) toil in this accursed place, tasked with bringing back the “glories and wonders Vaedh”. A poor excuse those in power give to justify plundering the past in the hopes of more power. Coveted most is Ahgurm’s Eye, a ruby the size of a man’s head and fabled to have given power over dragons.
An idea worthy of recounting!
Sounds awesome. It must be an eerie sight to behold. With a horizontal ghostfield it would look like it’s on top of a lake of electroplasmic light. With rivers of it, filling the cracks between the parts of the city that broke apart!
May I be so rude to suggest an addition though? It would be the ideal place to highlight what dramatic influences high tide and low tide would have.
During high tides, most of the old city would be covered. An eerie sight, but mostly harmless. You could bareley make anything below. The dark ink covering near everything. Only a few towers still standing. The ruins of cathedrals and palasts. Like the arms of a prisonor, grasping for freedom.
Very little to be seen of ghosts and other frightful beasts. The crashing waves of the flooding discouraging such their activity (though not impossible).
But during low tide, the rest of the city is revealed. All the skeletal remains of it’s former beauty laid bare. Along with all else that has lain below the waves. The ghosts come out from hiding. More crazed, desprate and agressive than almost anywhere else. And they are joined by a myriad of horrors. During these times devils of all kind attack Arvæd’s ghostfield.
This is what makes scavenging Vædh so tempting, but perilous. There may unimaginable riches below, but there are also unimaginable ways to die down there.
The so called VædhenTales are told throughout the entire empire. Of the horrors that made that place their home.
In the southeast corner of the the “bay” where Arvædh resides a Leviathan has been beached in the low tide. Old Bauldnich (meaning “small mollusk”) got stuck between the broken spires in ages passed, the bulk of the beast is stuck in the caverns below. The beast still lives it thrashed and screamed constantly so no one could get at it. During high tide the roars were brought down to a barely audible whimpering lost in the rapids that it’s limbs caused.
A short 20 years ago Bauldnich stopped it’s rage, some people believe it’s finally given up trying to escape, others believe that some brave fools have brought a Siren to placate it with mellow whispers, some think it died but it’s blood keeps on living. Needless to say nobody wants to get close enought to find out.
The sudden silence of the Smallest of Mollusks has caused a generational divide in Arvædh, most of the population has carried a form the the Leviathan Song in their head for their entire lives, the city is renown for supplying the ships of anyone who was willing to trade with skilled Sirens. Yet now the children of Arvædh are disconnected from their entire society. The society itself is in disarray, always looking form some sort of sound to beat out that vast void that has been left to thier ears.
However the most ghost field deaf person in Arvædh can sense in their bones , that any moment, something is about, to go, horribly,
wrong.
Great seed here, mind if I expand on this and write some stuff up? Could be a really cool setting for Blades!
Worgak, of course! This isn’t mine, it’s ours. I would’ve posted about what’s at the base of the spires, but, Ghost Recon! 😀
Gorinich Serpant, you make awesome, as usual. 🙂
Ben Scerri , thank you and absofuckinglutely. 🙂
A wee rushed as I’m at work:
At the base of the spires in Emberbow Bay lies Port Stinson, otherwise known as “Drowntown”. Before the ubiquitous lightning rails connected the Empire, the piers and great lifts of Port Stinson were the gateways to Arveadh. Now, all that officially remains is a skeleton crew maintaining what’s left: Stinson Station, a bleak post protected by a fraction of the lightning barriers that once surrounded the port. Assignment to Stinson is seen as a punishment (which it often is) and the dour administrators, guards and technicians have, at best, turned a blind eye to the criminal endeavors which have sprung up and flourished there. More often, they actively participate in such practices.
The only unsullied aspect of Stinson is the Sunken Choir, a triumvirate of Sirens in an old lighthouse at the edge of the port. From here the Leviathan Song to “Small Mollusk” is sung, carried silently save across the Black Mirror.
…
In the time after the Shattering, while death waxed and man waned, the nascent Port Stinson, gateway to fledgling Arvaedh, came under assault by savage pirates. All seemed lost until a brave ensign took command of the last worthy ship. Its bow alight he rammed the vessel into the enemy flagship, igniting its powder reserves and destroying both ships. Miraculously, the ensign and a handful of his crew survived, the day having been won, and the great Clan Emberbow was born.
Today Emberbow Bay’s dark waters kiss the feet of Arvaedh’s rocky spires, its darker secrets held beneath waves of ink, tempting the desperate, mad and power-hungry.
Oh, the symbol of Clan Emberbow is, unsurprisingly, a ship’s bow of glowing embers.
Now the question is, has Clan Emberbow maintained its founder’s bravery? Or have the years made them grow more cautious, less daring, less willing to cause massive collateral damage? Do they discourage their adventurous children from following the footsteps of the legends they tell them? Are the embers, to cooled and brittle to be true skovs? Does something new need to be forged, that won’t be at the mercy of winds to fan in or water to not touch it, something solid and indifferent to the cold, something born from the iron?
Tamara and Argus Emberbow are the leaders of the still-powerful clan. It’s immense holdings and ties to the Empire give rise to words like “traitors” and “Imperial whores”, but not too loudly as few save clans Rynhallow and Durkval dare raise such accusations. If there was a true leader of Skovlan, it would be clan Emberbow.
Tamara is a frail but cunning viper who has lay with demons to secure power. Her diminutive stature hides a frightening, otherworldly power by the name of Vadanis, the Lady of Thorns.
Argus, a veteran of many battles and brilliant strategist, is the recipient of several sparkcraft prosthetics, gifts from Master Cabon, the Imperial Craftsmaster.
As far as their offspring, the parents craft deep-running plots to manipulate as much as possible, raising some children while crushing others if need be.
Master Cabon is a man of sweeping claims and grandiose gestures. He prides himself on his myriad of projects, from tinkering with a “the future of ovens”, to the use of lightning oil as a lubricant for machinery to human and ghost experimentation. He hails from the Imperial City on what he heavily implies, but never outright states, is the Immortal Emperor’s direct order (he has many time in the past promised pie in the sky, so no one believes him). His directive and main hobby is the overseeing of the scavenging of the Vaedh ruins, who’s secrets he’s hoarding for himself.
Gorinich Serpant, this shit’s dope! 🙂
Cabon gifted Argus with “custom-built perfection” because of the pivotal role clan Emberbow played in the Unity War. Of interesting (yet secret) note is the inroads Tamara has been making with an odd nobleman from Doskvol named Scurlock.
The one thing mortals who consort with demons trust less than a demon is another mortal who consorts with demons.