IC Thread 3
The town of Baden's Bluff was modernized and nationalized at some point in the centuries before the coming of the military. Now guards stand at their posts, with rumors indicating the watchtowers are manned to grant a beautiful sweep of the terrain. Before the military broadened its search into the fertile lands in the Jungle of Aruun, the rocks faced crashing waves several miles to the southwest. Demigraphically the city then became bolstered by the military, with several of the military garrisons electing to have queues and plumed hats, in a gesture of style in keeping with the strident and yet diehard military presence. The population sat at 30000 in the third century BK (before Kronos) and the political nature of the city means the four gates are always welcoming in fresh streams of individuals. Once the harbinger of illicit trades, the city is now more streamlined and faces magical trials all in their due purpose. The gods have been paying especial attention to the city, given its growth over the years from 30000 to 130000 today. This means, given the chronology, that it is considered a metropolis. It was the sole city to be literally erased from the pencil drafts of Izrador's minions, and the gods were unable to detect what the servants of Izrador were cooking up in the tunnels beneath the city. Nestled into the surrounding hills, the ground is a fine light green, often glowing amber as the wind sends its currents through the plants, which are well known for speaking in obscure tongues. The coffers are currently low but the chancellors are using their numismatical skills to channel a grudge against the "haves" in the outside of the city. Upon the coins are inscribed letters similar to Phonecian, and many postulate that these coins are the work of collaboration with Meeru and the demodands, solidifying arcane control of the city. It erupts once every ten years, forcing residents to pay homage to myths like Pompeii to maintain their grasp on the environment. Meanwhile the water sits unrippled, pond scum radiating a similar energy to that in a Roman bath or the speaking plants far-flung.
The coins that you spent have an image of Posiin, a legendary ruler who travelled from the lands to the southeast. He has a fishhook pitted against his mouth, and the angler's guild is well known for supplying magical food to the population from the center pond and indoor pools. Demographically the city is highly stratified, with magic in the hands of only an elite few.
Izrador's presence in the realm of the gods means he has been sealed up, but not water tight. When gods mess around with bodies, there's no telling when there might be danger exuded from the pores of even a city tree, which are bent around the city like spokes on a wheel. One myth postulates Posiin rolled up the city like a snowball of dough and rolled it into the latest modern craze: the bowling alley with magically resetting pins. The gods are decked out in magical style, but the presence of the fallen one goes way back into the past, his forme changing as the years brushed his scaled dragon-like carapace. There is a natural dilemma resulting from his attempt to control the power nexuses and explosions resulting in fire elementals at sites where his attention warps into place like a broken pipe. Currently the gods' followers who directed you to pay some attention to the city from your travels from Huxtable, marking a new era in the jockeying for power that is the pantheon. Spontaneous combats break out when individuals resort to openly displaying magic items or trinkets. The glow of trinkets is much lower, however, and the triangulation harbors deep desires from the crisp leaves that can be folded into magical origami. Some use these as spies, and the rumor about missing children means that the origami will glow in tandem with telluric currents, but the city's riot takes the attention away from the disappearance.
A man with a plumed visor with white marks on it and rainbow ponytail-like plumes darts around a corner after the coins get ripped open by someone exploiting the riot. Screams soar all around amidst the chaos, and you're able to get magical entrance, having sensed the masonry of alabaster whispering cries of terror. The slope seems to tug at your feet and a fire elemental darts around the corner with its amorphic form stitching together a hike to pursue the man with the holy book in his hands. He blasts the man with enfeebling ray, causing him to tip over, and you hear the clanking of his coins as the cobbles greet death from below.
