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[Exalted] Essence of Creation
Whitewall is a city beset by the Fair Folk and the dead. Massive walls of grey marble ring the city. Multistory houses, workshops, public baths, and other buildings, mostly built from the same material, fill the available space, leaving narrow streets. A ghost-haunted shadowland lies to the southeast and stag-horned Fair Folk hunt mortals when the ever-shifting bordermarches draw close. On the rocky taiga, Whitewall offers the only sure protection and by Northern standards, the city is a teeming metropolis. Every year, desperate people indenture themselves to claim residence, safety, and a chance to prosper. Laborers work the meager fields or mine valuable ores from the mountains. Metalworkers hone their craft, trading their finest work southward. Ennobled margraves grow wealthy from their work.The might of the Syndics, three mysterious gods of ice and silver who rule the city, protects Whitewall. Their blessings infuse the walls, visible as a faint glow in the night. Their protection extends to the Trade Road that connects Whitewall to Creation. Those who remain on the road are safe from predation. The Fair Folk and the hungry dead snatch the unwary who step off the road. But these bargains for protection come at a price; the Syndics cast out two dozen mortals, usually criminals, annually to sate the appetites of ghost and Fair Folk.
Whitewallers view newcomers with suspicion, especially those who arrive without introduction they could be monsters trying to enter the city. While the walls keep out most threats, Raksha or dead horrors gain entry through tricks, illusions, or dark dealings. However, the city values outsiders who prove their worth slaying monsters and honors them with feasts and rowdy celebration. Like many Northern cities, Whitewall's remote location and harsh landscape place it beyond the reach of Realm control, but the Syndics maintain friendly relations with the Realm.
Having suffered an unusually harsh winter, trade has diminished to a point where the already crowded population has become emancipated and desperate. Thousands crowd at the busy Congregation Hall to beg the ruling Syndics for a solution to their plight. As even the city's upper-crust have had to ration food, many have resorted to increased hostility towards the large and already oppressed refugee population. "Whitewall is full," they argue, "and the surrounding lands must be repopulated." Meanwhile, margraves grow richer and fatter upon the desperation of their serfs.
With the situation becoming increasingly desperate, the Syndics offer generous bounties to those willing to protect the surrounding lands or ensure the safe import of goods. More and more people are turned away at the gates and forced to fend for themselves, while many weigh the risk of facing the eldritch horrors outside the city-walls or the often hateful people within. Those who can secure land and provide for the city gain ownership of that land. Most who try fail, and those who succeed don't do so for long.
How will you brave these white walls? How will you prosper amongst a desperate people? How will you navigate a corrupt bureaucracy? Will you be shunned as an enemy or celebrated as a hero?
Welcome to Whitewall.