Leatherhead
Possibly a Idiot.
4th of Zarantyr, 998 YK. Late morning.
Southshore, Metrol, Cyre
You crawl out of the Dead Man's land in much the same way you crawled in. Dead silently though a hole in the wall of a back ally building.
If one could akin Metrol to a shining crown, Southshore would have been akin to the crown jewel. Cyrians always had a love for the arts, and Southshore was the premiere entertainment hub for all of Galifar. Galleries, inns, theaters, and restaurants lined the streets. Even religious orders set up shop here, paying the best artists in the continent to set up temples and shrines as gleaming monuments. That luster, like all of Metrol, has been replaced with tarnish.
Of all the districts that are still inhabited, Southshore is by far in the worst condition. The streets suffer from siege weapon inflicted pockmarks, and even here you can see the occasional petrified undead. From your entry point, you can see the ruins of the once prominent Cathedral of the Sovereign Host, the statues inside smashed. Save for the statues of Dol Dorn and Dol Arrah, who have somehow twisted around and impaled each other on their swords.
Still, somehow, there is life on the streets here. A few of the devotees make a pilgrimage to pray and lay offerings just outside the shattered temple. Families, or at least what is left of them, making their way towards the gruel-lines and medical beds in the repurposed Arena. And of course, the conscripts returning from the wall, their thousand yard stares and weary footfalls leading them into various vice houses, so they can
Vesile is the first to speak. “We need to find Wargoyle, and keep Yelisha clear of the Rats.”
Southshore, Metrol, Cyre
You crawl out of the Dead Man's land in much the same way you crawled in. Dead silently though a hole in the wall of a back ally building.
If one could akin Metrol to a shining crown, Southshore would have been akin to the crown jewel. Cyrians always had a love for the arts, and Southshore was the premiere entertainment hub for all of Galifar. Galleries, inns, theaters, and restaurants lined the streets. Even religious orders set up shop here, paying the best artists in the continent to set up temples and shrines as gleaming monuments. That luster, like all of Metrol, has been replaced with tarnish.
Of all the districts that are still inhabited, Southshore is by far in the worst condition. The streets suffer from siege weapon inflicted pockmarks, and even here you can see the occasional petrified undead. From your entry point, you can see the ruins of the once prominent Cathedral of the Sovereign Host, the statues inside smashed. Save for the statues of Dol Dorn and Dol Arrah, who have somehow twisted around and impaled each other on their swords.
Still, somehow, there is life on the streets here. A few of the devotees make a pilgrimage to pray and lay offerings just outside the shattered temple. Families, or at least what is left of them, making their way towards the gruel-lines and medical beds in the repurposed Arena. And of course, the conscripts returning from the wall, their thousand yard stares and weary footfalls leading them into various vice houses, so they can
Vesile is the first to speak. “We need to find Wargoyle, and keep Yelisha clear of the Rats.”
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