The Eight Crimes of The Iconodules
To stand in Brise and feel the churning mountains behind you, rumbling under the slow consumption of The Edge, to look out over the Monuments and see the city spreading away from the shadow of the mountains, a dirty expanse of high walls and surrounded districts, each distinct in its form and function. Brise in its opulence and height, the masters of the lower city living in their glittering palaces. Rast and its stony, ashen edifices, bedecked with statuary and eerily silent. The Vale and its misty gardens. Adladom and the strange, glassy tubes that cover its roofs, making it glitter in the sun. One could be tricked into thinking The City was a beacon of progress and enlightenment.
You would be wrong.
War in Kalasho, looting in Periad, Disease in Dramanaks, Corruption in Avadeen. The Docks, the only district to retain their original name, have been abandoned entirely as The Edge pushes the ocean up and over the city, leaving the district half-flooded and lawless.
The chaos is only spreading north, up the mountains, towards the wealth and splendor of Brise.
Few stand in its way.
It is not clear when The City was conceived. History says that at one point, there was no City, but as the races of the world migrated inwards, towards what would become its heart, their rapidly assembled fortifications and castles turned into permanent walls, then small cities in their own right. When the walls began to butt up against each other, the Districts emerged. Refugees eventually stopped coming, but it is the eternal curse of all living things to produce more lives than they know what to do with. It is said that there was once war in the city, but that is now averted by the Peace Bells.
The heights of the city. Its center of governance and wealth. The home of those that claim the title ‘ruler’. The monsters that once owned the skies roost here in uneasy truce.
The gardens. Home of food worth eating. The paradise the lower districts dream of. Clean water in public fountains and canals. Open markets and beautiful houses with spacious, open verandas.
Straddling Vale and the district of Jamali, The Park is the last wild place left in the world, as far as anyone knows. Where it falls within Vale’s jurisdiction it is home to verdant forests, tended by druidic Idols. In Jamali’s, it falls in the shadow of the Vale’s high cliff-side walls, and is a too-wet twist of jungle and flowing water.
Rotting wood and desperate stockpiles of the last of the world’s raw materials in warehouses and stockyards are the hallmarks of Jamali, and from Jamali the city is built. Turf wars break out over the district and the city’s one quarry with alarming frequency, and intervention is frequent and violent.
Home of prisons, banks, graveyards, and memories. Nobody feels comfortable living in Rast. Those who are comfortable among death and darkness are well at home in this somber place. Most bodies that end up in Rast are buried there, and most secrets that are sent to Rast never emerge.
Hardly a proper district at all, but nobody is allowed to build here. Really more like a large, open dirt field, miles and miles across, with a single Monument in the middle bearing the same name. Then the Peace Bells ring, and Ishi is forgotten.
Magicians and those that serve them, as well as those Idols that do not attempt to rally their districts against Brise, are the hallmarks of Adladom. Magic keeps strict watch on the comings and goings of this district, and crime is mercifully rare. Except when it isn’t.
A safe place, for those that follow the rules. The rules are unfair and suit the petty masters of the housing blocks, who vie among each other for control of shadowy courts that those with their heads down and eyes forward never even hear of, except in passing.
A smoky, quarantined place mostly populated with durable sorts of monsters and men, because the rest die. Strict provisions on the burning of corpses and handling of waste make this a tense place, especially as the last safe gateway to the ocean, and all its dwindling bounty.
More a single building than a district, Kelasho’s inhabitants flirt with open rebellion each day, powerful Idols raising small bands to push into other districts, or merely carve out another piece of their overcrowded castle-home.
If someone needs tools, fine jewelery, weapons, utensils, or even just a crate of nails, it likely came from Periad. Home to wealth being created in its purest form, the district is rife with thieves, price-gouging and people trying to survive in a miserable world.