Age of Excess
Absalom reveled in its larger‑than‑life heroes and unshakable dominion of Inner Sea trade. However, for all their posturing, the city’s leaders grew increasingly territorial and envious, suspecting one another of wooing the masses to forward any number of nefarious schemes. In some cases, they were right; the old Azlanti cult of Ulon—an evil deity of conspiracy, isolation, and manipulation—had taken root in Absalom, driving internecine espionage and political sabotage. In other ways, Absalom’s people merely fell prey to their own successes and insecurities, seeing envious enemies at every turn and seeking a powerful leader who could inspire the city as Aroden once had.
Instead of a leader, Absalom encountered a seemingly endless number of additional foes. Among the most dangerous was Kharnas the Angel‑Binder, an evil half‑angel archmage from the Great Beyond who besieged the city from a towering interdimensional war‑spire at the present site of Fort Tempest. He used an ancient Azlanti artifact called the Radiant Spark, which had come to Absalom’s aid numerous times in the past (most notably when the legendary Sarnax the Great used it to resurrect and heal hundreds of victims of the Yellow Death sickness during the Pirate Siege). While the pyramidal Radiant Spark remains a symbol of hope and rebirth in Absalom even now, in Kharnas’s hands, it became a terrible weapon. The warlord’s bound angels ravaged the city until finally defeated at great cost—the Radiant Spark and Kharnas himself banished to the Great Beyond forevermore.
Warfare, growing inequity, demagoguery, and strife had poisoned Absalom. Independent Ulonite cells further confused matters, and the city increasingly relied on its legacy of greatness to obscure its ever‑greater vulnerabilities. When Norgorber completed the Test of the Starstone in 1893 AR, Absalom rejoiced, thinking this confirmation of its prestige. The Reaper of Reputation swiftly overshadowed Ulon’s cults, with the former’s followers hunting down and assassinating nearly all of the Ulonites within a decade. Again Absalom celebrated, either not fully aware or not caring that it had traded one cult of secrets for a much more sinister one.
No, Absalom’s leaders considered themselves peerless examples for the whole world to study, encouraged by Norgorberites’ lies and coddled by the city’s enormous treasury. In 1997 AR, the political elite began hiring contractors to handle their governmental business—even voting. Many of these surrogates were barely vetted, and this apathy attracted foreign power brokers who exploited this habit to insinuate their agents into Absalom’s government and guilds. From the Taldan Blue Lords to the Keleshite Cult of the Hawk, these groups effectively controlled Absalom within a few generations, kept in check only by their rivals’ ambitions. Their agents, acting as surrogate voters for Absalom’s politicians, passed the now‑infamous Proxy Laws later that year. Under this legislation, all municipal work had to be performed by outside professionals, ostensibly freeing citizens to pursue more high‑minded endeavors.
The Proxy Laws provided opportunity for the city’s ruling factions to engage in rampant cronyism and ludicrous building projects, most infamously the centuries‑long “Mount Absalom” boom in which buildings arose, were knocked down, and then built atop each other again and again in a ceaseless regime of construction contracts. Thanks to the Blue Lords’ increasingly lenient zoning codes, most of Absalom’s districts rose nearly a foot per decade, creating a network of “undercity” streets that were later incorporated into the renovated sewers. Affected jobs, like street sweeping, tax collection, and wall repairs, ballooned in scope to encompass a wide variety of careers, and the Proxy Laws’ precedent gradually expanded to control dock management, the military, and myriad manufacturing interests. The incremental changes slowly suffocated Absalom’s domestic industries, pushing local experts out of the market and replacing them with foreign workers who eventually became citizens and were replaced in their own right. Absalom’s treasury seemed bottomless, trade remained strong, and little disrupted the luxuries that sustained the city’s indolent politicians. All the while, Absalom’s citizenry reveled. Such freedom might have inspired enlightened art, but critics considered the operas, plays, and paintings of the so‑called Age of Excess to be maudlin and unrefined. Instead, the period’s greatest accomplishment was the apotheosis of Cayden Cailean, who perfectly encapsulated Absalom’s virtues through his drunken stumble into godhood.
Absalom had become the butt of international jests, and its leaders’ transparent and ham‑fisted edicts alienated more allies with each generation. Disgusted, the Arclords who had founded and operated Absalom’s prestigious Arcanamirium school of magic at last rebelled, believing they could right the city’s course only by completing Nex’s unfinished business: conquering Absalom. Remembered as the Conjured Siege, these wizards struck the city from within with arcane fire and summoned beasts in what began as a targeted strike against the city’s corrupt leaders and devolved into a grand melee with the district guards. Desperate, the city called in a motley, macabre host of its own to fight the Arclords, relying on assassins, fiend‑summoners, and unscrupulous mercenaries. Although Absalom ultimately prevailed, its defenders’ underhanded strategies left many wondering who the real villains were: the Arclords or the city itself?
Blame for Absalom’s decline increasingly fell on the Blue Lords and the Cult of the Hawk. When a series of tremendous earthquakes struck Taldor and Qadira, these two organizations took the opportunity to withdraw from Absalom altogether. Overnight, the city’s political establishment practically vanished. What remained of the Low Council swiftly overturned the Proxy Laws and paid the city’s finances long overdue scrutiny, learning that after centuries of neglect and indulgence, Absalom’s legendary riches were virtually gone. As social programs collapsed, the remaining Keleshite and Taldan power brokers exploited the city’s desperate and inexperienced workforce. Within a year, old grievances against the Blue Lords and the Cult of the Hawk sparked the Red Wealday Riots that ultimately chased out these remaining landlords and guild masters.
Absalom might have regained control of its own fate, but it was in a sorry state. Sweeping emigration left its remaining workforce depleted and unskilled. In autumn of 2925 AR, a dearth of capable farmhands triggered the Witherwheat Crisis, a near‑total failure of domestic grain production. Then‑Primarch Guangevir Estrobal press‑ganged vast numbers of civilians to harvest the crops, arresting those who dissented and forcing them to work. Although Absalom recovered, the primarch’s severe acts created a precedent for forcing labor from political prisoners, ultimately laying the groundwork for slavery decades later.
Instead of a leader, Absalom encountered a seemingly endless number of additional foes. Among the most dangerous was Kharnas the Angel‑Binder, an evil half‑angel archmage from the Great Beyond who besieged the city from a towering interdimensional war‑spire at the present site of Fort Tempest. He used an ancient Azlanti artifact called the Radiant Spark, which had come to Absalom’s aid numerous times in the past (most notably when the legendary Sarnax the Great used it to resurrect and heal hundreds of victims of the Yellow Death sickness during the Pirate Siege). While the pyramidal Radiant Spark remains a symbol of hope and rebirth in Absalom even now, in Kharnas’s hands, it became a terrible weapon. The warlord’s bound angels ravaged the city until finally defeated at great cost—the Radiant Spark and Kharnas himself banished to the Great Beyond forevermore.
Warfare, growing inequity, demagoguery, and strife had poisoned Absalom. Independent Ulonite cells further confused matters, and the city increasingly relied on its legacy of greatness to obscure its ever‑greater vulnerabilities. When Norgorber completed the Test of the Starstone in 1893 AR, Absalom rejoiced, thinking this confirmation of its prestige. The Reaper of Reputation swiftly overshadowed Ulon’s cults, with the former’s followers hunting down and assassinating nearly all of the Ulonites within a decade. Again Absalom celebrated, either not fully aware or not caring that it had traded one cult of secrets for a much more sinister one.
No, Absalom’s leaders considered themselves peerless examples for the whole world to study, encouraged by Norgorberites’ lies and coddled by the city’s enormous treasury. In 1997 AR, the political elite began hiring contractors to handle their governmental business—even voting. Many of these surrogates were barely vetted, and this apathy attracted foreign power brokers who exploited this habit to insinuate their agents into Absalom’s government and guilds. From the Taldan Blue Lords to the Keleshite Cult of the Hawk, these groups effectively controlled Absalom within a few generations, kept in check only by their rivals’ ambitions. Their agents, acting as surrogate voters for Absalom’s politicians, passed the now‑infamous Proxy Laws later that year. Under this legislation, all municipal work had to be performed by outside professionals, ostensibly freeing citizens to pursue more high‑minded endeavors.
The Proxy Laws provided opportunity for the city’s ruling factions to engage in rampant cronyism and ludicrous building projects, most infamously the centuries‑long “Mount Absalom” boom in which buildings arose, were knocked down, and then built atop each other again and again in a ceaseless regime of construction contracts. Thanks to the Blue Lords’ increasingly lenient zoning codes, most of Absalom’s districts rose nearly a foot per decade, creating a network of “undercity” streets that were later incorporated into the renovated sewers. Affected jobs, like street sweeping, tax collection, and wall repairs, ballooned in scope to encompass a wide variety of careers, and the Proxy Laws’ precedent gradually expanded to control dock management, the military, and myriad manufacturing interests. The incremental changes slowly suffocated Absalom’s domestic industries, pushing local experts out of the market and replacing them with foreign workers who eventually became citizens and were replaced in their own right. Absalom’s treasury seemed bottomless, trade remained strong, and little disrupted the luxuries that sustained the city’s indolent politicians. All the while, Absalom’s citizenry reveled. Such freedom might have inspired enlightened art, but critics considered the operas, plays, and paintings of the so‑called Age of Excess to be maudlin and unrefined. Instead, the period’s greatest accomplishment was the apotheosis of Cayden Cailean, who perfectly encapsulated Absalom’s virtues through his drunken stumble into godhood.
Absalom had become the butt of international jests, and its leaders’ transparent and ham‑fisted edicts alienated more allies with each generation. Disgusted, the Arclords who had founded and operated Absalom’s prestigious Arcanamirium school of magic at last rebelled, believing they could right the city’s course only by completing Nex’s unfinished business: conquering Absalom. Remembered as the Conjured Siege, these wizards struck the city from within with arcane fire and summoned beasts in what began as a targeted strike against the city’s corrupt leaders and devolved into a grand melee with the district guards. Desperate, the city called in a motley, macabre host of its own to fight the Arclords, relying on assassins, fiend‑summoners, and unscrupulous mercenaries. Although Absalom ultimately prevailed, its defenders’ underhanded strategies left many wondering who the real villains were: the Arclords or the city itself?
Blame for Absalom’s decline increasingly fell on the Blue Lords and the Cult of the Hawk. When a series of tremendous earthquakes struck Taldor and Qadira, these two organizations took the opportunity to withdraw from Absalom altogether. Overnight, the city’s political establishment practically vanished. What remained of the Low Council swiftly overturned the Proxy Laws and paid the city’s finances long overdue scrutiny, learning that after centuries of neglect and indulgence, Absalom’s legendary riches were virtually gone. As social programs collapsed, the remaining Keleshite and Taldan power brokers exploited the city’s desperate and inexperienced workforce. Within a year, old grievances against the Blue Lords and the Cult of the Hawk sparked the Red Wealday Riots that ultimately chased out these remaining landlords and guild masters.
Absalom might have regained control of its own fate, but it was in a sorry state. Sweeping emigration left its remaining workforce depleted and unskilled. In autumn of 2925 AR, a dearth of capable farmhands triggered the Witherwheat Crisis, a near‑total failure of domestic grain production. Then‑Primarch Guangevir Estrobal press‑ganged vast numbers of civilians to harvest the crops, arresting those who dissented and forcing them to work. Although Absalom recovered, the primarch’s severe acts created a precedent for forcing labor from political prisoners, ultimately laying the groundwork for slavery decades later.
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