Tales of Desperation

The white towers of Glace are but a memory, having paid their price to the progress of industry in the currency of soot stained marble and corroded copper pipes. That they still stand is a monument to Glace’s inability to let go of the past while simultaneously lurching forward, further evidenced by the smoke bellowing forth from the many factories and warehouses which litter the formerly pristine harbor district. The well to do and elite take advantage of the iron carriage lines exploding from the city center into the farmlands beyond to escape the pollution and unsavory violence of the city and retreat to their country estates. Those in the city erect walls and gardens to keep the riff raff out, and find some semblance of peace within. The city shudders and quakes with the sound of foundries, steam, and a teeming mass of people confined to a spaces no human should habitate for extended periods of time, ever growing into the formerly idyllic fields far beyond its antiquated walls.   But Glace still remains what it was many generations ago, a place of power, the seat of the Queen, and the beating political and economic heart of the east. From Foudre to the north, to Amelior to the south, and all points between, where Glace steps, others follow and react accordingly. For Glace is a city with intent, and will crush those not strong enough to live within its walls in the certainty that can only occur by a city built on unwavering ambition and self importance.   And yet despite the ever flowing tide of industry and wealth, shadows lurk in the corners, and darkness bubbles up through the cobbles. Something, some things, are not right within the labyrinth of streets and tenements which grow ever higher and thicker. Some still whisper of the old ways, of the darkness which came before, and of how the other side bleeds through the cracks, a sinister influence to which no man or woman can name, but neither would they be so foolish as to deny.