Fools Lip
One of the oldest districts of Marsétan. A few hundred years ago it was an upscale neighbourhood filled with mansions made from strong timber and fine metalwork. It was also where factories produced much of the building material for the early boom period of Marsétan. In 234 AS the center of the district collapsed into the Lost. Hard times have since followed Fools Lip. These days it is rundown, a place of organised abandonment by the broader city. City traffic no longer flows through or even beside its roads, its streets are filled with disused industrial buildings and vacant homes, and its main export is stories of ghosts and curses. This has led to isolationist approach to the broader political and economic landscape of Marsétan. It has become a place of ghost stories, old magic, and thin walls or so the stories say.
These days the district of Fools Lip is split into roughly three sections: the outskirts, the canal, and hilltop. The outskirts border Fools lip and the rest of Marsétan. Despite the old industrial buildings, it is a busy place with many people eking out a living. It is not uncommon for the dilapidated warehouses to hold a vibrant marketplace or community within. Overtime deep roots have grown here for the inhabitants. There is an air of distrust towards those from the rest of Marsétan and their promises of investment or revitalization. For the residents of Fools Lip instead a thriving barter and time-bank economy keeps the inhabitants of the outskirts on their feet.
The canal runs around the hilltop, originally built as a waste system, it has become a toxic dystopia. Filled with magic waste, haunted overgrowth, and collapsed buildings there are dangers abound. However, pockets of safety exist. Side passages create an underground warren that runs throughout Fools Lip. Those barred from the outskirts and unable to survive the supernatural terrors of hilltop, find this one of the places of last resort. Many however do not last long, finding themselves transformed by fumes, toxic sludge, and perhaps remnants of something darker. Whispers of necromantic cults, death dealing guilds, and illicit smuggling meander their way out - but not much else.
The hilltop is centred around the crater. Originally the jewel of Marsétan rising at a sharp angle above the canal, it has become a place of despair. It now carries a heavy fog where the shadows themselves move. The only people who remain are those for whom the ghostly whispers hold little terror. The crater itself is ringed by scaffolding, makeshift bridges, and long abandoned repair projects. It is home to small underworld factions, squatters, and all those with nowhere else to go.
For more on the governance of the district view Fools Lip Collective
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