Gangs of Iskadar

 In the City of Cities, many people fall through the cracks. Aclas’ underworld is a mirror reflection of its society, like a puddle far deeper than you expect. The mobster of Aclas lives in a moonlit shadow of the world, with their own kings, priests, nations… 

Especially in Iskadar, City of Cities, where the continents meet and everyone in the world stares each other in the face.

1820 has been a bad year - perhaps the worst since 1808, when what was left of the volunteers and the expeditionary force came trudging home from the war in Zymech, missing most of themselves. 

A month or so ago, to rescue a man claiming to be a part of god, who had been “dead” in the form of a statue at the harbour bottom (a long and sordid story), the Adavoran navy has shelled the City - the first such attack in over a century. There’s panic in the air. Words like “total war”, “rationing”, “alcohol prohibition” and “divine retribution” are thrown around carelessly in the Senate.

It’s a good time to look out for oneself.

Iskadar is five or six cities stacked atop each other, a walled-city style architectural babel which goes beyond even the comprehension of its inhabitants. Down, underneath the mass, in the damp, in the coal-dust and the phoslamp glow, are the city’s Guts - and the Guts are gang territory. 

The criminals live a life of relative extravagance compared to the honest poor, but also ones of extreme danger. Sure, they can eat caviar instead of squid-ink noodles, but what good’s that when you’re fucking dead? 

Gangs work a little like Domains, except your numbers are counted in the tens instead of population in the hundreds, and you have access to the entire gang as goons, not just a percentage as levies. 

Instead of Law, you have Armaments, instead of Trade, you have Racket, instead of Temple, you have Reputation. 

Esoteric is now Fucked-Up - you’re mobsters, not academics.

“What kind of magic is this, Tony?” 

“Iunno, man, it’s… Fucked-Up.”

Gangs, unlike Domains, don’t make money - so you only get income if you have Racket, or you do Heists. I think Heists would be a big part of this game. 

Gangs garner Heat when they do a heist, a robbery, what have you. At the end of each season you lose [reputation] Heat. You have a… what, [Heat]-in-6 chance of the Iskadar City Watch trying to fucking get you each Season? I don’t know. This is the first draft. 

Picking a gang, you play all of its members. You, the player, are playing the gang, not a PC and their domain. The gang has a boss, but they’re just one face of the thing. The boss starts with the first level of a class for free, but any dipshit that gets 50XP can graduate from Level 0.

The Gangs of Iskadar 

1. Red Tooth - A big, nasty gang full of shitheads, punks, toughs and good old fashioned thugs. Famous for their custom vehicles - loud, plated, spiked and heavy. Originally a gang made up exclusively of Zarumaan immigrants and their families, they’ve expanded to include anyone who finds the idea of an autocar with a ram or a chain hidden inside your coat exciting
• Level 2: Armaments 1, Racket 2 (Mechanics and Scrap)
• Assets: Control over Hawthorne Autocar Works, a disused factory with attached garages, and the adjoining scrap yard. 15 customised autocars. One extremely armoured autohaul.
• The boss of the Red Tooth must be a Zarumaan human related to the previous boss, Vengen “Haunted” Ilmaar, who has “retired” - such as criminals in the Guts ever do. 
  
  
2. The House de Stroza - Once a house of the Verdaran peerage, they were exiled here for treason. They cling to the trappings of nobility, and their innermost family still occasionally receives invitations to attend Upper-City events, at private clubs frequented by Senators. Until last year, the don was Aldovico de Stroza, their 101-year-old patriarch, living on spite, extremely expensive longevity medicine, and gin. He was killed by a horrible malfunction (or assassination?) involving a piece of medical equipment at a warehouse on the docks. Every Stroza dresses in green when “on business”. 
• Level 2: Racket 1 (Smuggling), Reputation 2 (Old-Money Class) 
• Assets: A mansion on the docks and a theatre in the guts. 10 autocars. 
• The don (or dona) of the Strozas must be a Verdaran human with two siblings: Lauranne (psychotic, competent) and Piet (drunk, lethargic). Aldovico was their grandfather, their mother and father died in an airship crash. 
• Problem: Lauranne and Piet. 
  
  
3. Courtesan’s Union - Iskadar’s brothels are old and noble institutions (according to certain Iskans, at least), with some stretching back into centuries of continuous operation. As the Guts worsened, they banded together - mutual interest. Become a gang, or get taken over by one. They look after their own with famous efficiency: unpleasant guests turn up dead in canals days later with silk stockings tied round their necks. 
• Level 2: Racket 2 (Brothels), Reputation 2 (Guess Why)
• Assets: A string of sixteen brothels throughout the Guts, the most famous of which is the Kind Attention, an establishment that clears the threshold for “classy”. 4 autocars. 
• Any kind of person could be head of the Union. It’s likely they have professional experience in the field, as well. 
  
  
4. The Pulps - They’re named after the disused pulp-mill next to Mud Canal where they hide out. A broad collection of ex-war-wizards, failed mage-graduates and dropout apprentices (of the wizards who use Iskadar to hide from their manifold crimes). They’re funded by a rich collector called Ialanna Merce, for no clear reason save that she seems to find them funny. 
• Level 1: Racket 1 (Cheap Magic), Fucked-Up 1 (Shitty Wizards) 
• Assets: Their fortified pulp-mill, and definitely the best grasp on the actual mechanisms of magic among anyone on the list. Also, the… “patronage” of the Upper-City bigshot. 2 autocars. 
• The boss of the Pulps must be a wizard. They won’t be led by some fuckin’ no-spark mundane jagoff. 
• Problem: Whoever runs the Pulps must deal with Mosca and the Kookaburra, two former members of the outfit who were kicked out and want to run it themselves. Mosca’s a (highly, highly illegal) biomancer, albeit a very polite one, and the Kookaburra is a complete asshole who is classed as a limimancer (ooze wizard). 
  
  
5. The Starving Rats - A gang of snarling, hungry shitheads who have a decent claim to being the oldest gang in the City. The Rats were (technically) founded by “Starving Sveya”, the so-called ‘Queen of Iskadar’. She’s long dead, but the sons and daughters of her scum are still around. Their usual haunts are Salvaro Bridge and the Battery Tent Village far under it, the narrow switchbacks of the Snickets, and the city sump at Gin Tip. They’re in with the spirits of the City, most especially the awful little creature referred to as the Vermin Supreme. 
• Level 1: Armaments 1 (Stolen Guns and Bad Manners), Fucked-Up 1 (Spirit Favour)
• Assets: Contacts among the homeless people of the city, 
• The Rats would prefer to be led by a speaker, a sworn or a fighter - someone who can deal with spirits, or someone tough, or maybe even both.
  
  
6. The Disciples of the Stilled Tongue - Exiled here from the isle of Uvar, famous for its hundred cults, after choosing the wrong side in an intercultinental struggle. They are, to be clear, a cult - a mystic one, in the “union with the cosmos sense”. They started doing crime to get capital to buy more psychotropic drugs. Every member of the cult is magically voiceless, and in exchange, has short-range telepathy (it’s not that much better than speaking, but at least it’s unaffected by language barriers).  
• Level 1: Racket 1 (Psychotropics), Fucked-Up 1 (Telepathy) 
• Assets: A secret sanctum-sanctorum that apparently allows their members to astrally project (dubiously true). 
• The Disciples would only allow themselves to be led by someone with some enlightenment on their side - a wizard, a speaker or a psychic of some sort. 
  
  
7. The Gutter Worms - This lot haunts the Old Coal Pit, the absolute stygian bottom of Iskadar - pitch dark, poorer than wild pigs, filthy with coal and runoff from the gutters. They wrap their heads in bandages, cover their eyes in goggles, and wear heavy, dark coats - surplus from the Iskadar Expeditionary Force. They move together and fight with unusual co-ordination. Sometimes, their made men and higher ups stand up from being shot dead. 
• Level 1: Armaments 1 (Military Surplus), Fucked-Up 1 (Something Vile).
• Assets: Knowledge of the Old Coal Pit and its twists and turns. A hideout in a disused processing plant. 1 autocar and some ancient mining equipment (including some possibly out-of-date explosive stockpiles). 
• The boss of the Gutter Worms can be any kind of person, but must be afflicted with something vile to be in charge. 
• Problem: Something Vile. 
  
  
8. The Iron Company - A mercenary company that has slowly collapsed into a straight-up protection racket, running a small corner of the Guts between the Snickets and Bullet Street. They fought in the Spits War, and the War of the Ruins, but nobody called on them for mobilisation after the shelling this year. They’re finally just criminals. They still wear their charcoal-coloured coats and wear dog tags, but it only helps the Watch pick them out. 
• Level 2: Armaments 2 (Actual Military Gear), Racket 1 (Protection Money)
• Assets: 4 autocars, 4 motorbikes, 1 autohaul, 2 armoured cars, 2 pieces of small artillery. 
• Anyone of sufficient toughness could lead the Company, but they’d prefer a fighter, tactician or an apparatus. 
  
  
9. The Bellwether Sheep - A cricket club that’s become a gang, but is still inexplicably considered a club by the Watch. As such, they get away with a lot of shit in Bellwether, which is perhaps the least deprived part of the Guts. Whatever they do, they seem to be in with the multitudinous little spirits of the City - at least, the ones that don’t like the Rats. Most notable among these spirits is the so-called Queen of Cats.  
• Level 1: Reputation 1 (Mistaken for Harmless), Fucked-Up 1 (Spirit Favour) 
• Assets: A clubhouse in Bellwether, a part of Iskadar’s old town that isn’t considered a slum. 4 autocars. 
• The boss of the Bellwether Sheep can be any kind of person, though a speaker would be most popular. 
  
  
10. The Stouts - A nasty little gang of lowbrow legbreakers, most usually found haunting a stretch of disused warehouses between the Green Hundred and the docks. They’re led by an honest-to-goddess animated scarecrow, by the name of Blackthorn Stout. They’re armed with nothing more persuasive than cricket-bats and gold clubs, and so far haven’t nicked anything more valuable than a motorcycle - and yet, they never seem to get caught. On the rare occasion someone tries to whack one of them, they’re coincidentally out of town. 
• Level 1: Fucked-Up 1 (Amazing Luck)
• Assets: A hideout in an abandoned storage warehouse and 1 motorcycle (nicked). 
• The boss of the Stouts has the unique opportunity to be Blackthorn Stout, an animated, deranged scarecrow who has decided he wants to be a gang boss. Blackthorn is most likely some kind of thief or fighter. Blackthorn’s ongoing goal is figuring out how a man with straw guts can learn to drink alcohol. 
  
  
11. The Faceless - The famous masked criminal syndicate of the Etran continent. Truly, out where the Faceless are, there is a shadow society of thief-kings and robber-aristocracy, and the so-called-law fear to go alone in the dark. So, being in Iskadar is the Faceless equivalent of being reassigned to the ends of the earth to keep you out of trouble. 
• Level 2: Racket 2 (Illegal Alchemy), Reputation 2 (Robber-Barons) 
• Assets: Every member of the Faceless has a unique brightly coloured animal mask they can summon with a fingersnap. The names of members of the Faceless cannot be written down. 12 Autocars, 6 motorbikes, and connections back east. 
• The Faceless are traditional criminals, and would prefer a thief or an acrobat as a boss, but really, they’ll accept anybody who proves themselves competent. 
• Problem: The Faceless back east expect great things from you. 
  
  
12. The Memorials - A minor gang of nobody thugs that have experienced a sudden, anxious spike in wealth and success. Wear carnations on their lapels, drink botanical gins, polish their shoes and pretend at class. Take their name from the Spits War Memorial, right in the middle of their usual haunts around Bullet Street and Gin Tip. 
• Level 1: Armaments 1 (Just the Right Bullets), Racket 1 (Drug Trade) 
• Assets: 10 autocars, connections in the press, and an apartment in the Upper City. 
• The boss of the Memorials could be any kind of shithead, though they’ll be one with unpaid debts of a vague and serious nature.
• Problem: The aforementioned unpaid debts. 
  
  
13. The M.T.s - Glass-eyed people with no empathy and a sick sense of humour. Found associating with the newly opened Dead Dog Casino out in the northern side of town. It has a lovely view of the ugly Vis-refinery and the sea out west, across which the core of their outfit sailed. They were sent here by some mysterious figure back west - a man whose written orders they follow without question. 
• Level 1: Racket 1 (Numbers Racket), Fucked-Up 1 (Glassy and Cold) 
• Assets: A rich benefactor, a casino, 10 autocars, a seaworthy ship. 
• The boss of the M.T.s is in contact with their real boss out west. Whoever they are, they’ve got to be cold and heartless like everyone else in the outfit. 
• Problem: Everyone can tell there is something seriously wrong with you. 
  
  
14. The Polite Enterprise - The real Polite Enterprise are a fractious mass of crime families based in Astera, out at the north-eastern edge of the world. These guys are a little local branch, a feeler for expanded interests. They’ve got a little base in the wedge of streets between the docks, the train-station and Kardat, and they don’t have much expansion beyond that. The real Polite Enterprise is feared and respected. These guys? Well….
• Level 1: Reputation 1 (Asteran Friends) 
• Assets: A penthouse apartment right next to the city train station. 4 autocars. A fast little cigarette-boat in the Lesser Harbour. One (1) illegal automatic machine gun. 
• The boss of the Enterprise is probably Nevechi or Zymani in culture. 
• Problem: None of the members of this gang are even remotely local. They’ve got weird Asteran accents, and eat too much beetroot, probably. 
  
  
15. The Kardats - Hailing from the riotous little district of Kardat (it’s not a very imaginative name for a gang.) Kardat also gets called Little Myr, because almost all of the citizens are Myrish goblins. This gang are local weirdoes, with local accents and local addresses. They look out for the little old ladies, and perform policing duties according to their own values (while also not policing themselves). 
• Level 1: Armaments 1 (Homeland Guns), Reputation 1 (Local Support)
• Assets: A variety of addresses all around Little Myr. People that will happily hide them from the watch. 10 motorcycles. 
• The leader of the Kardats must be a maglath (or “goblin”, in common parlance), like almost all of its members. 
  
  
16. The Eels - The folk under the waterline call the city Oscioda. Like everyone else, they’re just trying to get by - not letting the bastards grind them down, as it were. Sometimes, you snap and you say “fuck all that. I’m going to steal for a living.” In Triton culture, that’s a religious rite - you cover your thick hide in blood red tattoos and swear to always bite the hand that feeds - it’s only trying to keep you placid. Eat the motherfucker that hand is attached to with your big fucking teeth. 
• Level 2: Racket 1 (Nautical Protection Racket), Reputation 2 (Living Like Sharks)
• Assets: Fanatical devotion. Every member of the gang is amphibious. Each and every member would rather be torn up by a ship’s propellers than spill a single secret to the Watch. 
• The boss of the Eels must be a triton - they won’t countenance being led by some fuckin’ airbreather. 
• Problem: Members of the Eels are sworn off honest work and will only live by plunder and hunting. 
  
  
17. The Boots - A little gaggle of do-nothing fuckups in Green Hundred. Broadly and accurately considered harmless, they spend most of their time stoned out of their buckets on weed (perfectly legal in Iskadar), growing weird little plants for whoever wants them. Who knew all those poisonous plants were illegal?
• Level 1: Racket 1 (Botanicals), Reputation 1 (Who?)
• Assets: Twenty greenhouses in a walled complex, a literal ton of weed, one rifle none of them really know how to use. If you’ve ever seen Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, you’ll get the sort of guys I mean. 
• The boss of the Boots could be anyone so long as they were harmless until approximately yesterday. 
• Problem: Every Boot is an idiot down to the last stoned botanist. 

Now, fight.

Of course, these aren’t the only groups running around in Iskadar’s shadow: 

1. The Stubbs Outfit - The bigshot kings of Iskadar’s underworld. Run the Coal Club, the unofficial neutral ground for any Iskan criminal, dead in the middle of the Guts. They’re a higher-class of criminal - sharply dressed, classy, fine whiskey types. Most of Iskadar’s less successful and worse-dressed gangs despise them passionately, but it’s mostly out of envy. 
• Level 3: Armaments 2 (Serious Guns), Racket 2 (Drugs, Drink and Contraband), Reputation 2 (Kings of the Underworld), Fucked-Up 1 (The Boss).
• Assets: The Coal Club, an unclear but high number of autocars and autohauls, and rumours of much worse stashed away in the myriad, tangling cellars of the coal club. Also, they’re friends with “Drastic Action”, a group of deranged “adventurers'' who keep showing up in the newspapers.
• The boss of the Outfit is Sensible Stubbs, a man who looks 22 and talks casually about events from centuries ago. He is completely, exquisitely deranged. He gets drunk by drinking milk, dresses in the most expensive shirts and slacks, and considers himself the petty God of Iskadar. He obeys different laws of physics from everyone else (his are rubbery, goofy and far more forgiving). He’s like a cartoon character, except very physical, full of cheerful malice, heavily armed and - apparently - unstoppable. He never blinks. 
  

An example of Stubbs Behaviour

1. The Church of Torc - Why is there an Aspect of Thieves? It’s a thorny question for any Makerite interested in the rule of law. Perfection isn’t necessarily peaceful, they say. The gangs say it means the Maker wants them to lie, steal and kill. They offer spit-and-tobacco prayers to the great old Torc in his glittering vault - and, when Lord Law puts them in the gutter with new ventilation, the black-clad priests tiptoe out to bury the dead. 
• Level 3: Reputation 3 (Literally the Church of the Maker)
• Assets: A sacred temple to Torc and the Maker which the Watch would have to have a really good reason to attack, which serves as perfect neutral ground. 
• The man in charge is Bishop Stilts - he’s called that because surely he’s not that tall normally? Nobody has ever seen his face. Nobody knows where he came from - all anyone knows is that he’s not kidding about being a mighty cleric. 
  
  
2. The Vox Populi - The voice of the people. They would be offended at the assertion that they’re a gang. They’re an anarchist cell. The Iskan Vox Pop are historically of the “precise gunshots to the back of bankers’ heads” type, more than the “firebombing a public space” or “socially conscious activism” type. They have no strict territory, but they’re definitely a force in the underworld.
• Level 2: Armaments 2 (Mainland Connections), Reputation 2 (In The News) 
• Assets: Total secrecy.
• Nobody’s in charge, you fucking dolt, that’s the point!
  
  
3. The Docker’s Union - The strongest union in the world. Control the Great and Lesser Harbours with an iron fist and a warm smile. They’d resent being lumped in with everyone else on this list - but, all the same, they control territory on Iskadar’s lowest level, they square off with the watch, and they patrol their territory. Their uniform is sleeveless yellow hooded garments, worn by stevedores and accountants alike. 
• Level 4: Racket 4 (The Docks), Reputation 3 (Honest Moral Good) 
• Assets: Four ships capable of cross-oceanic travel, hundreds of autocars and autohauls, five giant cranes, and more besides. 
• The head of the Union is Anya St. Zizek, an elven woman somewhere in her 40s who chain-smokes menthols and has the second-most-piercing death glare in Aclan history (and I literally mean piercing). 

Not to mention the Watch and their employers, the Senate and the Expedtionary Force, who want everyone mentioned in this post dead. Deader than dead. Shot in the head and dumped in a canal if the usual ways don't work.

It's a good time to look out for oneself.  

Surang, and the Last Watch

 FOR, FIRMAMENT

A pitch, I guess, for a mega-dungeon game? 

The Last Watch is where the River Lithan roars off the side of the World Above, to plummet to unknown fate below. 

It’s the farthest finger of the Duchy of Defiance, among the Ringing Mountains that hem in the World Above. 

A forested valley, known best for deer twice the height of men, and clannish locals, who lay snares for the excise-men on the roads. Firs are stripped of their branches, and carved into boar-headed men, and in their hands are placed rusting old flintlocks and bottles of peach schnapps.

The Lithan, at the moment, is dry - the Sun King holds it down to a trickle. Dead shellfish and unfortunate trout pile on the glassy river-bed. 

Inner Defiance is dying of thirst. The people of the Watch rely on vicious storms which wash in from the World Below.

Young villagers will kill, to defend their water-sumps. 

UURFERK

There are a few villages in the valley of the Watch - the largest, Uurferk, is built upon a ridge halfway down the valley. It is a grey, fish-shaped tangle, with two main streets and a bridge over the chasm left in Lithan's shadow. 

The people there are staunch Defiants, and print pamphlets calling for Regicide and freedom for all. The people of the hill-villages care little for the Uurferkish fervour. 

The local militia, the Blackbirds, claim they’ve killed over a hundred Royalists. This is somewhat implausible. 

The provost, Jer Salomea, is obsessing over the construction of a lightning rod for the town. She is convinced that the lightning strikes which have bedevilled the town are the work of some witch or other, living among the people of the hills or the cliffs. 

Below the town, the Storm Drain Gallery, a strange little market for the archaeologists and scribes of the city - they’re enjoying a brief flowering, since literacy has been made legal after the Duchy’s rebellion against the Sun King. Come down here, to a green-tiled walkway in a damp sump, and purchase previously forbidden texts, wrapped in silk to keep off the damp. 

The Storm Drain’s proprietor is called Oktawia-sans-Tongue, for perhaps obvious reasons. She will trade Inscriptions, for artefacts and curiosities of the Watch. They say she writes to a contact in the Office of the Duchy, back north in Madrevel. Rumour is, they’re using her to look for something. 

THE CLIFFS

A narrow road, a day outwards from Uurferk, takes you to the precipice of the world. On each side, the Ringing Mountains reach for the vaults of the heavens, wearing mantles of snow and fir-forest. 

The silence where the Great Fall would once have been is deafening.

The cliffs descend, black rock hovering above the clouds, for about three hundred feet, then run out. If you were mad, you could try and climb to the underside of the World Above. 

There’s villages out among the horsts and grabens, down among the undergrowth. Strange little ones, with names in an old language. The people keep themselves to themselves, but they’ve been seen parading around with cut-off animal heads on their shoulders.

Don’t mention that, though. 

SURANG

A day and a half along the narrow road, you come across the first curtain wall, blown down with gunpowder. 

Surang was once a fortress where Knights would meet, and trade warnings of injustice and tales of chivalric deeds. Then, it was a bastion of the Royalist forces, once the Knights were outlawed. 

Many were cast off the great precipice, to Exile and uncertain doom in the World Below. 

Then, the Duchess' forces came out from the interior, and it was a warzone. The abatis and cannon-craters of the battle still scatter the parade-ground and the outer courtyard. 

Now, it’s a blasted out wreck filled with looters, holdouts of both sides, returning knights, and a lot of very weird shit. 

And, probably, a lot of very valuable shit.

Surang is one of the largest castles in the World. It’s one of those mind-boggling constructions of the early Chivalric Era - two concentric outer walls, a ruined castle-town, an inner donjon, and miles of subterranean corridors and oubliettes. Six towers, and a pitched roof above a great hall that occupies as much space as all of Uurferk. And, of course, the Precipice. 

They still can’t get the main gate open - it’s buried inexplicably under a waterfall of cooled lead. 

Your options are the old well in the parade-ground, scaling the outer wall to break into the old gate-keeper’s apartments, or sidling along unstable rock and getting in via the precipice door. 

Get in, avoid everyone else, and get out rich or mad. 

FIRMAMENT

 

FIRMAMENT is a setting idea, based entirely off the wild sheet of A4 paper shown below. I made it while feeling ill at some point last year. Just rediscovered it, and thought I should… clarify it, I suppose. 

So what is FIRMAMENT? 

It’s the name of the setting, hope that clears it up. 

THE WORLD ABOVE

A disk, ringed by mountains, in the centre of which stands a very big and very holy mountain. Five rivers originate from the central mountain, each of which travel to the edge of the disk and plummet off in vast waterfalls. 

Each river, and each Fall, is significant to the myth of one the Five Knights, heroic figures of some six centuries ago, who served, and then rebelled. They each received various mythologised fates, usually linked to the ancient structures at each Fall. 

Upon the crown of the central mountain stands the holy city of Irgavio Sol, wherein sits the immortal and extremely magical SUN KING, who rules the World Above with a fiery golden hand. He is whom the Knights rebelled against. 

His laws are draconian, ever-changing and enforced by violence. Life in the World Above has become a life of constant terror. Literacy is suppressed, worship of the Sun King is expected. His soldiers and seekers and signatories are omnipresent where his rule is strong. 

He has, for 1557 years, been the uncontested master of the world. He keeps his power through three primary mechanisms:

One, constant propaganda produced by the Solar Chantry, his political apparatus based in Irgavio Sol. 

Two, complete control over the Five Rivers - he can cut their flow as he desires, and bring the suffering of thirst to those in the Outer Kingdom.

Three, his Charters, contracts of terrible import written in gold, which convey rights and powers to his subjects. The most infamous are the Charter of the Eye (which gives your sight to the Sun King), and the Charter of the Hand (which surrenders your free will to him), but many hundreds of Minor Charters exist. 

Of course, rebellion and insurrection against the Sun King have been a constant feature of history - but there has never been a rebellion of serious magnitude.

Well, until recently, anyway.

There are seven Provinces of the Outer Kingdom, and three are in rebellion. They call this the War of Hubris, or perhaps the War of Regicide. 

THE OUTER KINGDOM

The parts of the World Above which aren’t the Sun King’s direct domain. The technology here is 1600s-ish: black-powder, sail-ships, and so on. Printing presses exist but are either strictly controlled or banned. 

On the King’s side of the ongoing War, the Loyalists:

The Barony of Zzargod, a dictatorship under a line of “Sacred Arcanists”, who claim direct descent from Viradon, the Knight. They aren’t actually Sacred anythings - their magic is Scribe magic, which is banned everywhere, but they can use it because they’re collaborators. They control the Fall at which stands Viradon’s False Tower, the Knight’s fatal work of magical hubris. 

The Grand Duchy of Draad, a massive plutocracy best known for soldiers and violence. The real powerhouse of the loyalist side. From border to border, it’s all fields. The forests were cleared long ago. The Grand Duke is elected by those with property - and property is increasingly concentrated in the hands of a few. Their capital lies by the foot of Sar Isad, the Pale Tower, a sealed structure of apparent but unknown significance to Sun King. 

The Heptarchy of Magnos, where normally illegal spellcasters can find sanctuary, so long as they submit to the rule of the Heptarchs, seven callous, long-lived scholars who are, allegedly, human. Magnos itself is a wild and forested land, mostly made up of walled cities around the inland "Sea" of Vir.

The Duchy of Saral Sar, front line of the War. A land of blasted rocky wastes and narrow green valleys. Their Duke is a frothing militarist, increasingly unstable and megalomaniacal. Their lands are covered in bizarre and gigantic ruins. 

And, against the King, the Regicides: 

The Republic of Arumell. Previously the Viceroyalty of Arumell, which drew prestige and power from controlling Sar Arum, the Onyx Tower. A callous law passed, a poet sent to hang, and a spark of sudden violence - and after that, the Viceroy went under the Guillotine, the Republic was established, and the War began. They have torn open the seals on Sar Arum, and waste blood and lives exploring it. 

The Duchy of Defiance, until recently the Duchy of Serias. The old Duke was preparing for war against Arumell, so his daughter threw a Coup, had him killed, and renamed the Duchy to Defiance, joining the war on Arumell’s side. Share the Serian Sea with Draad, where piracy and naval combat are increasingly rampant. 

The Kelkora Remnant - last fragment of the ancient Kelkoran Empire, who warred in opposition to the Sun King a millennium ago. Always ungovernable, their land is mountainous and wild. Their support in the war was a certainty. 

THE WORLD BELOW

Below the disk, there’s an infinite world of hellish wilderness, wind demons, eyeless giants, demonic brain-eating hounds, and other horrid shit. 

Here, there’s the ruins of unblessed civilizations, terrific and awe-inspiring dangers of an older, more horrendous world. Here, star-things and beasts cavort and plot to eat the vulnerable, innocent souls of all the blessed subjects of the Sun King. 

Or at least, that’s what the Solar Chantry say. They’re probably exaggerating. But it mustn’t be paradise, because if it was, they wouldn’t send exiles there. 

The Sun King is “merciful”, you see. There’s a death sentence, but it’s never carried out. It is always commuted to EXILE. 

This is where you come in: You’re playing exiles. 

Maybe you fought in the War of Regicide, maybe you used illegal magic, maybe you learned how to read (a very serious crime). Maybe you were involved in a seditious cabal, made immoral art after a warning, practiced the wrong religion, or were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Whatever the case, you begin the game, chained in a row at The Gates of Amphiteir, with the flaming gaze of the Chartered Eyes on you. 

You were brought to the island which lies before the Gates by ship, from somewhere in Draad, or from Irgavio Sol itself. You’re not the first to follow this path to doom, not by a longshot, and unless the Sun King falls, you shan’t be the last. 

You’re then flung from the waterfall, to plummet to the Lake of the Banished far below. If by chance you do survive (which you do, since you’re about to be playing in an RPG campaign), you’ll have washed up in the World Below. 

What are you to do? Survive, first, but perhaps, later - you will explore, grow in power, and return above. 

CLASSES

I hear you, voices which eternally torment me - who gives a shit about all this setting garbage, what are the CLASSES? 

Great Question: 

These are all gonna be classis, i.e. a Class with x number of relatively light Archetypes pinned on. The main name is the Class, the sub-names are the Archetypes. 

• Astrologer - They open their thoughts to the sublime powers of the Firmament - the mortal form is a minor price to pay for absolute cosmic power. 

• Star - The Princes of Creation. 

• Moon - Work with Lies.

• Sun - And Stolen Fires. 

• Void - In Darkness Absolute.

• Signatory - Each of the Solar Guilds benefits from a Minor Charter, which are not personally signed (like the Eye and Hand), but provide members of that organisation with magic. The Charters can never be revoked, which means Exile is the only way to deal with a rebellious Signatory. 

• Hammer Charter - Magically empowered Artisans.

• Stone Charter - Builders with great but unreliable strength. 

• Gut Charter - Versatile alchemists of multifarious Processes.

• Hound Charter - Once explorers of the World Below, but now turned to finding the rebellious. To be an exiled Seeker is to have received a taste of your own medicine. 

• Lots of other Minor Charters - They number in the hundreds, after all. 

• Knight - Would-be heroes recently outlawed by the Sun King - each Order was founded by (or claims to be founded by) one of the Five Knights of old. 

• Of Coins - Founded by Kind Vassari. Mercenaries with gold-powered magic. Enjoy a mixed reputation.

• Of Flames - Founded by Sunblind Amphiteir. Knights-errant who wield flaming blades and destroy evil. 

• Of Winds - Founded by Saeraath the Exile. Benefit from her greatest work, the Taming of the Winds. Set others free.

• Of the Tower - Founded by Viradon the Scribe-Knight. Utilise his hubristic arcana, derived from the False Tower he built. Seek secrets.

• Of Masks - Founded by the Nameless Knight. Distrusted by their fellows for their unsettling powers. Seek potential.

• Scribe - Their magic, which uses esoteric languages and strange symbols, is of varying levels of illegality under the reign of the Sun King. Each kind of Scribe is successively more illegal - their crimes are described: 

• Iron Scribe - Blades and Armour. Not outlawed, but literacy makes most criminals.

• Dream Scribe - Fog and Sleep. Influence insensate minds. 

• Skull Scribe - Pain and Bones. Perform Necromancy. 

• Law Scribe - Steles and Boundaries. Usurp Royal Authority. 

• Tome Scribe - Books and Alchemy. Teach literacy. 

• Outcast - Many have suffered under the Sun King, and found themselves driven quite literally to the Edge. The only fools brave enough to use no magic at all.

You can’t play Chartered Hands or Chartered Eyes, because they’re fascists. 

Incidentally, in this setting, there’s no Dragons, or Undead, because they feel overused. 

That A4 sheet really is wild isn’t it. 

This was my immediate reaction, despite making the damn thing.