The Necropolis (OOC)

[Stygian]

District: Hraesholm Hraesholm's biome is one of a temperate woodland overwrought with fauna and flora. Trees with gnarled, twisted branches reach towards the sky like desperate supplicants, while thickets of thorns and brambles form impenetrable barriers that bar the way for those unwilling to barter safe passage with blood. The city itself is a sprawling metropolis of limestone and twisted architecture. The streets are narrow and winding, lined with towering buildings adorned with macabre sculptures and flickering torches that cast long shadows across the cobblestones. The Primordial Sanctum lies at the center of the district--a large temple devoted to the Fangborne Covenant, and seat of power for Bloodcaller Valyn and her conclave. This sprawling complex is equal parts cathedral and administrative building--with most of the important business of the Synod coming directly from these walls. Finally, smaller settlements do dot the landscape once one leaves the walls proper, and those who live closer to the wild are treated with the same respect as those who live in the city proper. It is not.. uncommon for a settlement to disappear--or new ones to sprout in its place nearby--usually symbols of an unfortunate incursion of wildlife, and those too weak to fend it off. Hraesholm does feature a fairly 'normal' day and night cycle by most terran standards, though there is almost a liminal period at dusk and dawn, where the twilight seems to stretch on longer than it ought to. It is generally considered a sign of portent if sunset or sunrise lasts longer than the other, and the people of Hraesholm seem aware when something is amiss in this regard. While various fauna roam the landscapes of the district, the fringes of Hraesholm are where one's mettle is truly tested. Monstrous creatures lurk near the penumbra, their twisted and unnatural forms defying the most vivid imaginations of men--fueled by rage, pride, bloodlust, and madness--but also, faith. These creatures are intensely aggressive toward any form of life other than themselves, and it is theorized they may be a form of jailor for the Synod--trapping them in their collective lament forever as they orbit the Necropolis--until their eventual decay. Jagged spires of obsidian jut from the earth at equidistant points, erupting like some great beast's outstretched claws.. As if some greater force had simply plucked up the lands surrounding the district and suspended it in time. When the sun hits these spires just right, they gleam with a crimson-colored light near the peak, giving the eerie appearance of dripping blood. They are nearly always distant to the viewer--unless they are close to the penumbra, in which case the sudden change in proximity has served to startle more than one weary traveler. Spoiler: People Show The Synod is a remnant of a long-forgotten theocracy, whose people hailed from a diaspora of differing nations all united under one banner by might and unshakeable faith. Its detractors would have called them zealots. Yet, as a result of this "encouraged" blending, the peoples of Hraesholm are varied indeed. Most are humans of varying sizes and builds--though it is not at all uncommon to see some occasional animalistic traits--strange eyes, jagged teeth, and so on. To some theologians, this is considered a side effect of whatever curse brought Hraesholm to this place of eternal death--a manifestation of their greater sin. This is not a view publicly spoken, however--for those beholden to it often find themselves an enemy of the state. Other species and subspecies of humanoids do exist--and are provided little discrimination based on biology. They are Faithful. Others are Not. That is enough. Even the most gentle souls of Hraesholm have an inextinguishable competitive streak in some form or another. Those who lack the heart for the Hunt (see Diversion) often express their superiority in some other fashion--whether ambition, cunning, or a desire to prove their inexhaustible intellect. Many times, this leads to some manner of exploitative behavior--and even crime--but not always. Amusingly, though the rate of crime may be higher than some other districts, not everyone makes it long enough to be a repeat offender. Spoiler: Diversion Show For the faithful of the Synod, their only way to feel fulfilled--or indeed, whole at all, is to partake in the Hunt. For most citizenry, this can be as simple as stalking the imitations of living creatures that are constantly birthed from the penumbra. Sustaining their place in the natural order as apex predators is an instinctual drive for the people of Hraesholm--a way for one's soul to persist, and just as vital as food or water. It is not uncommon to see particularly arrogant hunters upping the ante as they become more jaded or numb to the pleasure of slaughter. Instead of prey, they will hunt lesser predators. Instead of hunting far afield, they will drive dangerous game through city streets to showcase their glory--all in the hopes of recapturing the high, like an addiction that can never fully be sated. The eldest members of society, then, are not pitied, but feared. What must they have done, and what willpower must they have to have subsisted for that long against the call of blood and oblivion? This addiction can come at a high cost. Those who are deemed a true danger to society (beyond all boasting, bragging, and casual, sometimes deserved violence) are brought before a conclave to be judged--and the mettle of their souls tested. Those who are found wanting will find an asphodel delivered to the doorstep of wherever they next rest their head--even if tried in abstentia. The judged then has until the next dawn to conclude any unfinished business and speak their farewells. After that time, the petitioner's body is forcibly transmogrified into the form of a beast. They are then tasked with fleeing to the penumbra, that they might leave Hraesholm entirely. Something about the magic ingrained in the ritual prevents any sort of headstart. The moment a petitioner leaves the boundaries of the inner district, the transformation occurs--even if they still have time remaining. It's theorized by some that the greater purpose of this loophole is not to make things harder for the victim--but to encourage them to slow down and visit the last vestiges of their humanity before being swept away by adrenaline and instinct. If the petitioner is able to escape alive, with their mind intact, their life is their own. It is unknown if any have ever survived the trek since the Synod was courted by the King of Wax and Wick--for none have ever been foolish enough to return, even if they had. Spoiler: Conviction - The Fangborne Covenant Show The Synod was not always this. Once, before they faded from the annals of history, the Faith was righteous and the People were whole. Hunting, while still mired in ritual and mysticism, was a way of worship. Connection to greater forces than any one person could understand, through acts of devotion, service, and displays of prowess. The Faith was unafraid to defend itself or stand against those who would mean to cause it harm. This changed with the introduction of their soon-to-be eternal sovereign. The Synod grew in might, drawing zealous and bloodthirsty warriors into its grand armies--and began to spread its faith by means of force through the land. Somewhere within this grand and sprawling domain, a curse was levied. Savagery would beget savagery. Those who bathed in blood would be doomed to die the same. Little by little, the glory of conquest began to slip away, until the Synod nearly destroyed itself in grand dysfunction--only to seemingly disappear in its death throes. Now, what remains is a mockery of the heights of a great kingdom--perhaps one of the greatest of an epoch. The current faith teaches personal valor, might, and glory above nearly all. Violence and supremacy are ever-glorified, while the jaded souls under the banner of the Synod search for a way to take back what was robbed from them--perhaps cruelly without truly remembering what they had lost in the first place--though whether this is a manipulation of the Bloodcaller, a sign of the curse, or the influence of the Necropolis is difficult to say for certain. The current religious leadership begins with Bloodcaller Valyn, who is attended by a conclave of trusted advisors known as a samsaeri. The total number of members has fluctuated in history, anywhere between four and twelve members depending on life expectancies and fateful moments that inspire the need for a new confidant to be drawn into the fold. Individual members of the samsaeri are addressed by the title of Talon. One peculiar tradition that remains in spite of their turn toward depravity is that of the Feast of Solace. On the cusp of a harvest moon, all blood feuds are suspended within Hraesholm for the three days and three nights it cycles through the sky. It is a time of temporary peace, and those who break it are near certain to find an asphodel awaiting them in the final hours. The impoverished, the wretched, the treacherous are invited to sup at the tables of their enemies without fear, and to partake in what bounty yet remains for the peoples of the Synod. None go hungry, and the ill are tended to with what magic and medicine the fortunate can bring to muster. It is a rare return to humanity--if any such sentiment exists--if only for a time.

The Synod of Savagery (SVG) Ruler: Bloodcaller Valyn (she/they) Dis 2 | For 5 | Ent 3 | Con 4 Units: 3 Mirth: 1 Ruler Stats Unit Count/Mirth