Blogs in The Dark

It is slightly past dawn in the city of Duskwall. The lone raven continues her journey, her senses guiding her towards one of the many estates in Brightstone. She glides slowly downwards, over the statues of Unity Park. It’s too early for most in the district to be out and about, although the Docks are surely already bustling with activity. The raven spots a lone figure standing in the direction in which she’s flying. She pulls up and alights on the ornate wrought-iron balcony of the estate, with a clear view of the lone figure and the corpse she detected earlier. The lone figure is a tall woman, wearing an ornate and immaculate white uniform which marks her as one of the Inspectors of the city watch. While the watch as a whole have an earned reputation for being corruptable and easily-bribed, the Inspectors stand alone as an scrupulous force for justice in Duskwall. Her blonde hair is tied up in a tight bun, and her grey eyes are steadily examining the corpse in front of her. Tho...

It is dawn in the city of Duskwall, and Roric’s head is pounding. He can’t quite remember what happened last night. He opens his eyes. He’s in his room on the top floor of the Crow’s nest. There are two empty bottles of mushroom wine knocked over on his ornate desk. That explains the headache and the memory loss. The Crows might be the baddest gang in Doskvol, but they still can’t afford whiskey. Only the trust fund babies from the six major houses have money to burn on that. He scans the room. It’s large and well appointed, with a dark oak bed and desk, and a seating area near the door with plushly upholstered fine couches. There’s a large bay window looking down onto the canal. It’s a room befitting a crime boss. There’s more bookshelves than one might expect, maybe, but Roric did always love to read in his spare time. Roric swings his feet over the edge of the bed and heaves his bulky, muscular frame upright. As he does so, the events of last night come back to him. Last night,...

It is dawn in the city of Doskvol, or Duskwall if you’re trying to impress the imperials, or North Hook if you’re one of those crazy enough to board one of the titanics and hunt Leviathans. The day is beginning, and a faint light washes over the dilapidated roofs of the tenements of Charhollow, the parapets of the mansions of Whitecrown, and the belching stacks of the factories of Coalridge. There’s professors at Doskvol Academy that say it used to stay bright all day, but since the Cataclysm, this is as bright as it gets. Just an hour of grey at dawn and twilight, and black the rest of the time. Up into that slate sky flies a lone raven, having just launched itself from the rookery of Bellweather Crematorium, home of the Spirit Wardens, and the deathseeker crows. Lots of folks die in Doskvol. That wouldn’t really be a problem if they didn’t have a nasty habit of coming back as vengeful ghosts. The lightning fences keep out the ghosts from outside, otherwise Doskvol wouldn’t real...