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Crystal
Palace
(by Perrin)
By Felm Spar
(a human planeswalker, he used to be a nomad on the
prime)
 A
short, prune of a wizard stands at the gate to a
collection of towering crystalline spires of salt
surrounded by a translucent dome of shaped salt crystal.
The wizard is propped up on a short stick of a silvery
metal, a pair of goggles shielding his eyes, and a
deteriorating mask covering the rest of his face. His
boots are covered in the same strange metal, his white
pants buckled to the outside of his boots. A well-worn
dust cloak sits, salt stained, on his withered shoulders.
At first, he doesn't open his mouth to speak, only hmm'ng
and gesturing inside the dome.
We pass through a door of
crystal, into a small chamber, and he shuts the first
door behind us. He takes his mask off and lowers his
goggles around his neck, dropping the hood of his dust
cloak. A scratchy voice ebbs out of his mouth from deep
in his throat "Deh Talska. You?"
Although I am puzzled by his
manner of speech, he is the first person I have spoken to
"I, Felm Spar, humbly introduce myself, and ask entrance
to your abode."
He nods his head slightly
and a second door of crystal slides away. I follow him
through the doorway and am overwhelmed by the
beauty.
"Crystal Palace." He opens
his arms towards the towers "Home. Scholars' outpost.
Stay welcome."
The towers, visible from the
outside, are now fully visible, and the stand many spans
tall, joined at near their full height by arcing bridges
of crystal. The walls of them are not as translucent as
the dome, instead, they stand as monoliths of opaque
white salt. The entrances all face outward, doors of
silvery metal, all no higher than Deh himself.
Surprisingly, the area
between the towers is lush and green, with several short
trees.
Deh, being a man of few
words, gestures me to follow him towards the centre of
the whole thing. Nearing the centre, the sound of rushing
water startles me, and right in the centre, a fountain
shoots water a few feet into the air, and it splashes
back down into a basin of white crystal, salt no doubt.
But as I approach, the light sparkles, in only the way
that metal can.
He cups his hand and catches
a handful of silvery metal "Try."
I reach out. The liquid is
heavy and warm, flowing as freely as water. I clench my
hand and it feels like I am trying to crush a piece of
metal.
"Doors, boots, water." He
gestures to the garden around him with his arms wide
"Life."
"Magic user?"
I nod, and he assumes that I
can put the pieces together about the metallic doors and
boots.
I ask him if there are other
people living here, and he pauses for a moment of
thought. He cocks his head to one side, and then nods.
"Night. Others take watch."
Over the next few weeks, I
helped out tending the small garden in middle, but was of
no use altering the life giving metal. Apparently, none
of the occupants (all four of them) knew where the source
of the metal was, merely the fact that it existed. By
some magical spell, they transmuted the metal to water,
as well as to solid metal. The insides of the towers were
furnished with metal and crystal, their cloaks and
bedding acquired through trading with any
passers-by.
Deh had come upon it first,
and the other three, also loners, had wandered in from
the harsh environ outside, and just never decided to
leave. The dome and spires had been there for an eons,
and likely would remain that way from the way that it
survived the harsh conditions.
Comments:
The crystal palace is difficult to find, as no
portals are known to exist anywhere near it. It is not
close to any border, nor any other landmarks in Salt.
Visitors are allowed into it, but are only permitted to
stay long if they share the work, little as it is. All of
the crystal, both translucent and opaque, is pure
salt.
Dessicus
(by Joshua
Jarvis)
Another Dustmen burg
is Dessicus, this place went through many incarnations
before falling into Dustmen hands. First it was a Baatezu
salt mine. Legend has it that prisoners were forced to
work here without magical protection. Legend also says it
wasn't salt the Baatezu were looking, for but an item of
power.
When the fiends abandoned
the place, the Doomguard built Citadel Dessicus atop the
mines hoping to use the twisting tunnels as secret
passages between portals, vortex's, and citadels. But the
Doomguard mysteriously abandoned the place as
well.
Now the Dustmen reside
there, and this place has several uses. Its primary
purpose is defense, though the Dustmen had yet to use it
for that. The lower part is heavily armoured, and the
confusing mazes of tunnels and secret passageways have
many Doomguard weapons stored in within.
The second most important
area is the mausoleum. Here shelf after shelf built into
the citadels walls (originally used by Doomguard to show
off their sheer variety of weapons) now have bones set
within.
The third area is the Jerky
works. Dead animals brought to the Dustmen are dried out
here and their meat is placed in fancy black boxes with
little white skulls on them (the skulls are NOT designs
mind you) and sold in Sigil. It seems the dead managed to
make money out of this place too. Rumour has it the
fiends and sinkers left for a reason, and the reason is
still there.
Echidrine
(by Rip
Van Wormer)
Licinius Julianus, a
warlord of unknown origin but whose face was a pale blue
skull, founded a city in Salt over a thousand years ago.
Ghouls, spectres, and skeletal warriors flocked to his
banner. He established firm laws, monumental
architecture, clear roads in the salt, and a culture
glorifying military prowness. The citizens spar daily,
preparing for the next stage in their state's expansion,
ruled by an elected Senate (Julianus having disappeared
centuries ago). Echidrine also trades with some local
crysmals and mephits, exchanging finished weapons for raw
material mined from the extremely sharp veins of crystal
that lace the plane. The undead of Echidrine are
organized into blood-houses (not that any of them have
blood, anymore), or adopted clans. The fractious politics
of the state are generally kept in control by the Senate
and their military arm, the Stiff Robed Fishers.
The Hall of Thickening is
not the Senate House. It is the place of registry for new
recruits, more of which arrive every kilopulse. The
living, too, may be registered in one blood-house or
another, if they have the will.
Ghost
Sea
(by Jens)
Shudder in panic,
realise the unbelievable. In view of a deceased sea, you
recognise that your own fate must be meaningless to the
Powers, those who let this ocean die.
Description:
A vast landscape
dotted with boulders, dead trunks, the dry carcasses of
unknown species, and occasionally large, wooden buildings
or vehicles (ships) that once served unknown purposes. At
some places, alien jungles can be found, made of
seemingly frozen, weird plants that break upon the
slightest touch, crystalline, coloured salt that has
grown to fragile shapes, and terrific looking corpses of
large, clumsy creatures that seem strange and unfit to
live on ground.
Overhead is a glittering
sky, complete with sparkling stars and a pale moon which
never moves. It is in fact the ceiling of a large cavern
that surrounds the realm.
Within the cavern, there is
a place dotted with crumbling pillars, marble buildings,
shell-plated squares, and other evidences of a once-proud
civilisation. Today, only their restless spirits can be
found, that have risen from the dead in the shape of
ghosts, haunts, and the occasional banshee. Most of them
are not evil, but uneasy with their fate. If a visitor
manages to befriend one of the more sane spirits, he
might hear the story of the Ghost Sea.
A few non-undead call their
kip here. They call themselves the "Sailors", and they
are mostly Dustmen and Sinkers. Once a band of
planewalkers, they stumbled into the Ghost Sea by
accident, and liked it. They have made a pact with the
undead and are allowed to live here. The weather is a bit
dry, but the scenery is great, they say. One of them, a
wizard, uses her spells to make life a bit more
comfortable.
History:
Centuries or more
ago, this has been the bottom of an ocean on some prime
material plane. A once fertile, pleasant land, the sea
elves were the major sentient lifeform here, living in
harmony with the creatures of the sea. Until disaster
struck, a bright light burning far above the sea level.
And within a few decades, the ocean slowly dried up,
making live miserable for the sea elves. Most died when
the water became too salty for them. Eventually, all what
was left slipped into the quasi-elemental plane of
salt.
The ghosts whisper that
among those who escaped in time was the one who brought
the big fire to their world, condemning all his brethren
to death. They swore revenge, and they didn't let death
stop them. Until today, they attack all half-elves (and
many tieflings) on sight, and interrogate all other
visitors.
Ruler:
A ghost called Sur'ye Gon has some authority among
the undead protectors. Since the ghosts seem to remember
much of their former lives and nature, they aren't
inherently evil. Consequently, the few banshees are
loners and have no special rank.
Behind the
Throne: The undead
seem to be very resistant against turning attempts.
Perhaps a necromancer, a very powerful undead, or even a
Power calls the Ghost Sea his realm.
Militia:
There is no organised militia. But there are at
least a few dozen spirits in the city of the Ghost Sea,
who attack all defilers of the city that has become their
eternal resting place.
Services:
Fine, natural salt. A zillion tons of it.
Explorers may learn a few secrets about the sea elves,
but they should be very careful not to upset the ghosts.
The "Sailors" can provide shelter and security, for hefty
prices. They are on good terms with the ghosts, so don't
offend them.
Local
News: A single
church, half buried in tons of salt, has resisted the
decay. The underground entrance, discovered not long ago,
is sealed from within and can withstand most physical or
magical damage. If the Ghost Sea is the realm of some
major blood, this must be his home. Bold adventurers who
tried to teleport inside didn't return ever. It is
rumoured that treasures and the lore of the sea elves is
kept inside, but there hasn't been any proof yet. The
"Sailors" don't want to explore this site, but they
encourage others to try.
Sweat
of the Brow
(by
Jon
Winter)
Character:
Toil,
toil, and toil some more. Dig till your hands are
bleeding. The salt might sting your wounds and burn your
eyes but it's a wholesome pain and it'll do you good.
Work until your fears are forgotten, so hard that you
stop thinking about anything but the rhythm of the pick
swinging. The crunch of shovel in salty rock is the
music, and the sizzle of sweat on the ground is the song.
Through work comes enlightenment, forgiveness and
righteousness.
The
Chant: It's
a well-known fact that dwarven powers work their
petitioners harder than most. Just as in life, the
dwarven dead dig their tunnels and mine their gems, only
working for a higher power rather than for their own
gain. What happens, then, to the spirits of work-shy
dwarves; those who were lazy or guilty of slacking? In
the dwarven mindset, sloth is the deadliest of sins, and
bashers guilty of it are made to make amends in the next
life. This then, is the purpose of a realm like Sweat of
the Brow.
It's
not really a home to any one particular power, rather a
realm that all dwarves deemed too slothful to enter the
afterlife proper eventually end up. Here the poor
petitioners are made to dig in the salt, working until
they have worked hard enough to atone for their previous
lazy sins. It's not a punishment as such -- there's no
evil dwarven proxy with a whip in his hand, lashing away
- there's no point forcing someone to work because then
their efforts will be half-hearted. No, it's harder than
that. Dwarven petitioners here have to toil because they
*want* to, and that's the hardest work of all. They know
that until they've repaid their debt to society they'll
be stuck in Salt forever...
The
Dark: Most
of the petitioners here are a dour lot; it's not that
pleasant to be slapped in the face with your own
laziness. Dwarves are dwarves, however, and they're now
determined to work up enough sweat to escape the realm.
Apparently the way it works is this -- a petitioner keeps
digging and digging, and one day, when the powers reckon
he's dug enough, he breaks through the Salt into the
dwarven afterlife. The hole-portal swallows the basher up
and closes behind -- there's no easy escape for other
petitioners this way.
Of
course, all that digging leaves a lot of tunnels behind.
Sure, the powers close them back up after a while to give
the remaining petitioners space to dig and construct
their own tunnels, but Sweat of the Brow is a vast warren
of twisting passages. Some are grand and some are barely
large enough to squeeze a gnome, let alone a human. Few
lead anywhere interesting (the biggest irony of the realm
is there's almost nothing of value in Salt so dwarves are
digging for nothing more than the sake of it), but
there's air to breathe and relative safety. Except for
rock falls, the occasional tremor of collapsing passages
and salt elementals hunting for prey.
Not
all of the petitioners are happy to dig, however. A
couple of charismatic individuals resent what they see as
cruel impositions on their (after) lives, and like-minded
bitter dwarves have flocked to their sides. There are at
least two warring factions of dwarves down there in the
tunnels, each with their own schemes and idea on how to
escape the entrapment of the realm without working their
fingers to the bone for centuries. It's likely that few,
if any, will succeed in escaping, however...
Copyright
2000, the Mimir Team,
Layout by Jon Winter and Jeremiah Golden
Crystal Palace picture by Raven, Crystal Range picture by
Vicki Hood
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