CHARACTERS WORLD SHOWCASE WRITING Brain Gorbage

[kiro]

Dump for setting and character info/brainstorms, writing examples, etc. Critiques/comments are fine. Going to update this post with some sort of TOC as I go with links to important posts, because sanity is important for everyone and I don't want to hunt things down either. Also my networking here, at the time of initial posting, is basically nil I'm going to throw scenes at the wall and see if anything sticks without concerns about collateral. Most stuff I would be open to working on with others, but in the mean time...this is a dump. For my brain gorbage.

• Settings
  • Bedlam
    • Design Stuff
• Characters
  • Henry B. Watterton III

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[[Modern fantasy setting, dark, detective story style opening, heads up for violence, not particularly graphic]]

"Hank!" shouted a tall figure, clad in the sort of former finerey of someone who cared about appearances but either could no longer afford such things or had no time to replace them. Given the amount of coin Hank was given for assisting the constabulary guard, he was fairly certain it was the former rather than the latter. The individual in question was Investigator 2nd Class Aethadora Starwinne, an elf woman in her middle years with an overly serious gaze and greying auburn hair pulled back a little too tight into a short ponytail. "Are you even listening?"

Hank took one last draw from the calmstick between his teeth, and then removed it with a shaky hand. He expelled a hazy blue cloud after letting it linger in his lungs for a few moments, extinguishing its embers on the bottom of his shoe before flicking the spent sedative into the gutter. His hands no longer shaking, he scratched the side of his head and shot the investigator a dour look from tired eyes. It was still early, Bedlam's Light was still on the far cycle and dawn was hours away yet. Starwinne's lackeys hadn't even given him the chance to grab coffee from the convenience store on the corner.

"Yeah," he replied wearily, "but I still don't understand what I'm doing here." Hank gestured at the corpse nearby vaguely. "It was obviously a vampire, there's nothing I'm going to be able to help with." The pair stood at the mouth of an alleyway, cobblestones still slick from rain the previous evening and half full of trashcans waiting to be removed in the morning. The dead individual He had indicated was emaciated to the point of being a husk, skin stained red around two black holes on their neck. They had obviously been exsanguinated by one of Bedlam's more nocturnal denizens, though only a feral one would have done something like this. Such individuals weren't hard for the guard to locate usually, given they had already lost control of the beast inside themselves. They didn't usually stop after killing once, and they weren't usually good at hiding either.

"You're not here for them," Aethadora said, giving her human ward a gentle push further into the alley and past her subordinates who were still collecting evidence. She pointed further down the dark path to a space between buildings deeper inside the alley. "Jin is around the corner, he needs an anchor for this one, and you're the only one we've got." Hank stopped and turned to stare at the investigator, his annoyance etched deep enough to pull attention away from the obvious fact that he hadn't been awake for an hour yet. Despite this, he gave no verbal complaint. "Go on, I've got work to do here."

An anchor, of course. It wasn't something that Hank concerned himself with much given his status as a witch, but the septagramatic wards that had been etched into his skin made his presence a stabilizing force in the use of traditional magics. It was akin to being a sentient ritual component. Hank need not actually do anything but be present for whatever it was, but he was still a part of whatever the arcane artifice was and had to experience it along with the practitioner that was casting it. In this case, he knew what sort of thing it was. Jin was one of the guard's augurs. Given that augury was highly unstable, unpredictable magic, it helped to have someone or something on hand that reinforced the order of the aether around which such magics were utilized. In an ideal situation, that meant ritual circles, enchanted candles and incense, maybe even a goat. The guard however, rarely utilized such magics in 'ideal' settings. You couldn't exactly bring your tower to crime scene, after all.

Hank felt something of what was coming before he rounded the corner to see what he'd been sent to assist with, an intense wrongness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and made him think of sulphur. Sorcery, the sort of magic Hank and other witches were gifted with, destabilized the aether and left a mark when it was used. At least, for a short while. All the more reason to need an anchor. From the twisting of his gut, Hank had a bad feeling about what he was going to have to see, but it still didn't prepare him fully for the scene. Jin stood near the mouth of the cross alley, covering their mouth and nose with a handkerchief, and only gave the approaching witch a brief glance.

Jin was something decidedly not human, though what Hank hadn't ever sorted out and hadn't felt comfortable asking. The bald, bronze skinned individual was dressed in a freshly pressed and fashionable suit, contrasting starkly with Hank's own disheveled shirt and trousers. At least he'd managed a tie before being dragged out of his apartment. The augur made Hank uncomfortable. Jin was a polite enough individual, but pupiless golden eyes and their constant eerie calm made them nearly impossible to read. Their presence though, was far less concerning than the scene in the alleyway before them.

It almost looked like a bomb had gone off, albeit a weak one made entirely of flesh. Gore coated what would have formed the outline of a sphere on either walls and cobblestones of the alleyway, mostly the black remnants of an undead, but mixed in was a healthy amount of red. Likely, this was the perpetrator for the murder Hank had passed, given that. At least, what was left of them. They hadn't just been killed, they'd been unmade. Violently. The normal oily slick Hank felt around recent necromantic magics left by truly deceased undead was entirely absent. Hank tried to digest what he was seeing, but his stomach decided to disagree with the notion in a manner entirely lacking subtlety.

"Fuck!" Hank said, managing a few steps back into the previous alley before retching onto the wet, uneven stone.

"Indeed," replied Jin, their voice dispassionate and melodic.

 

[kiro]

Bedlam

• 'Modern' fantasy setting
  • Being more specific, the setting is modern in the sense that there are modern aspects to it, rather than something analogous to medieval.
  • It is not what I would call traditionally modern fantasy in that it does not take place on earth or in an alternate earth, it is its own very specific place that is more akin to a traditional fantasy setting city.
  • Bedlam is not just a city, but the overall mass that the city is affixed to.
    • Bedlam is constructed atop the petrified corpse of a slain god and the objects that have collided with it since its demise, hanging in the void between places.
    • Gravity is unidirectional across Bedlam, and one can in fact 'fall' into the void.
    • Bedlam's Light, as well as the weather systems are only 'natural' in the sense that they exist and occur in similar patterns to real world weather.
      • Bedlam's Light is some sort of ancient magical construct or dormant being that circles Bedlam. It wasn't always present, but has been for as long as history of the city has existed.
      • Weather patterns are confirmed to be the effects of 'living' spells. Pure masses of natural energy that have collided with Bedlam and now exist on it. While they have been determined to be separate things, they are too intertwined for there too be any hope of untangling and controlling the weather.
    • The Spire is Bedlam's second most notable structure, after the petrified god that serves as the foundation of everything else.
      • The Spire is a black stone-like structure that extends from the center of the city clear through the godcorpse and a good distance out the far side. It is the tallest structure in the city.
      • The Spire is a magical construct that houses a labyrinth, and while entrances to its interior exist at various points, they are for the most part walled off or protected from intrusion from denizens of the city itself.
      • The labyrinth contains multiple ecosystems, creates its own automata that patrol and defend the upper levels, and houses a myriad of arcane laboratories and vaults. Loosely reminiscent of a wizard's tower taken nearly as far as it possibly could be, its interior is a dangerous place and access to it is restricted.
        • Permits for entrance are issued by the city, but unauthorized entry is generally punished with near immediate deportation.
        • Accidents from exploring have cause numerous disasters in the city.
    • Bedlam's populace is fantasy metropolitan. All traditional fantasy races live within the city, as well as unique or novel entities of various shapes and sizes. Humans make up around half of the population.
  • Grimdark adjacent in mood, more akin to World of Darkness than D&D's Forgotten Realms in terms of atmosphere.
    • This is not to say there aren't good people, or that good things don't happen in the city, but it is a city that exists in a post magical industrial revolution state and is a relatively small ecosystem.
  • Magic in the setting has two primary axes.
    • Order - Chaos
    • Life - Death
    • All magic is based off of will/belief/intent, regardless of which axis or pole you are looking at. Use depends on ability to understand or feel the pole in question.
    • Most magical practitioners utilize order style magic because it is easily replicated and controlled via fixed means.
      • Order magic involves wards, sigils, specific incantations or iconography, etc.
      • Practitioners referred to by their area of specialty, but would include both the traditional idea of a wizard as well as clerics. If it has rules, it is probably tied to order.
    • Chaos magic is relatively rare, and is controlled through raw emotion and intent rather than a fixed method.
      • Luck, misfortune etc. are aspects of it, and application of the magic is similarly unpredictable without precise intent.
      • Rarity generally derives from:
        • Lack of interest/talent, Order magic is easier to grasp and apply
        • Lethality, as without restraint it is rarely applicable without the chance for exceptional backfiring. Most attempted 'students' kill themselves attempting to 'learn' the magic.
        • It cannot be 'taught', given that it is connected to the practitioner's emotions and the expression of said magic tends to be unique.
        • Practitioners are not trusted, and generally kept at arms length.
      • Practitioners referred to as witches.
    • Death and Life magics are analogous to Order and Chaos respectively with regards to application, and with somewhat inverted social appreciation.
      • Life magic is more difficult to accidentally make lethal than chaos
      • Murder and necromancy are generally frowned upon

 

[kiro]

Bedlam Cont.

• Modern Fantasy
  • Technology in modern fantasy is weird, and will probably get more hammered out as more writing happens with the setting. Instead, a list of things that are present and general flavor.
    • Firearms, but only specialized. In a setting where magic can produce adequate dispersals of force, projectile weapons would likely be less favored than purely magical ones. However, magical weapons with similar form factor to firearms would likely exist.
      • The important caveat would be with regards to enchanted ammunition. Because of the manner in which ordered magic is constructed though, more primitive projectile weapons like bows/crossbows would retain effectiveness with ammunition that would require more complex enchantments.
    • Trains/trams, arcane power as opposed to electrical or steam. No subways.
    • Void fairing vessels, with an appearance somewhere between zeppelins and seafaring ships. Anchor at a singular large harbor. Smaller vessels are employed by the wealthy of the city for intra-city transport, using bodies of water as hubs for 'parking'.
      • Most of Bedlam's raw materials are imported in this manner. Manufacturing and service sectors primarily provide exports.
    • No need to develop computers, as magical constructs and precise auguries could divine the information or produce the service that they would normally provide.
    • Magical equivalent of cellphones/walkie talkies for the wealthy or government operators.
    • Magic as an alternative for real world digital entertainment, utilizing illusory magic to produce similar effects.
    • More traditional fantasy armaments are more commonly used by your average individual, but are rarely carried unless they're either small, ceremonial, or for religious purposes. Odd, but generally not terribly alarming to see unless being brandished.
  • Fantasy monsters are obviously present in the setting, such as vampires, werewolves, and trolls, but more eldritch entities would not be.
    • More eldritch entities in setting would not have specific cultures or identities, and are always unique entities.
    • Sentient constructs have never been a successful endeavor, with magical practitioners either unable to replicate the complexity required to create a mind, or only resulting in unstable and often suicidal entities that do not survive for any length of time.
  • Gods exist, of all varieties. Enough belief eventually creates such entities, even if adherents are 'monotheistic'. Similarly, demons, devils, faeries, elementals etc. all exist for similar reasons. All of these entities can be approached for information, companionship, power or other reasons with the right (or sometimes wrong) methods.
    • Some individuals utilize bargains with these entities for access to enchantments that mimic practicing magic, but generally require something significant in return. It is also nigh impossible to hide magic produced from such enchantments, as they lack the required accompanying methods that would produce such effects otherwise.
    • Effects that would traditionally be religious are agnostic, ie religious symbols generally function as wards against vampires.

 

[kiro]

Disciplinary Dossier No. 37872

Subject: Henry Bartholomeus Watterton III AKA 'Hank' Watterton
DoB: AS 13.10.8273 (Age 26)
Origin: Bedlam, Argentius Ward
Height: 6'2''
Weight: 172
Hair Color: Brown, mixed gray
Eye Color: Green

Identifiable Features: Tridecagramatic wards, iron, located on knuckles of right hand. Tesselated pentapentagonal ward, antimony, right upper arm. Inverted septagramatic ward chain, Class II, silver, back. Subject functionally blind without required glasses, septagramatic ward prevents magical correction.

Biographical Notes: First son of the Watterton family of artificers. Status as founders irrelevant for subject, disavowed. Significant education within family prior to ward placement, and Academy of the Axes after. Little talent for advanced arcane practices noted.

Temperament: Subject is reserved, but noted repeatedly for curiosity. No signs of psychosis, depression. Generally found to be apathetic, but empathy noted by instructors at Academy towards peers. No substance abuse noted. Surrender to authorities was voluntary. ADDENDUM: Subject began utilizing calmsticks post disciplinary action, under supervision of warden. Doctor's note, encouragement of behavior suggested. Substance not addictive, and may result in lower likelihood of behavioral relapse.

Triggering Incident: Subject knowingly and deliberately utilized chaotic magics that resulted in the loss of multiple personal void ships, injuries to 4 individuals.

Disciplinary action: Placement of class II inverted spetagramatic ward chain in silver along spine, consistent with previous case efforts to curtail usage of witchcraft. Assignment of and monitoring by warden. Review of reports by Councilor of Order.

Status: Ongoing

 

[kiro]

[[Story cont. Warning for violence]]

]
Hank was, for once, thankful that the stabilizing effects of the wards were removing the lingering disruption in the area. It didn't take long after his what little had been in his stomach had emptied onto the ground that his general unease began to subside. He knew the effect was something to do with his being a witch, but it was always unnerving to see others unaffected by such things. Even Jin's unnatural calm would have been disrupted if they had been able to sense the distortion, but they simply stood impassively, waiting for Hank to stop looking as though he had too weak a stomach to be doing this sort of work.

"Are you ready to begin?" they asked, no judgement in their tone. Hank met the blank eyes of the augur only briefly, wiping away some lingering spittle with his sleeve before giving a nod. Straightening, he took a moment to adjust his jacket and pop the joints in his neck to further clear his head.

"Sorry," Hank offered moving back over to Jin and trying to take in the blast zone again without allowing himself to become ill.

"It is to be expected. Without prior exposure to such things, your first few months at such investigations are like to cause similar distress Mr. Watterton," Jin replied matter-of-factly. It had been three years, and Jin was perfectly aware of the fact. Hank didn't try to correct them. Some things weren't worth the effort. They seemed give an assessment of him, and then raised a hand and held it in the air near Hank's back. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Lets get this over with," Hank replied, adjusting his glasses. The augur's brow raised in acquiescence at the reply, an alien expression given their lack of actual eyebrows. They began by pressing their hand between Hank's shoulder blades, over the metallic tattoo that had been etched magically into his skin. The witch felt as Jin's will reached out for the ward, and tried not to shift as the sensation of someone gently blowing on your skin became constant. The augur produced a bit of chalk with his other hand, and began to draw in the air.

Hank had seen the work before, but it was always at least visually interesting. The chalk itself was heavily etched with arcane markings which allowed it to write on anything when the user's will was applied properly, even air. It left glowing lines where it passed, and Jin worked quickly to produce what they needed. The rune that was apparently required was circular, inset with interlocking rings and then eventually precise pentagrams to compliment them. It was the sort of work that Hank had never, and likely would never be able to do. Order magic required precision, and being able to reproduce what was needed on the fly and by hand without aid was a skill that bordered on impossible. At least, for a human. There simply wasn't enough time to gain the muscle memory generally required in his lifetime.

The precision was especially required for naturally unstable branches of magic, but Jin moved with the a speed that almost indicated the act could have been boring to them. Augury's instability had much to do with what it was attempting to look at. With regards to the past, it generally called on the memories of objects to draw insight, and such things didn't tend to last very long. The remnants of the detonation wouldn't last much past the last rain for example, and the longer they waited the less clear any visions would be. With regards to the future, there were too many variables to glean much more than vague impressions and unreliable suggestions.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jin's spellcasting hit Hank like a suckerpunch. The augur gave now warning before beginning, dragging the witch's perspective out of his own mind and into a disembodied vision of the alleyways from above. A disorienting distortion warped the vision, leaving things almost unfocused as things began to unfold. The distortion seemed to apply not just to the general view of the scene, but also to the pace of time. Things jumped forward then slowed down, vacillating wildly as Jin slowly began to wrangle the spell into submission.

After what seemed an eternity of falling rain, tumbling debris and the odd wandering cat, a figure came into focus walking down the primary alleyway. Recognizing their clothes, Hank quickly identified that they were the exsanguinated victim. Discomfort began to set in as they walked towards the entrance, waiting for the violence that was coming. A moment later, the other side of the equation came into view. Down the second alley, what must have been the vampire hobbled into view. The masculine figure was dressed well, much finer than would be expected for this part of the city. They were also however, already in distress. Hank was quick to note their awkward stagger, and their grip on one of their shoulders. Below that shoulder, the arm was missing and gouts of black blood pumped onto the cobblestones.

The vampire was on death's door even before they found their victim, appearing to rally as they spotted them. The victim though, should not have been. As the vampire closed on them, they raised one hand and light blazed to life around a ring Hank had not noticed before. They were a practitioner. Concern struck Hank then, knowing what was coming and knowing also that it was wrong. Ordered magic tainted the blood of a magus for anything that would prey upon them. A vampire could drink it, but it would be akin to food poisoning with random, sometimes crippling additional side effects. There was no way the creature didn't notice it.

All the same, the attack happened. Hank didn't even see it begin, a reminder of the horrifying speed the blood predators could summon when required. One moment, a spell was being cast, and the next the mage was pinned against the wall by their head, twitching as their assailant bit into their throat. It was an ugly affair, not the sort of feeding Hank had observed with voluntary supplicants elsewhere in the city. The vampire stopped leaking blood quickly, seeming to steady as they continued to feed. Blessedly, the awkward time dilation the augury created did not force the sight to linger.

There was a jump, and the victim was on the ground, dry. The vampire was walking away down the alley they'd come from, arm regenerated. If the effects of the tainted blood had yet to affect them, Hank certainly couldn't tell. They reached the center of the area Hank knew was the origin for the blast of flesh and then came to a standstill. They pointed to something outside the vision, further down the alley. They shouted angrily and began to gather themselves to attack again, but gave a momentary pause. An expression of confusion clouded their features, and then they simply popped.
It was such a sudden thing, Hank hadn't truly expected it. One moment they were there, and the next, there was just a spherical smear against the stone. Hank caught sight of something moving into the vision, but it ended immediately after and before he could get a good look. Shot out of the spell violently, the witch was struck with intense vertigo and nearly fell over as they attempted to find their bearings. He hit the wall of the alley instead, and managed to brace himself before truly embarrassing himself.

"Jin, what the fuck?" he exclaimed, knowing that certainly wasn't the manner in which anything but a novice would conclude such a spell. It was only then that he was able to focus enough to notice that the augur too was disoriented, holding their head with one hand and blinking to clear a daze that was obvious even without pupils. Hank frowned. He'd never seen Jin react to much of anything. The frustration that was beginning to bloom on their features told him enough. Things hadn't ended as intended.

 

[kiro]

A few hours later, Hank made his way through the colossal gateway into the cathedral of law. The structure was formed from some manner of stone harvested elsewhere in the void, dozens of stories tall. From without it appeared as a gargantuan, perhaps alabaster, gothic church with all the flying buttresses, spires, and tracery that one might expect. With regards to scale however, it utterly dwarfed anything else in the city. It's spires served as full on towers for the mages that worked for the government, and it's vast hallways contained the various organizations and bureaucracy that allowed the city to function.

Hank was drenched, unable to avoid the storm that had rolled in on the short walk from the tram station. It had begun shortly after Jin's augury, and forced the work there to be expedited. Hank had been dismissed early, thanked for his help, and instructed to send a cipher to the Councilor of Order summarizing what he had seen. He had argued briefly about this, as Jin was already submitting such a report, but Aethadora had insisted that he do so regardless. There hadn't been any point in arguing with her any further.

The witch passed through the cathedral's security halls without incident, readily recognized even without his emblem of station hanging from his jacket pocket. Witches were rare, but for the most part even those went unnoticed, their efforts subtle enough as to be attributed to pure chance. Few were those that managed any overt enough to draw attention, and fewer still were those that survived such events. Rather than dealing with the constant check-ins with his warden, Hank had joined the guard. He was an oddity, well enough known and generally avoided by those that didn't know him.

His path led him through the cathedral's vast library and down into the catacombs. He'd been officially assigned to the Spire Watchers, a then defunct branch of the guard of whom he was now the only member. There was little need to monitor the activity within the Spire, much less explore or contain anything inside it. Hank knew that it had just been a way to get him out from underfoot and avoid any political nonsense with regards to having to manage having a witch present. With easy access to the cathedral's library stacks, the old vaults his branch technically still managed, and free reign to enter the Spire as he pleased though, there was little need to complain.

The branch's office was mostly empty, aside from his own fairly spacious affair. Arcane lamps came to life in sequence as he entered the space, revealing a rather spartan space. Chalkboards covered the walls, mostly empty save for a few hand drawn maps of interior spaces of the Spire and scribbles of half solved arcane formulae. A worn leather couch, stone desk, comfortable chair, bookshelves, and filing cabinets took up a fair amount of space, but the bulk of the floorspace was inscribed with the most over engineered summoning circle Hank had ever seen. He hadn't used it, and hadn't found out yet who had commissioned it, much less what it had been used to call forth.

Hank approached the nearest filing cabinet as he entered, throwing his emblem onto his desk as he started to open one of the drawers. From inside, he drew out not paperwork, but a fresh set of clothes. From the clutter of takeout boxes on the desk and disheveled blankets on the couch, it wasn't difficult to deduce that he was at least half-living out of the office. Without needing to worry about anyone else being around to see him, he quickly changed clothes and began to get settled again. Once he had instant coffee cooling and a stale pastry in his mouth, he settled into his desk and began to put together the cipher.

"You look like shit," came a voice from the door, just as he was was starting to scribble out what was required. The witch looked up, saw the source of the voice, rolled his eyes, and went back to work. The source was his familiar. Wearing the shape of a black cat today, their tail flicked back and forth idly. "Did the inspector have something fun for you?"


"Interesting is not the word I would use, Sidh," Hank told the spirit flatly, then returned to his work. "Murder scene. A vampire willingly drained a mage dry, then popped. Like a big, sentient water balloon. They just needed an anchor for Jin to see it." He shook his head at the thought, not letting frustration take hold. It was what he'd signed up for, after all.

"Well, you should shower," the cat told him, then added, "and shave." Sidh began to groom herself then, more to bother her counterpart than anything else. She certainly didn't need to given her ability to shapeshift, a fact Hank was well aware of. "Are you still planning to delve the Spire today, or are you going to put it off again, my master?"

"I am still planning to, yes," he replied idly, not looking up at her and continuing to work. "I just need to double check the permits and see if they assigned me to anyone." Hank gave a nod to a stack of sealed official documents at the end of his desk, but remained focused on his work. "I'll look at them after I get this cipher sent off to Councilor Adarantas..."

"Why in the godcorpse's name are you sending a cipher to the councilor?"

"Aethadora demanded it."

"I thought Jin prepared their own reports."

"You would be...entirely correct on that, Sidh."

"So wh-"

"I don't know Sidh," Hank replied, finally exasperated and looking up to the cat. "There was some lingering chaotic distortion around the scene, but there's no way that she would have sensed it, and what happened certainly wasn't consistent with anything I've even heard about using sorcery. I didn't mention it either, so...I'm just doing what I'm told."

"Well, hopefully the councilor doesn't want to have a chat about it," Sidh replied. Then, with a flippant flick of her tail, stood and left. Hank grit his teeth at the idea, and then after a moment let out a weary sigh. The last time he had seen the dragon, they had been etching molten silver into the skin along his spine. The memory was decidedly not a pleasant one. Hopefully the cipher would suffice on its own- without mention of the distortion. He didn't have any desire for extra scrutiny at this moment.

 

[kiro]

Bedlam

• General Background Design
  • Open-mindedness
    • With regards to design, restriction isn't something that I am particularly keen on outside of what winds up being established in the process of storytelling. Internal consistency is somewhat important for sanity's sake, but if a BS fantasy reason explains a discrepancy, then I'm not going to be fussed.
    • Not yet covered is the world around Bedlam, and without specific places I do not intend to. Bedlam is an outpost in fantasy not-space, but in my mind this not-space is just the connective aether between most fantasy settings that would maintain established consistency. Whole planets, solar systems, or even galaxy equivalents exist in the void.
    • Transplants to Bedlam subsequently could be of almost any shape, size, or composition. Even things that are 'fixed' in Bedlam, such as the inability to create sentient constructs, could be bent if they weren't from there. Replicating the creation process might not be possible, but the existence could be.
  • Location Specific Thematics and Inspiration
    • A blank canvas for possible creativity may be a bit daunting and make your brain turn to static and white noise like me, so some structure helps. Just as a note, in keeping with the previous section, I do not intend to nail down Bedlam's geography beyond an outline. It is a fantasy setting with heavy magic and modern tech analogues, so things like pocket dimensions, non-relativistic spaces and moving city quarters aren't out of the question.
    • As Bedlam has grown and been seeded by various cultures, significant differences in architecture can be found within the city. Skyscrapers mix with cobblestone streets, grand gothic structures, living forests, the fantasy equivalent of flying cars, and grungy cable cars.
    • Factions and conflicts between them are a common and frequent thing on Bedlam. Most people in Bedlam are either transplants or transient, so if background conflicts involve some manner of prejudice, there's probably a faction that would create the issue for the character, just keep in mind that such opinions would likely not be monolithic without good reason. IE chaos magic's general unpredictable fuckery making witches unreliable and potentially dangerous to anyone and possibly everyone in their vicinity.
    • Adding to the above, Bedlam's government has a vested interest in keeping things relatively amiable. Multiple problematic factions have historically been expelled from the city in order to keep the peace. The city is ruled by a council comprised of powerful magical practitioners from the three generally usable axes of magic, who while not necessarily immortal could generally be considered undying. A dragon represents Order, a lich Death, and a fae royal Life. The reactionary concerns of shorter lived races do not generally sway politics in a significant fashion.
    • In keeping with this, more fanatical or aggressive factions in the city tend not to last for long. There are 'monotheistic' religions that for instance simply believe that other gods are just powerful spirits. It would not be an entirely incorrect assessment either. With that said, attempts to force such beliefs on others are met with derision and ridicule. After all, other gods do physically exist. Observably. Someone may be from a place in the void where such things would be unfamiliar, and to them Bedlam's culture would almost certainly be jarring to experience.
    • With regards to 'traditional' monsters like vampires exist peacefully within the city. Though generally viewed as odd, there enough volunteers that such creatures rarely find the need to 'hunt'. Necromancy isn't generally acceptable as a practice, but more because of the impracticality of it than any moral imperative. Bedlam is large, but is still confined to a fixed space. It would be too easy to run out of it if the practice was rampant, and the Councilor of Death is one of the most forceful in maintaining the prohibition.

 

[kiro]

The cathedral's armory was somewhere Hank found himself infrequently, at least when compared to his peers in other branches of the guard. It was not a daily affair that he ventured into the Spire, more often assisting with logistical work or managing and updating the Spire Watcher's badly kept records. No one had wanted to admit it when he was given the assignment and Hank didn't like talking about it, but records of what the vaults he was meant to manage held were lacking to say the least. Some of the artifacts he hadn't even the faintest idea what they did, and he did not have the budget to have someone sort it all out for him. Today though, that wasn't a problem he was going to worry about.

The armory's main chamber was large, but not particularly open. The bulk of the space was walled off with enchanted glass, a set of double doors behind a wide counter blocking off access save to those who managed the collection. Every day arms and armor tended to be kept inside one of the locker rooms off to either side of the space, but given how infrequently Hank needed them, a locker had been deemed unnecessary. This meant, of course, that every time he needed things he had to go through the process of having them requested, retrieved, and then reclaim them. The only saving grace of the matter was that he could fire off a cipher ahead of time and have things prepared for his arrival.

The quartermaster waiting for him was familiar, a middle aged orc woman with an intense wry stare. Homrahv's salt and pepper hair was shaved on the sides of her head, and what was left was pulled back and knit into a long braid. She wore enough scars to show clearly that she hadn't always been behind a desk, and the somewhat bored demeanor that indicated how much she enjoyed her current position. Behind the desk, you couldn't see the artifice prosthetic that went all the way up past the knee that had put her there. Even behind the desk she wore armor, though it was a more trimmed down version of what the guard normally wore. As Hank approached she stood and grabbed what he'd come for.

"Homrahv," the witch said amicably, "I'm surprised to see you here this early. How's the family?"

"You would know if you ever came by for dinner, brat," the older woman stated, dropping a box on the desk in front of Hank unceremoniously. There was a touch of annoyance in her voice, but a quick check at her expression showed more concern than genuine irritation. Inside the box was an ammunition belt, heavy revolver, holster, and two rings. "You are making sure to actually feed yourself, aren't you?"

"I eat," Hank replied in a defensive, but not particularly convincing tone. He reached into the box and began to arm himself, remembering that he'd skipped his evening meal the day previous after getting lost in record. The quartermaster gave a dismissive huff, but went to go and retrieve a metal staff resting against the wall behind her.

"If you were eating enough, you would not be losing weight," she chided, giving him a pointed look over, "You are grown now and need to make sure you take care of yourself, especially if you are delving into the spire. If you pass out, no one is going to notice for days."

"I'm not going to pass out," Hank replied, opening the break on the revolver and checking the empty chambers, "I've just been getting run ragged since I got here. The Investigator doesn't want to give me a chance to get up to anything, so she's been shoving me out for logistics almost every day." Satisfied with his inspection, he locked it back into position and shoved it into the holster that hung from the ammunition belt. "I have been meaning to swing by, but between that and the state of the spire vaults I haven't even been to my apartment in a week."

"Make time," Homrahv instructed, "Gorum would love to see you, and working yourself to death isn't going to help anyone." She offered the staff to him with a dry look. Hank took the staff and met her gaze, but wasn't able to hold it for long. Instead, he started fidgeting with the rings and placing them on his fingers. "Are you busy this evening?" she asked after a moment of watching him.

"Assuming Aethadora doesn't have me doing something else I should be," Hank said, relenting. Homrahv and her family had taken him in after his parents had disowned him, and in the years that he had spent with them rather than developing a resistance to motherly guilt had instead become just as susceptible as her own children. It wasn't as though she didn't have a point about the work either, and it was unlikely that another strange incident would occur before he could swing by. "If she does, I'll send a cipher. If it's too late I'll-"

"Come anyway," the orc martialist finished for him, with a tone that didn't broker any room for argument. "You can sleep on the couch if it comes to that." She waved him away then, and started collecting the crate she had been storing the witch's armaments in, "Go on then, I've got work to do too. Your silly toy needs food and we're almost out of the stupid things you feed it." She gave a gesture towards the revolver then, and turned back towards the door.

"Thank you Homrahv," Hank called after her, feeling a little relieved after the exchange despite having been scolded. It almost felt normal, and after the morning he'd had that was at least comforting. It was something to look forward to as well, which was almost novel after what he had been required to do the last few months. As he turned to leave himself, he started to check what ammunition he'd been given. He was not a terribly proficient battlemage when it came to anything but brute force, which was frequently not the appropriate tool for the problem in front of him. The artifice ammunition solved that somewhat, providing what amounted to disposable spells. It wasn't the most practical delivery method, but it was quick to adjust and did what was required. Loading the device though would have to wait until after he got through the checkpoint.

 

[kiro]

Hank did not make it to the checkpoint. In fact, he didn't even make it halfway there before he was pinged with a cipher. So, about an hour after he'd left the armory he found himself in the bright, gilded chambers of the Councilor of Order. The witch stood at rest a short distance away from the councilor's desk, disarmed and looking decidedly uncomfortable. The room itself reflected its owner's tastes, its furniture of exquisite craftsmanship imported from gods only knew where, and its sculptures and paintings diverse in everything but color palette. Nigh everything in the room was some shade of ivory, gold, scarlet, or violet.

Councilor Adarantas stood a short distance away, wearing the general shape of of an elf. Tall, lithe and graceful to the point of almost appearing alien, he still bore some of the features that showed his true nature. Pearlescent red scales crept out over his shoulders from the loose sleeveless robe he wore, as well as his elbows, backs of his hands, and along his brow to hide any hint of a hairline for his crimson locks. Most striking though, were the horns that curled out from his temples, and the unnerving gaze that bore a molten glow. The former curled backwards before striking back forward beneath his ears, framing his features. He was inspecting the revolver with some curiosity, sorting out its construction and making the odd inquisitive hum.

Also in the room, behind Hank, was a tall humanoid figure that could have been mistaken for a statue were it not for the slight play the air current in the room made against their hair and clothes. Lord Acrius Raventon was an androgynous fellow, turned at the height of their physical form. He was also one of Bedlam's vampire progenitors, having lived on the godcorpse for multiple millennia. Though visibly unarmed, he was decidedly one of the most terrifying individuals the city housed. Having managed to rule his family for as long as he had spoke to a level of strength and cunning rivaled only by the city's councilors. He made Hank's skin crawl, not that he was any more pleased to be under the councilor's gaze either.

"I take it the excessive caliber is to allow for extra script on the ammunition?" the dragon asked finally, a sincere glint of childlike curiosity and interest in the gaze he shot Hank's way. It was enough on its own to scramble the witch's thoughts.

"Y-yes, councilor," Hank replied after a moment, not sure how they'd gotten here or even why. The councilor's face split in a grin that was too wide for it.

"And your new ward manages the impact?" he asked, a slight tilt of his brow towards Hank's shoulder. This, Hank had no verbal response for. The fact that the councilor even knew of the marking was a surprise. No one other than the doctors who had overseen the procedure or the runesmith who had placed it had even seen it yet as far as he knew. "A novel use for the design, though not without risks. Be mindful of things that would merely maim when using it, Mr. Watterton. Quite a few things that would not be lethal otherwise will be when you do." The grin returned, and sent a shiver down the witch's spine. "Though I suppose the opposite is also true."

"Yes, councilor," Hank managed, still too thrown by the exchange to properly process the conversation. From behind him, Raventon cleared his throat. Adarantas didn't look at the vampire, nor did his demeanor change when he continued speaking.

"Your report this morning leaves some questions that I would like the answers for, Mr. Watterton," he said, circling his desk to take a seat and collecting some of the paperwork that lay there. "There were some conflicts between your description and the augur's, and I would like to have things clear for the good Lord Raventon here." The dragon gestured at the individual, then looked at Hank expectantly. The gaze was firm, and did not broker argument. Still collecting himself, Hank shook his head.

"Could you clarify, councilor? To my knowledge I gave an accurate description of the augury. Jin and I discussed the matter prior to my departure."

"The figure you saw," Andarantas stated, summoning a pair of gold rimmed half moon glasses out of thin air and beginning to read the report. Hank was almost certain that this was a show, but grew unsure when he considered whether or not a dragon could have incurable eye damage. The thought did nothing helpful to anchor his thoughts, "Jin left no mention of it. Or of some of the atmospheric and setting details you appeared to pick up on. Any idea why?"

"N-no, councilor. I just included what I could recall. Investigator Aethadora told me to include as much detail as I could recall." Hank lifted a hand then, shoving a stray hair out of his face and then scratching the side of his head. "I didn't think there was supposed to be a difference in vision of an augury between the augur and an anchor."

"There isn't," Raventon said dryly from behind.

"I wonder if there isn't anything else of note from the scene that you could bring to our attention?" the councilor asked, keeping Hank's attention. The witch squirmed for a moment and then gave a sigh as he caved to the pressure and then began trying to sort out how to present the info.

"You won't be able to confirm it," Hank cautioned, but received a gesture to proceed before he could elaborate on the issue. "Chaos magic leaves a...sort of residue? I'm not sure why those who only practice order magic can't sense it, but I've felt when others use small things, or even in the aftermath of things I've cast. This was...it was more than that. Like void cannon compared to that thing." He pointed at the revolver the councilor had left on the desk. "The murder had occurred hours before I got there, and it was worse than the strongest thing I've ever done councilor."

"As expected," Andarantas replied quickly, not looking up from the report. "You're dismissed Mr. Watterton." Hank considered for a moment, and then hesitantly went to retrieve the revolver and return it to its holster.

"Councilor, is there something I should know?" he asked in an uncertain tone. Managing to get out of this unscathed and unreprimanded was a stroke of luck he had not expected, and that fact bordered on the concerning.

"Be careful in the Spire, Mr. Watterton, you never know what you might find during your dives," the councilor instructed.

"Yes, sir," Hank replied, and then turned to leave. He briefly met the gaze of Lord Raventon as he left, managing not to cower away or let the shiver run down his spine until after he was behind the vampire. Whatever was happening, he simply wanted out of the room at this point. He retrieved his staff from a rack near the door, then adjusted his tie and jacket before departing. He might be frazzled, but he certainly didn't have any desire to look it.