It is a delicious, old school feeling story game that mashes Lankhmar, Conan, and the Discworld all into one glorious local gonzo setting.
Here is the sizzler blurb I wrote for my players:
Welcome to Eversink.
Except no one here ever calls it that. Eversink is the name written on maps and musty tomes. It's the name pronounced at ceremonies and in foreign courts.
Except no one here ever calls it that. Eversink is the name written on maps and musty tomes. It's the name pronounced at ceremonies and in foreign courts.
You're likely to get your throat slit calling it that, here.
The newly-arrived call it Everstink, as their nose is assailed by the stench of mud, blood, and offal floating in the Serpentine RIver that runs through the city.
To sellswords & soldiers it is Bettershank, as in 'Better to shank first.' It is a policy that'll keep you alive in the backstreets of the southside, or the noble houses of the north.
The scouts, spies & sneakthieves have named it Shadowslink, the place where they feel safe to steal whatever secrets can bring them the most fortune.
The believers of Denare call it The Shining City. Everyone else jokes that is true if you count the oily skin on the lower half of the river.
Power hungry sorcerers call it the Whorl, for they see the maw of energy that swirls over the mundane streets as the turgid river flows between and under them.
The newly-arrived call it Everstink, as their nose is assailed by the stench of mud, blood, and offal floating in the Serpentine RIver that runs through the city.
To sellswords & soldiers it is Bettershank, as in 'Better to shank first.' It is a policy that'll keep you alive in the backstreets of the southside, or the noble houses of the north.
The scouts, spies & sneakthieves have named it Shadowslink, the place where they feel safe to steal whatever secrets can bring them the most fortune.
The believers of Denare call it The Shining City. Everyone else jokes that is true if you count the oily skin on the lower half of the river.
Power hungry sorcerers call it the Whorl, for they see the maw of energy that swirls over the mundane streets as the turgid river flows between and under them.
The guard just call it 'here,' most likely used in the phrase 'What's going on here, then?' They have no time worrying about words when they are busting heads to keep the city from falling apart, or else keep food on their table.
The nobles and artisans avoid naming the place together, instead referring only to the district they are going to or coming from. They speak of the Estates where they live, the Works where goods are made and sold, the Farms on the outskirts that feed the city, and the Markets where everything has a price. Everything below that is Southside, where nobles only go when they want something ignoble done.
Now how's about a few coins in thanks for saving you a lot of trouble, gov?
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