Setting Focus - The Citadel

So I utterly failed in my attempt to maintain a once-a-week update, but we all should know by now that I am not in any fashion reliable. Regardless, here's a new post with semi-relevant campaign information. If you guys are interested in something else about the campaign than what I've detailed, feel free to say so. As you may well know, I am a glutton for criticism, however often it comes my way. Many times, I am the one producing said gripes, but that is neither here nor there. Irrelevant.

My semester is over on May 1st, so you all know. Do what you will with that information.

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The Autarch

"Autarch" is an archaic word that is roughly analogous to tyrant or despot.

For centuries, one being has sat alone at the height of power within the Citadel. Since drawing the parisian-blue spires up from beneath the ice, the Autarch has rested eternally within the central tower, frozen to a grand throne. None now live who can say with certainty who or what the Autarch was before he (or she, actually; again, no one is sure) came to rule the slowly crumbling fortress-city, but most all know of his power. Over time the Autarch has become more and more detached with the affairs of the Citadel, closing access to the central spire for months if not years, passing judgement or edict only through his mystical servants. Those closest to him know that he spends most of his time outside of his body, drifting aimlessly along the currents of magic to discover hidden truths. Recurrent absences have given some of his mortal aides opportunity to abuse their standing, but these trifling affairs are of no concern to him. The Autarch has become infinitely apathetic toward his subjects, caring less and less for his own creations with each passing season. This fact does not bother many citizens, for they have had a fairly cavalier lifestyle. The amount of freedoms they obtain and lack of any substanital taxes are sufficient arguement for living here as opposed to other cities.

He is, in a sense, merely a background element of the Citadel now, never exerting more than a small effort to make his presence known from time to time. Occasionally, on festival days or the like, he will produce for the crowds a simulacrum of himself to deliver speeches commemorating the works of the people, walk amongst the halls and to perform minor duties in service to his subjects. Always, however, his real body and his attention is held within the spire, gazing deeply into the twinkling cosmos.

Among his employ are a number of mortal aides as well as a retinue of imposing stone golems. His affairs are sorted out by a small group of nine or so advisers or supposed noblemen. Often times their duties are auxiliary to their actual jobs as merchants or guildmasters or (not surprisingly) criminal lords, functioning merely as enforcers of the major edicts or groundrules the Autarch laid down. They are the few citizens of the Citadel that the Autarch will actually allow into his presence, and are allowed a few extra priveleges apart from their contemporaries. They are able, at times, to call upon the aide of the Autarch's golems to solve disputes, or to employ as guards. Sometimes, with an increasing frequency of late, these mortal nobles will exploit such priveleges for personal gain. The Autarch does practically nothing to stop this.

The Citadel

Citizens of the Citadel know well the tale of how the fortress came to sit atop the wintry White Pine Hills in Midgard's harsh wilderness.

Centuries ago, a solitary figure stood amidst a whirlwind of snow encircling the whole of the forest, calling out to the ghosts of the place, keepers of secrets of ages long past. His voice echoed across the vast landscape, through the howling din of the blizzard. For miles around, the shouts and shrieking winds could be heard, growing louder and harsher in a chaotic duet. A thunderous boom rang out to the far reaches of the wildlands, then all was quiet. When the storm had passed days later, an unfamiliar shape broke the silhouette of the hills. A fortress now stood amidst the trees and creeks, where nothing had before.

Folk told others ne'er to venture toward the dark towers; malicious spirits haunt the forest around it, they said. Ghosts who steal you away into the night, never to be heard from again. The wild won't go near it, neither should you.

Over time, curiosity got the better of many, and eventually people from all variety of origin flocked to the Citadel to live under the protection of the Autarch and his vast obsidian halls. Now, the Citadel is home to numerous guilds, clans, merchants, tradesmen, artists, and magicians, all drawn to this place of awe-inspiring mystery. Different ethnic groups celebrate their own rituals and festivals, while every citizen respects such holidays that are unique to the Citadel, like the Observance (a time where a great number of citizens make the trek to the taller spires and stargaze for hours at night.) The people of the Citadel have developed quite a peculiar society for themselves, where the rooms of the fortress become storefronts, homes, storehouses, labs, etc., and the quickest or richest (or beefiest) among the populace get the good ones. Often, this makes for a strange social makeup, where the richest live right next the poorest, and under a merchant or above an artist without a studio. There are, however, still areas that are thought of as "tiers" or "quarters," like the Market (where a great deal of merchants ended up living because the rooms had windows facing inward) or the Bridges (where there are a lot of small rooms almost hanging off of stone bridges that span the interior of the Great Hall.)

The Necropolis ( from greek, nekropolis - city of the dead) is an underground cavern directly below the Citadel that is covered in grave markers, peppered by tombs and masoleums erected to house the bodies of a long-dead people. Needless to say, it generates a great deal of intrigue among the citizens. Its many twisting passages are houses to a great number of enigmatic phenomena, such as wandering spirits, will o' wisps and the walking dead. Only a select number of the Citadel's rabble are permitted to venture into the Necropolis, as matters of public safety forbid a great deal of meddling in the affairs of the restless dead. Chief among those who manage the Necropolis and its denizens are the Morticians, select men and women who join the Red Mask guild. (The Red Masks are an organization devoted to the study of the structures of natural life like anatomy and biology, and make their trade as undertakers, alchemists, doctors, assassins or torturers.) The Autarch's powerful enchantments have prevented the dangers of the Necropolis from spilling into the Citadel's commons, though occasionally a wayward peasant or adventurous lad will wind up mangled for having crept down into the dark. Apart from the Morticians, citizens whose trade requires their entrance into the Necropolis are allowed to venture below, for a price.