While it mostly resides on the public
Google plus Hill Cantons page (a clearinghouse for campaign
information in general), I will be sharing fortnightly some of that
round-up here on the blog.
For five
long centuries the sleepy Kezmaroki-ruled island of Ptuj has
tolerated with a resigned shrug its sister isle, Tolmin, lost to the
Weird. Last year alas Smok, a youngish offspring of the great
wyrm Zirnitra herself, descended on great wings onto the House of
the Axe, a shunned temple of the cthonic goddess called the
Mistress of the Mountains. Terrified Ptujians, whose rural residents
have become the favored snack of the great beast, are offering a
substantive bounty—to either of the two companies of northern local
hero-residents--for the slaying of the dragon: gender-appropriate
nubile concubines, a small mountain of the island's vintage corn
liquor, a local latifundia estate, and 10,000 suns of cold hard cash.
Undoubtedly Smok has accumulated—or found—great treasures of his
own in the depths of that Unsunly temple.
Last month's abrupt
assassination of the Decade-King has set the salons and wine
dens of the great hostels have been a-buzz with the most favored of
all Kezmaroki blood-sports: politics. Next week our most beloved and
sun-dappled Patriarch will solemn intoned the ritual opening of
the Hundred Days, the ceremonial political jockeying
between royal candidates selected by the Supernal College of
Successors. At the end of the period—and a new Decade King
emerges--an albino catoblepas will be set alight on a gilded pyre.
Much (hotly-debated) augury is made around the precise shape and
color of the resulting whiffs of smoke and the tones of the dying
beast's bellows.
High society in the city has opened its
doors to a charming new entry to the ranks of the nobility: Lord
Gurgi, Master of Tables, Sub-Patriarch of Ironspire Island, etc.
Though some detractors say he is both ape-man and a lowly linkboy to
a murderous clown, others welcome his spirited hambone dancing.
Eight “white hippogriff”
royal candidates, direct kin of the last Decade King, have already
been announced for the Hundred Days succession process. Only two
“dark hippogriff” candidates (believed by many detractors
to have dubious pedigrees) to date have been revealed. The
Restorationists have been making their usual monarchist noise about
banning such upstarts--to the predictable derision of the
orchestrated street riots of the Wellsprings of the Crowd (both
“dark” candidates are rumored to be backed by the Autarchs).
There are rumors that the eccentric Lady Mosna is busy creating a
pedigree for Lord Gurgi.
The Blood Rains have swept into
Kezmarok leaving syrupy, sticky puddles and residues throughout the
city. The Patriarch has declared the ritual sympathetic mourning
period to commiserate with our most holy Sun Lord as he
suffers his silver-chained beating from his spurned former wife, the
Celestial Lady. On pain of a hefty fine, all residents of the city
must wear the customary mustard yellow through this period.
The ruined environs of High Kezmarok are alive again with the pungent smell of horse dung. Southlands horse traders have begun their biannual halfway housing of herds on their way to the renowned Black Horse Fair in the Hill Cantons town of Marlankh (the Cold Fair starts next month).
Speaking of northerners and their uncouth drawl, a small private army of rough men much akin to the self-styled Nefarious Nine have been seen making the rounds of curio dealers on the lower west side. The ruffians--led by Mandamus a surprisingly erudite scholar—are rumored to have sold enormous sacks worth of moon-styled gemstones purloined from the depths of the undercity itself.
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