Plague-Mort's a festering boil always threatening to burst, a place overripe with treachery. In fact, the town has been pulled bodily into the Abyss on numerous occasions, though a new town of the same name always promptly arises on the same site. Nothing lasts, and death lurks behind every corner.
Ruler[]
Plague-Mort is ruled by a cutter called the Arch-Lector, currently Byrri Yarmoril (Pl/m/tf/ P16/Mk/CE). The Arch-Lector is always a militiaman who ousted his predecessor through strength or cunning, and Byrri is more paranoid than most about a successor rising from the ranks. His dungeons are full of real and imagined traitors and spies. He angrily questions anyone suspicious, and he routinely attempts to weed out the strongest members of the town militia to forestall a coup. Some say he's slowly losing his grip and a bloodbath is sure to follow.
Behind the Throne[]
In fact, the Arch-Lector answers to the Abyss, and woe to him should he should fail to deliver more land across the shifting borders! The tanar'ri are not patient, yet the Arch-Lector depends on their forbearance. It's said that the only ruler who ever failed to deliver a boundary shift and lived to say so is the Lady of Pain, herself, who is whispered to have once have held the title of Arch-Lectress. Others say, "Bar that! The story's just a way of bringing attention to a desperate town." 'Course, no one has dared ask the Lady the truth of it.
Description[]
Plague-Mort is a gray set of ruins, ill-kept hovels, and open sewers huddled around the grand and gilded spires of the Arch-Lector's residence. Its streets are ridden with grime and disease, and the air is usually filled with late-autumn chill and the sound of hacking coughs. Little grows here, and what does is feeding on the life's blood of something best kept dark. Weeds, bloodthorns, and viper vines are the most common forms of vegetation.
The best part of town is Merchant's Row, an old street that maintains a set of glittering facades. Street stalls and small shops sell dubious goods and suspect meats. A blood should keep a sharp eye out for militiamen practicing a bit of the cross-trade. The weapons sold in the Row are of very high quality, and most prices are lower than usual. Merchant's Row is always crowded because it's a safe haven where no blood may be shed by unspoken agreement between the town's power players.
The gate to the Abyss is the leftmost of three arches leading into the Arch-Lector's residence at the center of town. It leads to the Plain of Infinite Portals. Enough of the Abyssal stench of death and betrayal bleeds over to affect magic in Plague-Mort. All necromancy spells function at maximum effectiveness within its walls, and saving throws against their effects are made with a -3 penalty.
Militia[]
The Plague-Mort militia is simply an extension of the Arch-Lector's bodyguards, a group of rowdy tieflings, alu-fiends, and cambions who take what they want and damn the fool who tries to stop them. The militiamen are called the Hounds, and like all good hounds they're fawning, servile, and totally loyal to their master - until they sense weakness, at which time the leader of the Hounds tears down the Arch-Lector and tries to take his place. Some say the phrase "turn stag" (to betray) comes from Plague-Mort, but others claim it's just used more often there than most places. The Hounds sleep either on the floor of the Lector's residence or in the tavern where they spent the night carousing.
The Hounds are both judge and jury in Plague-Mort. Anyone they catch or dislike is usually dismembered on the streets, on the spot. The Hounds routinely thrash suspicious characters or anyone foolish enough to insult them without even realizing it, and sometimes they'll just pick out some poor sod to beat up on general principle. Plague-Mort has no jail or courts (no one ever leaves the Arch-Lector's dungeons). Failed usurpers and the Arch-Lector's personal foes are always taken before the Arch-Lector; everyone else is meat for the Hounds.
Services[]
Unlike the Abyss, Plague-Mort has a very tolerant attitude toward merchants. As long as they bribe the right berks and are loose with their jink in the taverns, everyone loves a trader. 'Course no one likes a miser, but merchants rarely leave Plague-Mort with much of their profits still in their pockets. Barter is popular in town, and indentured servitude is encouraged. The trade in town also supports other vices, some of them in the streets and alleys, others hidden in the summoning chambers and smoky thieves' dens of the tieflings who seem to run the burg. Quite a few of Plague-Mort's petitioners want to leave, but they fear being run down by the Hounds unless they have a patron. Plague-Mort's full of rogues and rowdies that make good henchmen, as long as they're kept in check with a firm hand.
The best inn for bloodsuckers, freebooters, mercenaries, and mad mages is The Eye of the Dragon, a smoke-filled chamber of vipers that serves watered wine, burnt soup, and stale bread. The owner is White Scar (Pr/m/drow/F12/M10/BC/CE), a silent, brooding elf who collects ears (he's missing one of his own, though he won't tell why). Scar doesn't listen to anyone rattling their bone-box without his calculating gaze shifting to the sides of their heads. The prices at his place are cheap, and no one complains about the food.
Bloods who like their skins should avoid The Golden Griffon, which the Hounds have claimed as their own. They don't appreciate visitors.
The best food available on Merchant's Row is Sweet Larissa's Sausages, a butcher shop known for sweet, rich meats and a number of secret recipes. Horse and dog meat are often proposed as the secrets of her success, but Larissa will grin enigmatically at the suggestion of other, "secret ingredients" (but as every sods knows, those that like sausage shouldn't be present at the making of it - especially this sausage). Larissa (PI/f/h/T9/Fa/CE) stands behind her chopping block with that knowing smile and sells her wares to anyone with the jink.
Plague-Mort is also home to a shop called The Poisoner's Phial, where Laran Susspurus (Pl/m/tf/T12/ Dg/NE) dispenses medications, poisons, acids, and venoms. Laran sells antidotes as well, some magical and others mundane. The cost is twice that of the toxin they neutralize.
Local News[]
Recently, a pack of mercenary primes calling themselves the Illuminated has shown up in Plague-Mort, harassing the town's petitioners and taking The Bell and Whistle Tavern as their meeting place. Their leader is a brash young man named Green Marvent (Pr/m/h/W11/Os/CE), a cruel mage who dresses all in green silks and satins. His followers have painted a green eye in a pyramid over the shingle of the Bell and Whistle. Marvent demands instant obedience from petitioners, tieflings, and tanar'ri alike. Those who hesitate are reduced to ashes or magically ensnared to become members of the Illuminated. Everyone in town is bracing for the war between the Hounds and the newcomers, though no one knows who will triumph, the Clueless being a bit unpredictable. If the Illuminated prevail and claim the Arch-Lectorship, Green Marvent will be the first Outsider to take the rulership in generations.
Plague-Mort. The name conjures up the idea of an asylum let loose to run
the town, where demons threaten to pull the land itself screaming into the
depths of the infernal Abyss. And yet, despite numerous opportunities to
do so, the Outlands continues to hang onto the city.
There are few elements of "law" in the city, but the most powerful are threefold: the criminal organizations, the Hounds, and the Arch-Lector. All are intimately entwined.
The Hounds represent the most concrete representation of law in this anarchy: they are completely loyal to each other and have the means to break heads to fulfill each others wishes. They keep their fingers and toes attached to every criminal organization in the city so as to bring more money to their peers. Sure, if they moved to Sigil they wouldn't be providing oversight to a bunch of homicidal maniacs; but then again, all they would be is a number on a Hardhead's list of "Most Wanted". In Plague-Mort they rule the streets. The Hounds are responsible for only one essential duty: keeping the citizens from causing the city to slip into the Abyss: they are named for their ability to act as a pack to sniff out and snuff cults worshipping demon lords. During festival times, they attempt to keep people from murdering each other. Its a thankfully little known aspect of their position (if it was well known, the Hounds would be ripped apart by the masses).
The criminal organizations run the gamut from a few powerful individuals to gangs of gutter punks to multi-planar organizations such as the Illuminated. These organizations are only lawful within their group; unlike the Hounds, they tend to not think of how close Plague-Mort really is to the Abyss. As such, they are constantly conspiring against each other, planting members in each others groups, and engage in nearly constant outright warfare (in some areas).
The final leg of "law" in Plague-Mort is the Arch-Lector Rannison. This tiefling is an openly devout priest, often spouting the gospel of... well, some deity. The truth is, the Arch-Lector's temple tends to be repaired frequently, and when the scaffolding comes down he seems to be worshipping a new deity. Of course, ask a citizen and they'll think about it, then shrug and say: "Don't matter much to me: never listened to his jaw- wagging. 'Bleeder's uses twenny pence words like they were free. Waste o' time it is." Really, for a priest, the Arch-Lector has one of the worst attendance records in the planes. However, he makes up for them by collecting secrets on the criminal organizations, which he wields with lead pipe cruelty. He refers to their money as "titheing", but a better term would be "kick-backs." Rannison is also given funded by a more secretive group: the demon lords he secretly worships. Or not so secretly. The Hounds KNOW his temple is a center of demonism, but they choose not to act against him. Regardless, the Arch-Lector works to undermine the populace's confidence in divinity, and organized religion in general. He is constantly acting to pull Plague-Mort through its portal - though rarely outright. To do so would mean his murder.
Events[]
Occuring once per cycle, the citizens of Plague-Mort erupt into a celebration that is little seen in the planes. This is the Feast of Demogorgon, and it is a celebration of every bestial activity that can occur. Of course, it never begins that way: no, it always begins as an acknowledgement of Plague-Mort's location on the Great Wheel, and every time begins with the hope that it will not end up being violent. However, the people never learn. The Feast takes the form of a parade, with fireworks blasting from windows and rooftops and decorations covering the streetside apartments as it passes. The most impressive part of the parade is the huge Demogorgon float: twin snarling baboon head made from papier mache are at the front of an impressive Cloth float, carried by around fifty men. The necks are made from ocher-green irridescent cloth draped over a rounded wooden frame work, within which stand the bearers of the frame. The bearers run to and fro, inciting the people as they march. The body is a wood cart decked out to appear as a bestial body, with a seat at the "shoulders" wherein sits the Arch-Lector. The legs are made from a wood frame and papier mache, and are hinged so as to allow appear as if they are loping along the parade route. Finally, from several positions (which tend to vary) on the body, the tentacles snake outward into the crowd. In fact, they are not actually carried by any individuals, but passed along by the crowd. Violence follows the parades wake. The people are crammed tightly into the parade corridor, and inevitably reprisals are taken, jostling results in belligerence, or broken glass ends up in the "tentacles". By the end of the night, the fires begin. It truly is the worst night of the year for the Hounds.
With less outright violence, but just as malevolent, is the Carnivale de Pazrael, a festival that ends the "summer" season before the dust rains begin - just as the vultures begin to show up. Carried on primarily by the abject poor, this carnival venerates not so much Pazuzues' rule over evil sky-dwellers, but his role as lord of hopelessness. The poor construct cheap, suffocating masks that are worn to express some hidden facet of their personality. By trying to express their personality, they are exposed to the fact that they cannot be who they believe they are. The Carnivale ends with rampant domestic violence in the ghettoes.
Strange Groups[]
One of the most bizarre creatures to roam the alleys of Plague-Mort are what locals refer to as "Grey-Caps." A story tells that due to their actions, a previous Gatetown in this location found its way into the Abyss. Although nominally halflings, the Grey-Caps are devout worshippers of Zuggtmoy, and are distinctive for their grey robes, rounded caps, and fungal infections. Their ghettoes are always located near openings into the sewers, where it's believed many more exist - nonetheless, they seem to appear out of nowhere, with one end of an alley being smattered with mushrooms, and the terminal end being a veritable forest of various fungi. While considered dangerous, the Grey-Caps rarely attack people (although it is believed they slake the streets with blood during the Feast of Demogorgon) - one is warned to be on their guard while in the sewers though.
Bizarre aspects of society[]
Contractors in Plague-Mort don't always end up purchasing the correct quantities of materials. Work Crew Walk-outs, the occasional murder, theft of building supplies: all make it tricky to gauge how much material to buy while renovating or constructiong a building. Bored contractors in Plague-Mort often finish off apartment buildings with Bar-Lgura Bars. By mashing together remaining scraps and unnecessary materials, the contractors reasoned they give children something to play on. Moreover, they could use these nailed together piles of scrap and metal to provide a bridge between buildings, because the little bastards like climbing on dangerous things, don't they? Bar-Lgura bars adorn many of the apartment buildings in Plague-Mort, and they work as advertised: Children loving swinging from the reinforcing steel and climbing on the wood beams - and every so often a child plunges to the floor of an alley to be severely crippled, at best.
It's quite a testament to the power and variety of the Abyss that this city exists at all, but the planes hunger for the goods and services the Thousand and One Closets can offer, while the Abyss hungers for the stuff of the planes. Plaguemort is a hideous moil of razorvine, refuse, and disease. Those citizens who can't afford frequent curative magics are infested with parasites and virii, and rat-anthropy runs rampant; they say Squerrik himself walks the streets. An arch-lictor rules the city in the name of the demon princes, while in the midst of their anguish the people take solace in the cold Lady of Pain.
Unthinkable in Sigil, the cult of the Lady in Plaguemort is old and well established; her razor-sharp image appears in nearly every household shrine, and the architecture sports the same placatory blades that are seen everywhere in the Cage. Plaguemorters pray to the Lady of Pain as the bright beacon that alone is capable of delivering them from the squallor of their home in a way that mere drugs cannot. Legend says that she was once Arch-Lictor of Plaguemort herself and alone of the city's rulers failed to deliver it to the tanar'ri lords, instead causing it to slide all the way to its present position above the infinite Spire, where she rules it still. The people of Plaguemort pray that she will return to the crux between the Abyss and the Land, and do the same for their incarnation of the city.
In the caves Hinterward of town is a portal leading to Sigil. Located in within a deep pit, the key is devotion to the Lady of Pain - the bottom of the pit is littered with the bones of the faithless. The portal leads directly to one of the Lady's mazes, for, of course, Her Serenity does not tolerate worshippers. The idea of being transfigured, immortalized within the eternal moment of a Maze sounds wondrous to the typical Plaguemorter, however.
The Illuminated cult, with its talk of the vivid agony of revelation, shows token respect for the Lady of Pain, but it is far to ambitious to actually worship her. They've managed to gain a rough equivalent ot the Sign of One's role in Sigil, with their lodge acting as an informal House of Speakers for Plaguemort's quarreling power groups, enough that the city's tumble into the Abyss has been delayed indefinately. This has earned the sect the emnity of Squerrik, who hopes to use the gate-town as a seed for a new Abyssal layer flavored with the skins of rats.
Lore[]
"Thinkin' and a-thinking 'till there's nothing I ain't thunk,
Breathin' in the stink, 'till finally I stunk
It was at that time, I swear I lost my mind
I started making plans to kill my own kind."
- The Violent Femmes, "Country Death Song"
Random notes on Plaguemort:
It's quite a testament to the power and variety of the Abyss that this city
exists at all, but the planes hunger for the goods and services the Thousand
and One Closets can offer, while the Abyss hungers for the stuff of the
planes. Plaguemort is a hideous moil of razorvine, refuse, and disease.
Those citizens who can't afford frequent curative magics are infested with
parasites and bacteria, and rat-anthropy runs rampant; they say Squerrik
himself walks the streets. An arch-lictor rules the city in the name of the
demon princes, while in the midst of their anguish the people take solace in
the cold Lady of Pain.
Unthinkable in Sigil, the cult of the Lady in Plaguemort is old and well
established; her razor-sharp image appears in nearly every household shrine,
and the architecture sports the same placatory blades that are seen
everywhere in the Cage. Plaguemorters pray to the Lady of Pain as the bright
beacon that alone is capable of delivering them from the squallor of their
home in a way that mere drugs cannot. Legend says that she was once
Arch-Lictor of Plaguemort herself and alone of the city's rulers failed to
deliver it to the tanar'ri lords, instead causing it to slide all the way to
its present position above the infinite Spire, where she rules it still. The
people of Plaguemort pray that she will return to the crux between the Abyss
and the Land, and do the same for their incarnation of the city.
In the caves Hinterward of town is a portal leading to Sigil. Located in
within a deep pit, the key is devotion to the Lady of Pain - the bottom of
the pit is littered with the bones of the faithless. The portal leads
directly to one of the Lady's mazes, for, of course, Her Serenity does not
tolerate worshippers. The idea of being transfigured, immortalized within
the eternal moment of a Maze sounds wondrous to the typical Plaguemorter,
however.
The Illuminated cult, with its talk of the vivid agony of revelation, shows
token respect for the Lady of Pain, but it is far to ambitious to actually
worship her. They've managed to gain a rough equivalent ot the Sign of One's
role in Sigil, with their lodge acting as an informal House of Speakers for
Plaguemort's quarreling power groups, enough that the city's tumble into the
Abyss has been delayed indefinately. This has earned the sect the emnity of
Squerrik, who hopes to use the gate-town as a seed for a new Abyssal layer
flavored with the skins of rats.
Sites:
The Bridge of Hallucinations
The Fortress of Saved Skulls (githyanki enclave)
The Road of Welts, The Road of Bruises, -- psoriasis, Hard fun, Penguins,
Destruction, Scabies, Gout, Mumps , Rashes, Blood, Purple bones, etc.
Brook's Tower (I don't know)
Upper Reaches (AKA the Weakling District, a bastion of good)
Hambone Court
Infection (missions from good-aligned gods)
Temple of Knowledge (a wicked university run by cowled priests)
The inhabitants often have weird distortions like gray scaly or black,
chitonous skin, filmy membranes in their eyes, green mold covering their
body, or no eyes. This is a result of local parasites, and not necessarily a
sign of plane-touch.
>From: Emlyn Shannon <emlyn_s@HOTMAIL.COM>
>I guess Hopeless, Torch, Curst, and Bedlam all have reasons for people
>being
>there. But If so many people don't want to wind up in the Abyss someday,
>why
>do they stay?
Money. There's money to be made from the Abyss, all the more so because not
everyone is willing to take the risks required.
Sigil's tight on real estate. Most Plague-Morters who go to Sigil end up
living in the Hive, which is actually *worse* than Plague-Mort. Remember,
Sigil is also a gate-town to the Abyss, but its doors lead to far deadlier
places than the Plain of Infinite Portals. To a Hiver, Plague-Mort is
actually quite pleasant. There's no risk of Sigil sliding into the Abyss,
but you could accidently activate a portal to the Plane of Unending Horror
and Agony or just be murdered.
Also, the Outlands are infinite, and the lower end is crusty and barren. If
you don't know where the portals are, it's a very long way to anywhere else
survivable.
Not everyone in Plague-Mort is miserable. Some are wealthy, and have access
to sanitary homes and clerics who can cure whatever they pick up outside.
Their presence is for the rest of the population a reminder of what I
usually think of as the American Dream, the force that causes people to ride
in rickity ships, covered wagons, unsteady jalopies, and the backs of vans
to god-forsaken places like Kansas and California. It's as terrible as
anything, but maybe not so terrible as Mexico or Ireland, because at least
you have the illusion of hope.
So why do some want the Lady of Pain to rescue them? The jink is always
greener on the other side of the portal, as they say. And even with portals
available, moving costs money.
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