About this universe
Hired to kidnap a corrupt politician, Sengval plunges into the festering core of Malgore. Betrayals and horrors stalk every alley, and the real price of the contract might be his soul. To survive, Sengval must outwit his enemies and confront the darkness within the city, and himself.
Tone
Brooding and brutal, with brief flashes of grim wit. Desperation and suspicion color every encounter.
Themes
corruption, survival vs. conscience, trust and betrayal, identity in darkness
Protagonist
Sengval
Sengval moves like a wolf, wary, scarred, and lean, his half-elf grace at odds with the brute strength of his orcish blood. Dusky skin marred with old cuts, close-cropped black hair, sharp eyes beneath a battered hood; he wears patchwork leathers built for silence, never for comfort. Every gesture is measured, every word weighed.
Goal: To successfully complete the current contract and receive payment.
How it begins
Sengval pressed his back against the cold, soot-streaked wall of the alley, rain dripping from his hood to the cracked stones underfoot. He kept his breath shallow, eyes locked on the hunched figure at the far end, the informant shivering by an iron grate. A distant bell tolled and, for a heartbeat, the city seemed to hold still. Footsteps scraped beyond the alley mouth. Sengval slid one hand to the hilt of his dagger, moving forward, boots silent in the muck. The informant’s eyes darted, and a tremor ran through him.
"You got the coin?"
he whispered, voice choked with fear. Sengval nodded, flicked a tarnished piece to the man, and waited as a scrap of paper changed hands. The air smelled of ozone and rot. Somewhere behind, a window slammed. Sengval tucked the note into his belt just as a shadow slipped across the alley’s entrance. The game, it seemed, had already begun.
About this world
Malgore is a sprawling, labyrinthine city wreathed by perpetual smog and lit by flickering lanterns. Here, power is bought with coin or blood, and crime seeps into every stone. Its people endure a constant struggle for survival under the rule of a cruel oligarchy.
Malgore sprawls across a blighted river delta, its skyline jagged with leaning towers and crumbling bridges. The city’s districts are divided by both geography and social class: the opulent Highspire sits atop the oldest hill, while the warrens of Lowchasm fester in the shadowy mudflats below. The miasma of industry and arcane experiments hangs thick, giving the night a metallic tang. Magic, once revered, is now wielded in secret by guilds and crime syndicates, its open use punished by the city’s Iron Magistrates. Steam-driven machines clatter in the factories, but most citizens rely on muscle, cunning, or a hidden dagger to survive.
The ruling oligarchs live in fortified manors, protected by mercenary guards and twisted sorcerers, while the poor huddle in shanties, preyed upon by gangs and worse things that slither through the alleys. Markets brim with forbidden relics and desperate souls. Justice, if it exists, is bought and sold. Whispers of rebellion drift beneath the city’s streets, where the outcast and the broken gather. Paranoia reigns: everyone is watching, and everyone is watched. Sengval knows these streets well, where every shadow hides a secret, and mercy is a currency no one can afford.
