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Westcrown has always had its dark corners.
Even in its glorious days of centuries past, the quiet alleyways of the former City of Nine Stars had shadows that light never touched. These shadows were a haven for many—the downtrodden, the furtive, the criminal and dangerous. They offered shelter from the sun in the hateful summer months; shelter from the biting winter cold; shelter from those who hunted the desperate and defiant. But even when the shadows grew long, there was a semblance of dignity and pride in those they cloaked—an understanding that even the greatest achievements can happen in the darkest places.
In the modern day, the City of Twilight—especially in the wake of the ascension of the devilbound House of Thrune—is little more than a backwater. Monuments to the endless potential of humanity lie strewn about Westcrown, marred by the passage of time and the apathy of its populace. The once proud architecture of centuries past, renowned for its beauty and longevity, now crumbles from neglect and abuse—only to be replaced with styles more appropriate to the devilish tastes of Cheliax’s new noble families.
A scant forty years ago, the shadows of Westcrown ceased to be hospitable. Beasts of wisp and shade stalk Westcrown’s alleys after the sunset, and the harm caused by them has chased the smallfolk of the City of Twilight indoors. Rumours abound of what could be responsible for them… some claim that they’re here at the behest of the House of Thrune, imposing their will in their absence. Others claim that Nidalese insurgents are responsible for their presence, sent to sow discord in preparation for an invasion.
Others still claim that they’re agents of a supposedly-long defunct organization of criminals, and their purpose is to clear the board and settle old scores to that they may claim Westcrown for themselves.
Whatever the reason, the House of Thrune has abandoned Westcrown—and especially its people—to their fate. If anything is to change for the people, then it will have to come from within…
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Wealday, 7th of Sarenith, 4709 AR
Today is a humid and muggy day--but, fortunately, there's a strong breeze coming in off of the Bay of Westcrown. The sun is shining through a smattering of grey clouds.
Partway through your workday, the sound of your door opening cuts through the listless air.
Today, you have a visitor to the shrine: a young man with pale skin, red hair and a pair of nubby horns is standing at the foot of the shrine’s statue of Pharasma.
There’s been reports of pickpockets being arrested and interrogated, only to find their masters long gone. Couple that with the current problem of shadow monsters after dark, and there’s too many coincidences. There’s something bigger behind them.
There’s a knock at the door of your office.
Sitting at the bar next to you is a recent acquaintance: a Pathfinder by the name of Aelia Ghontasavos. Her dark shoulder-length hair is matted from the humidity in the air. She’s been trying to make progress on reopening the old Pathfinder Lodge of Delvehaven, with no luck.
The heat of Westcrown doesn't bother the tiefling, thanks to her fiendish heritage , but the muggy humidity always annoys her. Makes her hair frizzy and makes it harder to write on the page without leaving streaks.
She carefully puts her quill down after wiping the ink from it and, one hand on her belt-dagger, slides out of her seat to investigate the sound of the opening door.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
Being that she's at her day job she's not in armor; what kind of scribe wears armor? Instead she's in her bulky jacket (completely inappropriate to the weather, but it's not like she's going to overheat).
It used to bother Faithe that she felt so comfortable with the darkness, she could only assume it was connected to her early childhood, the dark place of black and grey she could barely recall. When she stepped into shadows it was as if the darkness embraced her, let her merge with it, it felt like...home?
While one would expect someone so weak to the harsh light from above to stay heavily clothed with no skin to be seen, Faithe did not. In fact, she revealed quite a lot of her skin to let the wind blow over her to cool her because in addition to too bright the daytime was too hot as well. Fortunately, in these shadows this was an easily manageable problem.
As usual her place in the shadow caused Faithe's body to easily meld into the dim space it was hard to spot her there if you weren't actively looking for someone and even then, is what hard to tell exactly where she was. So it was that Faithe was in one of her usual places as she watched over the shrine and saw the tiefling approach. Well, she thought he was a tiefling at least, he certainly looked the part. While she wasn't exactly trying to hide she wasn't making her presence obvious either as she watched the man stand before the shrine.
After giving him a few minutes Faithe, with her deep black cloak and hood pulled around her and the scythe slung across her back behind her, Faithe decided to speak up, "Welcome to the Shrine of Pharasma, is there anything I can do to aid you?"
"So tell me again about this Delvehaven? What are the issues with reopening it? I dont really understand the crowns issue with pathfinders i think you are all fine folk in fact it hink i mentioned this last night...I think my father was one... or was associated with the pathfinders...is there anything i can do to help?
Can never be too careful these days