Info
Written by DrAkimoto.
Critique Credit:
InspectingCritters,
scutoid studios,
PrismaticMoose
Greenlit by: DivineAtlas
| Levels: | Level 24, Level 77, Level 79, Level 102, Level 108, Level 116, Level 117, Level 406, Ataraxia, In Extremis | |
|---|---|---|
| Entities: | Entity 2, Entity 4, Entity 51, Entity 70, Entity 88 | |
| Objects: | Object 2, Object 52 | |
| Phenomenon: | Phenomenon 51, Phenomenon 71 | |
| Tales: | :), Crossroads | |
| Other: | B.N.T.G. Hub, Akirooms | |
Godspire; "The reverent town beneath the horrid hill."
- Safety; Moderate.
- Curiosities; Several.
- Population; Numerous.
The Quaint Town – The narrow cobblestone streets intersect quiet dwellings that come in many shapes and sizes. The most common ones I've seen are made of wood and stone, ranging from basic structures to works of architectural wonder. Of the many places I've traveled to, this is one of the more logically designed; perhaps the ancestors of the people here once built the town themselves. A grand feat by any standard in a place like this.
Fair weather days punctuated by crisp, cool nights, the weather of Godspire leaves little to be desired. In my time here, the spells of rain rarely lasted more than an hour and remained at an agreeable intensity. These showers are a necessity, as each building's balcony has a small garden from which the townsfolk grow food and various flowers, destined for the town's church.
If you follow the streets, past the soot-stained houses, the cobbled alleys, and the mossy river rock walls, all the way into the town square, you will find a most peculiar structure. As if protesting against its serene and mundane backdrop, the church stands in pitch-black contrast to its surroundings. The crooked spire of this grim monolith is far taller than its surroundings; it's truly inspiring, if not a bit macabre.
There is an archway to the east of the church that will lead you past the few small shops this town has to offer before giving way to the pelagic view.
The Vermilion Sea – The breeze brings with it a slight salted-copper aroma which grows as you approach the shoreline. As far as one may look to the east and north, it stretches out in all its crimson majesty. With an opacity far too murky for any sane man to swim, the mind can only wonder what cruel horrors lurk beneath its scarlet waves. To confirm my suspicions, the coastline bears no communal beaches, fisheries, or boat lodgings; the people here rarely approach it or gaze upon it. Which is a shame, for as haunting as it is, there is beauty to be found within. Unlike its western counterpart, where you'll find little to be inspired by.
The Hallowed Hill – Ever-present on the western horizon lay a mighty prominence, reminiscent of New Shenandoah, though far more ominous in both appearance and purpose. A holy site to the inhabitants of this town, their thrice-daily prayers are performed prostrate to this hill. Though bearing much vegetation, a silence sits over the brae, neither bird nor critter calling it home. The only sound one can hear while walking the solitary path is the baleful thrum of the holy abomination at its peak.
The Devoted Townsfolk
The residents of Godspire are pious and reserved; they live simple lives in reverence to their goddess. By my estimate, a few thousand souls call this town home. Bearing a complexion a few shades darker than mine, the people appear to share a common ancestry. Most have dark hair and honey-brown eyes; if I were to guess, their ancestors were of eastern-Mediterranean descent.
Whilst conversing with the townsfolk, I got a fair amount of usage from my Babel Balm. They spoke in a unique mix of the Romance languages when they chose to speak at all. Though never rude, they were seldom heard outside of prayer, aside from short greetings and farewells. Whether this is a product of my foreign nature… I cannot say.
The only exception to this was the town's priest, Salwa, as he called himself. Though carrying a heavy presence, he was a short, stout, and pleasant man. He arranged lodging and food for me during my visit and accompanied me on my travels within the town. Never giving the impression of solicitation, he would ramble endlessly of the grace and benevolence of their goddess. "Mæmuerti", a name almost certainly given by the people here, is an interesting curiosity indeed.
The diets of the townsfolk left much to be desired in regards to flavor. Aside from a sour, grainy bread, they only eat a strange root vegetable they aptly named "Kerl". A bitter thing with a chewy texture, I thought it much better suited to be used as a garnish than a main course. Perhaps a part of their religious observations, I dared not scoff at the offerings. I have tried many things across these backrooms, and the meals here were far less offensive than most.
Mæmuerti
Her presence can be felt in every aspect of Godspire. Inscriptions bearing her image adorn nearly every building, both inside and out. Though rather grotesque in appearance, the townsfolk are seemingly unaware, only referring to her with admiration. Sermons given at the town church extol tremendous deeds of benevolence and kindness. Slaying threats to the village and offering guidance to her followers, the "stories of old" make Mæmuerti out to be a tangible aspect of the early days of Godspire.
When I questioned Salwa on this, he smiled mirthlessly and pointed to the sky over the western hill. And that is when I saw it, an osseous wound on reality, unlike anything I have ever seen before or since. Words stumble to describe what I truly witnessed: a sickly angelic figure, with shards of bone and flesh haphazardly strewn together in some vile parody of the divine. How anyone could show reverence to such a thing, I will never know. The mere sight of it sent chills through every fiber of my being.
I may not have noticed it upon my arrival, but once I had, it was all I could feel. Mæmuerti never moved, but I knew it was watching me. It was an omnipresent shadow looming over Godspire like a stillborn star.
The Malformed Tower
On the eighth day of my excursion, Godspire held a celebration of sorts, centered around four "chosen ones" as they were called. While mundane by most standards, the party was quite lively; a small choir hummed hymns, and food was shared amongst the people. It was the first time I had seen anything to eat aside from roots and bread for eight days, so I too found myself caught up in the moment. There was much talk of the hill and of Mæmuerti; the buzz of conversation hung heavy in the air.
At the end of the mid-morning celebration, Salwa, the four chosen ones, and I made the arduous journey up the steep hill. Along the way, Salwa explained that four were chosen every month to make this pilgrimage to aid in the "construction of Mæmuerti's new home". About halfway up is when the stench began. A putrid, dreadful odor, though I never could've imagined its source. Like a dead dog sat in the summer heat, it was a stagnant, oppressive rot. When we reached the peak, I almost couldn't comprehend the scene in front of me. As the "chosen ones" disrobed, I took in my surroundings.
The air was filled with a sickening cacophony, wails of agony echoing off each other in discordant harmony. It took me longer than it should have to realize what I was looking at; hundreds of bodies were twisted and bent in ways I never imagined possible. Blistered skin fused like a patchwork quilt, pulled taut over the undulating tower. Interlocked, legs to shoulders, torso to torso, the multitude were stacked, stretched to form a horrible structure. The lowest rungs were nearly stripped to the bone, and I soon saw why.
The "chosen ones", now as naked as the day they were born, began to climb. Using any orifice and crevice possible to aid their ascent, their feet and hands tore at the squirming mass of flesh to gain leverage. As they hoisted themselves higher, stray hands grasped and clawed feverishly, scoring their bodies from head to toe. When they reached the top, the contorted figures unfolded to greet them. Now lubricated by the excrement and viscera accumulated during their climb, they slid seamlessly into the obelisk.
All I could do was watch, horrified and awestruck. I don't know what could've possibly driven all these people to abandon their humanity to create such an abomination.
After the obscene ritual I witnessed, I bade farewell to Salwa, gathered my belongings, and left Godspire, never to return.
Traversal
There is a small path in the northeast forest of New Shenandoah, if you follow it for several miles, it will lead you to Godspire. There are many spiders along the path, so be cautious.
Across the sea, I saw the faint silhouette of a well-lit coastal city in the far distance to the east, though as if through some form of heat-born mirage.
When walking the dusty trail south of the Hallowed Hill the realm shifts around you and you'll find yourself in a steep and winding gorge.
There are many wonders to be found if one goes looking.
– Ezekiel Murphy
_MET_ap50.130.154l.jpg){kind=link}