Just Now
A musican wakes up, they do not remember who they are. They climb out of a coffin to discover they lack flesh. They look at a great soft grey wall and feel something stirs in thier soul.
The Mottled Lands are a backwater of little intrest to anyone of note. There is no central government, just various independent towns and villiages eeking out a living. Long bloody generational feuds are the norm and considered preferable. It is good to suck yourself in passions and stories becouse it keeps the Fog out of your home. Traders from the Mirrored City maintain a port up here to buy furs.
A tenth of the land is lost to Deep Fog.
In A Year
A musician sits on the corner playing and hoping passers by will spare him (he decided) a few coins. He feels he's not able to convey the palpable feeling of anticipation he feels in his music.
A god-awful trapper turns out to be a good teasure hunter, finding something big in the forgotten megacity. This discovery is brought back to Mirrored City, where some very important people discover that it could change everything. Suddenly the Mottled Lands are flooded with sorcerors and graverobbers, eager to make it big.
An eighth of the land is lost to Deep Fog.
In A Decade
A musician breaks a candelabra over a soldier's head and jumps out the window. She (changed her mind) dives into the river, and curses that she's going to have to buy a new guitar.
The Mottled Land is at war with itself. The Colonial Authority, The Motley Revolutionaries, The Gnome Home, and others all via for control of the region and it's resources. Blood feuds and honor duels are no longer considered ethical. The old traditions are being cast into the Fog, and with them many settlements go as well.
A fourth of the land is lost to Deep Fog.
A fourth of the land is lost to Deep Fog.
In A Century
A musician after many years realised what song they (settled on they eventually) have been trying to play this whole time. It is a dirge for the end of the world.
The Republic, the Seven Wizard Kings, the Eternal Emperor are all gone, all forgotten, all lost.
An small island is not yet in Deep Fog.
In ???
A musician is surprised to learn that the song turns out not to be a dirge but an encore, or even a lullaby.
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