Mutsai: The Underground

    The automatons execute basic tasks and can respond to certain stimuli. While some are used for very basic (and deadly) security, they are not sophisticated enough for urban police duty. For that, the Yeng rely on human sentries. The Watch have made and kept Mutsai a model of order. They are meticulous, professional, and very well paid.

    The diligence of the Watch necessitated creativity on the part of criminals. Mutsai had been built with an underground sewer system rather than the usual canals. Criminals began to use the sewer tunnels for movement, meetings, and hideouts. Gradually they dug tunnels of their own. A network sprang up, crossing and crisscrossing beneath the city.

    The underground is not part of the Watch's circuit. The Yeng have tried to renegotiate the contract several times and the Watch always refuse. They will fill in tunnels from above, but they will not go below.

    Things grew more complex with the arrival of the nobles. Quarrels between the Houses led to an increased interest in the underground by thieves, spies and assassins. The Houses responded to this security threat in various ways. House Fo planted a moss which gives off hallucinogenic vapors. House Kai released a swarm of razorlings. And House Wen brought a particularly insidious breed of python from the south, which has proceeded to infest the entire system and prove a greater annoyance than the human vermin. To deal with the various threats once and for all, a few have suggested binding ghosts to the sewers to sweep them clean of life. The Yeng are concerned that one of the Houses may actually attempt this, with potentially deadly consequences.

    But there are other ghosts in the underground already. When digging the sewers, the Yeng uncovered a complex of ancient tombs. They walled it off, but as the population has increased so has the volume of sewage. It has begun to seep into the once-sealed vaults, causing unrest.

    It is rumored that the Yeng are seeking to form a new security force to patrol the underground. Such a group would certainly face danger from predators, criminals, and agents of the various houses, not to mention the restless dead. And it is quite possible that the Watch would view them as rivals. I urge those interested in the position to perform their own research before applying.

Mutsai

     Mutsai lies in a bend of the Yun River, in the territory of House Yeng. The city was planted by them shortly after they were granted noble status. Prior to this they had been mere craftsmen and artificers, but their invention of the automatons propelled them to a position of wealth and influence. The Yeng founded Mutsai as a base for their future endeavors.

    The first part of the city, Oldtown, was laid out as a walled square with three gates on each side. Each gate opens onto a broad tree-lined boulevard. Branching off from these main thoroughfares are lesser streets marking off blocks or "wards". Most wards are themselves enclosed with walls patrolled by the town watch. Guards are supposed to check anyone entering or leaving a ward. In the center of Oldtown is the Grand Lodge, headquarters of the Yeng. Just east of it is their Ancestral Hall. Directly on the Lodge's west side, where one might expect to find altars to the gods of soil and grain, there is instead a towering temple to the Wood Elemental, patron deity of the Yeng. The great marketplace is directly north of this central area. The northeastern quarter of the Oldtown contains many warehouses. The great forest of Lin is closest to this part of the city and vast reserves of timber are brought here for storage. The southeastern quarter is where most of the recreational establishments can be found-- taverns, gambling halls, and the like.

    The Yun River flows close to the southeast corner of the city. Docks and storage buildings line the shore. A collection of squalid tenements and tottering shacks gradually sprang up in this area between the walls and the river. The Dockyards, as it is called, has an ill reputation. Its winding and narrow streets are a stark contrast to the clean and orderly Oldtown. The sewers also empty into the river in this section, which gives it an unpleasant smell and poor health.

    When the Huo capital fell, the King decided to accept the invitation of the Yeng to retreat to their territory, instead of entrusting himself to one of the older noble clans. The Yeng built a palace for him west of the city, guarded by thick walls with cannon emplacements at the corners. Two gates of the west now open on the palace area-- one for general use, the other only accessible to the King and his immediate agents. It is officially understood that the King is the guest of the Yeng, and that they retain full control over the city proper, but the palace is entirely under the King's direction.

    Once established at Mutsai, the King took steps to ensure the continued cooperation of the remaining noble Houses. Each clan leader was ordered to send one of his sons to the royal court, ostensibly to sit upon the War Council. The unspoken truth is that they are hostages. They are, however, kept on a loose leash. Most have raised families of their own in the time they have been here. A few have managed to purchase estates outside the city. The rest are mostly scattered throughout the western side of Oldtown, close enough to be near the palace but maintaining a healthy distance from each other.  The noble houses have longstanding rivalries with each other, and plots and schemes are incessant.

    The Yeng, however, continue to run the city like a machine. Even the taverns are kept under a tight leash. Patrols are constant, and any disturbances are swiftly dealt with. The Watch pride themselves on maintaining law and order above ground.

    Below ground is another story.

The Huo

    The ascension of the Huo occurred roughly three hundred years ago. Prior to this, Liangyu had been ruled by the Mi Dynasty, descendants of a powerful sorcerer. This dynasty had at first been strict yet efficient, but gradually slid into tyranny and corruption. The Huo took the lead in their overthrow and assumed their vacated position.

    The Huo set about to fix the damage caused by the Mi's misrule, and were mostly successful. They reinstated the worship of Heaven and forbade human sacrifice. They repaired old roads and built new ones. A network of canals connected the various river systems. Harbors were established along the coast. The farmer, the craftsman, and the merchant were allowed to prosper.

    But ease and idleness bred indolence and ennui. The recent kings have been more concerned with wine and women than the needs of the people. This decadence led directly to the current conflict. The loss of their capital forced them to flee eastward, establishing a new court at Mutsai.

Canids in Liangyu

         For as long as Man can remember, the clans of the dogmen have descended from the Imavant to claim land for themselves. While the long struggle bred resentment towards the species, there were some canid tribes that impressed the Dukes with their skill and honor. When the rebellion broke out the old Duke, wary of a war on two fronts, brokered an alliance with these clans. In exchange for their help, they received land. Some were settled in the westernmost valleys to keep any other canids outs. Others were given fiefdoms conquered from the King's vassals.

        This was not wildly popular at the time, but many Shan have gradually come to accept it. The canids have proved dependable allies and bold comrades in battle. Being carnivores, they subsist on hunting and herding. So whenever the humans are tied down with the harvest, the dogmen are still available to guard the front or run raids-- much like the wooden legions of the east. As for the Xin, they have been widely accepting of the new arrangement, being used to all manner of strange folk who cross the desert to trade with them.

        Canids are still banned by law from entering Hei Chao itself, but several of the chieftains attend the Autumn Feast in Zhigen. Many canids have taken up human beliefs and practices. Some incorporate Zaldohin into the Liangyese pantheon, others identify him with the Lord of Heaven. The canids in Bao have taken to wearing silk and have even established a memorial hall to their ancestors. The emphasis on familial loyalty and piety appeals to them innately.

        Canids seem to have a more intense sense of morality and loyalty than many humans do, although their exact definition of such things may differ strongly. Exactly how this plays out in the lands they hold is a matter of debate. The men of the west hold them up as exemplars of virtue, and say that the human peasants who tend their herds utter no word of complaint. The easterners rejoin that any who do speak up are likely to end up in the cooking pots of their inhuman masters. Lurid accusations aside, some critics point out that the canids are likely to multiply and require more land. They feel that a repeat of the old war seems inevitable-- this time in the heart of Liangyu itself.

The Last Fortress

 No fiction this time. I had a difficult time coming up with what Lust's stronghold should be. I finally settled on a dungeon. But then I ran into another difficulty. The AI art generator blocks the prompt "Dungeon of Lust" for some reason (can't imagine why). So I had to cheat a little. The first set was generated with the prompt "The Dungeon of Longing."

And the next set was generated by the prompt "The Prison of Desire".

Hopefully I'll get back to Liangyu next week.

The Hall of Gluttony

        There are acres upon acres of fields and pastures, orchards and stocked lakes. As you draw nearer, you pass bakeries and confectionaries, breweries and factories. The hall itself is set upon a hill. Once there was a pleasant garden here, but that is long gone. In its place is a sprawling compound. The back is given to vast kitchens and stockyards. Smoke and steam rise unremittingly from a forest of chimneys. The front of the structure is shaped like the head of some gargantuan boar, with the entrance lying in its open maw. A red carpet leads up to it. From within issues a smell like a thousand dive bar dumpsters.

        The Cult of the Tongue hold their debauch incessantly, with a fervor that eclipses most saner faiths. Each member trades years of promise for days of indulgence, in a vain attempt to infinitise the ephemeral. To be sure, you may leave if you will. But the wills of most here have swiftly atrophied.

        Newcomers to the cult earn their place within the first hall, Edacity. Its red walls and Corinthian columns glow dully under a wan sun. Stripped like athletes for the course, the neophytes rowdily begin. Some sample as many different varieties as they can; others gorge themselves on the same thing repeatedly. Troughs for vomiting stand against the walls. These beginners must still purge their stomachs occasionally to continue the meal. Once they no longer require this step, they are ready to move on to the next hall, Gulosity.

        Gulosity is more sedate, if only because those who make it here have begun to lose the use of their legs. Solomonic pillars hold up the vaulted ceiling. Two long tables hold the course. Wax of a thousand scented candles pools on the pea-green tablecloth, catching crumbs and other fragments. Servants are quick to whisk away empty trays and replace them with fresh viands. Some is organic, birthed from the earth and blessed by the sun. Some is sludge churned from a machine. All is defiled by Gluttony's touch.

        The marble floor is slick with spilt drinks, vomit and worse things. There are privies and washrooms nearby but most cannot bear (mentally or in some cases bodily) to leave the table for so long, and have brought chamber pots with them to do their necessary business in. Pages stand in the shadows, ready to empty them when filled.

        In side chambers are sunken dens for consumers of hashish, opium, and other drugs. The Halls cater to those who seek nothing beyond the present. The Dens are for those who reject even that gift. Here intoxicants and narcotics of all kinds are to be found-- anything that dulls or distorts the senses. All is for the asking, in extreme overabundance. The mind is destroyed some time before the flesh finally gives out. Bodies are regularly carted out from here and dumped in the fishpond or the pigs' feeding grounds.

        The final hall, Esurience, is for the most devoted. A more intimate setting, but no less ornate. Fruits the size of skulls are piled against the wall. Crows fly through the hall, tearing live flesh from guests so engrossed in their feasting that they do not notice that they themselves are being consumed. Swarms of flies and other insects buzz around the heaps of decaying food.

        Looking around, one sees evidence of bodily corruption. Tumors, immense folds of fat, skin stretched near to the bursting point. But it is the souls that are the most debased. It is not unheard of for one guest, craving something new, to attempt to devour his neighbor.

        When one of Gluttony's elites can truly eat no more, they are congratulated and ushered down a long stairway. Far below the overburdened foundations of the house lies a vast cavern, hollowed out by eons' worth of grease and refuse. The Lord of Excess reclines in a great pit in the center. Gluttony on his throne resembles nothing so much as a corpulent maggot feasting on humanity. Here his Perfected are brought before him, having fattened to the ultimate limit. One by one they are lowered into his ever-gaping jaws, too bloated to even think, much less scream.

Tombs of the Xin

    I have hitherto refrained from addressing the rather distasteful subject of graverobbing. However, as I know many among my readers take part in (and in some cases have developed a reputation for) this practice, I am bound to touch upon it.

    The Xin tombs (at least the ones worth plundering) are generally laid out in a spiral pattern ascending toward the center, representing the soul's journey up the World Mountain to the Bright Halls. This is known as the Luóxuán style. But the various executions of this theme may differ wildly. A tomb may be at the summit of mountain. Another may be on an upper level of a tower wrapped in a coiling stairway. Or the path to the tomb may be underground within an artificial mound. Always the path will spiral inward, clockwise, generally with stations as checkpoints representing the Heavenly Barricades of popular belief. There may be side passages containing treasure or ceremonial artifacts.

    Traps are to be expected, as are supernatural guardians. Unlike most Liangyese, the Xin do not utilize ghosts as guardians. They feel that to keep a man's soul trapped in such a way is to deprive him of his destined apotheosis-- a worse crime than even murder. Necromancers who dabble in such activities are advised to not draw attention to themselves while sojourning here. But "animated" corpses (which function on a basic set of spells without any need for full sapience) are allowed, as they are in the rest of the country. There are also tomb guardians of a more otherworldly nature.

    Five or six centuries ago, it chanced that two wizards arrived in Xin from parts unknown, bringing arcane lore from their own distant homelands. At that time a particularly ruthless breed of tomb raiders were operating in the area, and the Xin were eager for stronger security measures. Enter Talhaller and Beshu. These two hired themselves out and summoned familiars to fill the role of immortal sentries. Their business rivalry was the stuff of legends, and their dedication to the hustle impressed even the Xin. Talhaller's particular brand of sprite was the Guardian, a capriform entity. Beshu, on the other hand, summoned the Watcher, a large floating eyeball with a vast set of powerful tentacles. Both species are to be considered highly dangerous.

    If you do decide to plunder a tomb, there are several factors to consider. First, it may well have been plundered long before you got there. Second, the local gangs may present a problem getting in or out. A crime lord may decide to back you if you present it to him nicely and ofer him a cut-- but only if he thinks your plan will succeed. Of course you should first make sure he isn't closely related to the deceased, or too concerned about divine retribution. Law enforcement presents its own set of headaches. I am told that the local rates for bribery are considerably higher than would otherwise be typical, due to a variety of economic reasons.

    These days, of course, the Xin are more enlightened and have left off placing fabulous riches in their graves. Modern dogma states that the gods really fancy pewter and stone, having plenty of gold and silver up there already. Basically any tomb built in the last hundred years is not going to be worth your time.

    My scribe Hoshab informs me that I am legally obligated to state the following: The Cutthroat's Compleat Guide to Liangyu does not endorse the plundering of tombs and the desecrating of corpses. The author does not offer advice in the hopes of encouraging any manner of illegal or immoral activity, and will not be held responsible if said activity results in unpleasant consequences for any parties involved. On your own head be it.