Klenet
I've been quiet on here. Blame moving, a new campaign, a new job, and living the good life. It's a time of anniversaries and activity, so this platform hasn't been touched much.
Let's change that today.
Klenet - Town on the Borderlands
The town of Klenet, still recovering from its occupation by the Armée Brillante and the subsequent 3 year siege, has only two things going for it these days: a thriving club culture, and a direct line of communication to the dead.
Klenet's story is a sad one, and sadder still for not being special. The whole Burse lowlands spent the same 3 years under siege and occupation, occupation and siege. Now everyone swaps the same miserable stories, every town attaching a morbid singularity to their particular version. All these stories, however, share purges, starvation, bombing, the roar of the aeronauts...
But you haven't come to Klenet to hear sob stories. You're here to:
Hunt down an Armée officer in hiding
Find missing radio personality Alemand Sesíne
Meet the Greval Exploratory Society to discuss a contract
Steal an aeronaut from the estate sale of Care Teugis
Prevent the sabotage of the Interworld Line extension
Sabotage the planned extension of the Interworld Line
Whatever your reason for coming to Klenet, you'll need to embed yourself in the fabric of local life to get it done. Did we mention the club culture? Don't worry, it's not as fun as it sounds!
Club Life
The Papyrus Club is the oldest club in Klenet. They were founded shortly after the foundations were laid for the town's first buildings, though originally "the Papyrus Club" was a bimonthly cocktail hour for amateur archaeologists working in the region. Slowly, a mutual obsession with digging up Therasic relics morphed into something unholy; these days, the club is just another meeting place for old rich men. Recently, they let radio personality Alemand Sesíne join their ranks (after a massive donation).
Most members seemed to hate her presence, and we can only assume Ms. Sesíne had a terrible time among her new brothers until she vanished into thin air before the bewildered eyes of Tarrín Teugis, heir to the Teugis aeronaut fortune...
The Klant City Club [sic] is the other oldest club in Klenet. The Klant City Club is a relic of the leadup to the war, when baszist sympathies and ethno-nationalism ran high in Klenet, which decided to briefly change its name to the "original Shein spelling" (debated) of Klant. They are like the Papyrus Club, only less closeted about their racism, and of course they have never admitted a woman to their ranks.
If you were to somehow win the favor of either of these groups, you would have a lot of doors opened to you in Klenet. Doors like:
Access to town records, all the way back to the start if needed.
Access to archaeological opportunities like viewing recovered artifacts, getting into the history museum after hours, or joining an expedition out to some Therasic dig site.
A ride almost anywhere within 45 miles of town - all these guys have well-maintained motorcars and long-suffering chauffeurs.
An antique pistol, pre-war, very valuable, still working. Always kept loaded above the fireplace in the main hall, for some reason.
A meeting with anyone from the railway, the aeronaut port, or the north side of town.
Maybe, just maybe, a ticket on an aeronaut far from town.
You would think a town of 40,000 people wouldn't have enough aging rich men to form two such fraternities, but you'd have forgotten that Klenet has a railway, an aeronaut port, and houses the workers for the nearby West Burse Refinery. All such institutions require both wealthy investors and a managerial class. Ergo, rich old men.
Then of course there is the Greval Exploratory Society, which we liken to the hipper, younger Papyrus Club. They have no house, and instead rotate functions through the roster of private homes belonging to members. The Society is closest in purpose to the original Papyrus Club, being one dedicated to exploring the secrets of the worlds. In this case, that world is Greval, which newly opened to the macrocosm during a brief alignment with Burse. An alignment that has now recurred several times in recent years, sometimes sticking for months at a time. The men and women of the Society are fresh and fired up to explore the apparently uncharted and uninhabited wastes of a new world!
Getting in with the Society could provide the following benefits:
A stable, secure, surefire land-route from here to Greval.
A ruggedly functional if somewhat flatulent motorcar.
Access to an experimental two-person aeronaut. They don't own it, or have any claim to it, but they paid off the guys who lock up the hangar every night...
A cache of supplies in a safehouse on the west side of town - this is all tied up with the Shein nationalists somehow, we wouldn't worry about it, just don't go by the place after dark or on weekends.
Meetings with migration officials anywhere on Burse.
A return-stamped entry card for Greval or Recinlanto.
Go West, Young Man
All of these clubs, of course, are happening downtown, jammed up against the railway to the north, the aeronaut port to the east, and the lake to the south. What's west of downtown? A high chance of street encounters, like 1 every 6 blocks:
Small group of Shein nationalists taking turns shouting from atop an apple crate. If you stick around, you'll see some Geden kids throw a stone at them and run off into the alleys.
Lone teen hanging upside down from a balcony, fumbling with a pipe. If you stick around, a pair of militiamen arrive and ask you why you're standing around letting this young person endanger themselves.
Small group of Geden nationalists visiting a shopfront. If you stick around, one of the guys emerges clutching a wad of cash. He will give you the most evil stinkeye you've ever received.
Pair of militiamen - sweating, pallid, grossly alcoholic - shaking down some emigre guy for pocket change. If you stick around, they'll loudly proclaim that his stall (nowhere to be seen) has lapsed in registration, before dropping it and sauntering off.
Small group of locals holding a vigil at a particular corner or bombed-out facade. If you stick around, they'll ask you to share a recollection of "dear departed Baris".
Ostentatious emigre hawking fixits and restoratives from sunny Recinlanto. If you stick around, you'll see an old woman amble up, slap him, and quietly remind him that Klenet has had its share of foreign intervention.
There's not much reason for a visitor to Klenet to hang around west of downtown, unless you want to:
- Find someone who's hiding in the cesspool.
- Visit the leprosarium on the edge of the lake.
- Speak with the dead.
- Buy something not strictly legal, like a gun or a fixit.
- Snoop on some shady dealings.
- Book passage onto the lake (really illegal, and ill-advised).
Wait...speak with the dead?
Dead Line
There are 5 or 6 people left in town who still practice the old way, and they're all very influential in Klenet. However, outside of town they are seen as a curiosity, nothing more, since their power only falls upon people who die in Klenet city limits.
The practice varies from person to person, but it follows a formula.
First, write your question on a piece of paper. The paper must be high quality, the ink very fine: the dead demand our respect. For better results, write where the practitioner cannot see you, or in a language they don't read.
Next, fold the piece of paper into a square (not another shape) and slide it into whatever space the practitioner has prepared for you.
Now comes the waiting. Sometimes, an answer turns up almost immediately. Other times, you'll sit in vigil for days. Though it's rare, sometimes answers can take years: just ask old Duremond the lake watcher, still stopping by dutifully each night to check for mail from the dead.
When and if your wait ends, you will find an answer written on the folded paper, right below your question. It will be written in your hand, but don't worry about that - you have what you came for. An answer from a dead person.
It may not be the correct answer, so keep that in mind. The dead still have their own beliefs and frames of reference, their own limited knowledge. Rarely, they will know something they could not have known in life. Mostly, they just have their memory.
Scientists from Recinlanto have run tests on 4 of these operations on the west side of town (there was a brief psychometric fascination among Recinlanto academics, a few alignments back). They were unable to detect any unusual readings, nor were they able to identify any parlor trick among any of the 4 practitioners.
If you're wondering, here are the 5 (or 6) practitioners.
Endry, a hapless bespectacled young man, just trying to keep the family business alive. No idea how this works. Surprisingly, has enough backbone to refuse service to both of the nationalist parties (as if those guys cared about the actual past...). Decent rates.
Rosea Curmil, a proper showman. Her practice indulges in a lot of theatricality, but she gets the job done. Consistently gets the most complete answers for her clients...at the highest rates.
Kurt Drexler is an anomaly, the only practitioner without a long family history in Klenet. He explored Greval three times before linking up with the Greval Exploratory Society and finding his way to town. Watched another practitioner just once, and declared he "totally got it", before opening his own practice. Some of the shoddiest answers, but nobody ever waits long. Low rates, high volume of clients.
Serina Lareux, a quiet young woman, severe before her time. Wears all black all the time, takes this very seriously. Rates are "high enough to remind folks what they're doing".
Clipper is an old man, and he rarely entertains clients. Mostly, he wants peace and quiet and time to fish up on the river. If you can convince him to give you a reading, usually for the price of fixing something around his house, you will be wowed. It will be worth it.
Widow Kormé is not to be trifled with. She does not want money. She wants favors. She has a very active hand in the criminal underworld, not just in Klenet. You will get exactly what you bargained for. Can't help Geden clients; it's not a racist thing, it's a mob ties thing.
Northside
The railway, that being the big Interworld Line, with that upcoming extension you might be here to protect or bomb, bisects Klenet neatly. South of the railway are the old parts of town, and further south still is the lake (seriously, it's highly illegal and incredibly dangerous to go out on the lake, so stop asking).
North of the railway, butting up against the first escarpments of the highlands, are the factories, sprawling in every direction, including up into the air and down into the earth.
Northside is the only part of town where you can walk a block without seeing an unexploded munition, a shell hole, or bullet-pocked masonry. This is, again, because of the factories.
For all their ideologism, the Armée kept the factories running like clockwork (some say the factories ran better under Armée control; people spouting this kind of rhetoric are frequently beaten or hanged). And for all their wanton destructive capacity, the liberators didn't drop a single bomblet north of the rail. Goes to show...
Northside is, today, where anyone who can afford it lives. Even prominent club members and other obscenely wealthy sorts who do all their business downtown don't actually live there. No, those types prefer to be in close proximity to militia posts and bright streetlights.
Many opine the loss of the cultured old charm of southside; but many who opine happily glut themselves on the modern amenities of northside housing. What human has the power to turn down hot water, electric light, and a good radio signal?
Northside isn't, of course, all boring and staid (just mostly). There are still some things for visitors like yourself to do:
Buy anything a railway or aeronaut port could bring to town.
Wire a message to someone in Burse (always), or Greval or Recinlanto (until this alignment passes).
Sit in on a union meeting before the militia bust it up.
Rough up some scabs outside the factory (this pays).
Rummage around offices for sensitive documents.
Pay a house call to anyone with money.
See, it's just not as exciting and strange as going west of downtown! But you know what is exciting and strange?
Fixits for Sale!
You can really find all sorts of black market bracers, restoratives, cure-alls, fixits, and tonics of dubious import on the west side of Klenet. Here is just a sampling of short-lived boosters:
Guzzeleen: Knocking this back scorches your whole mouth like flaming ginger. Under its effects, you move faster than any person ought to (max your DEX/MOVE for the duration), but you can barely gurgle a word past your swollen tongue.
Derro: Knocking this back cracks your cranium with a pulsing migraine. Under its effects, you can hear the surface thoughts of anyone you pay close attention to, but they'll probably notice since you look like you're about to have an aneurysm.
Fancywing: Knocking this back induces a giddy euphoria, and a ton of drool. Under its effects, you are struck again and again by brilliant ideas, and have a much better chance than normal to actually implement them. These ideas usually involve marvelous machines.
Crunch: Knocking this back induces a deep black sleep. You awaken in horrible pain; your bones have twisted, cracked, healed, and rearranged to transform you into something you pictured as you knocked back Crunch. The transformation lasts for a few hours, then is painfully undone over the course of a day or a night.
Vigor: Knocking this back wrenches your stomach into knots, then wrings it out. Under its effects, you feel much more hale than usual, able to hike mountains with ease, or jog for hours.
Melancholia: Knocking this back recalls a stark absence in your childhood. Under its effects, you slide into listless despair, almost without knowing it. This is almost always secretly administered to rivals and enemies; who would want this?
All fixits have as consequences: addiction, heart enlargement, chronic headaches, joint pain, and eventual decoherence. Vigor is the worst culprit by all accounts.