Author: Electron Stories /
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The town of Temperance sits just beyond
the red desert, nestled between hills veined with silver. The people
here tend not to be forward-thinking: they have consideration for
their basest needs, and silver to cover their expenses. Stained with
sweat-caked dirt, they drink their lives away in saloons and pass out
in clapboard shacks. In a place like this, the law is nothing more
than a suggestion that crumbles with the momentum of violence.
Over-glorified lean-tos rest against bordello mansions. Customers can
find pleasure, alcohol, drugs, and companionship just a few steps
from their doors. Those who overindulge – or argue with the wrong
person - end up as bloated corpses in the streets. They inconvenience
the living until they’re dragged away by those who profit from the
dead. This is Temperance. In darkness of these cruel spaces, fear even thrives in a handful of dust.
How did you get here?
Were you born in the Territories? On
this side of the Pandora, whose red sands stretch from horizon to
horizon. There are thousands of settlements ranging in size from tiny
shacks huddled around a well to bustling metropolises. Or perhaps you
are from away, fleeing the Empire and its oppressive regime. You
braved the Pandora desert, where direction becomes meaningless, where
the infinite sea of red sand is interrupted only by the bleached
remnants of those who came before you. Did you make it through that
unforgiving wasteland with the help of a Nacaal guide? Everyone who
comes from the desert has a different tale to tell: did they ask you
to wear a blindfold? Did they ask you to hold a rope? Did they ask
for payment? Did they take you where you wanted to go, or where they
wanted you to go? Why did they provide you with guidance? I’ve
heard them described as having the appearance of rainbows caught in
glass. Quiet as a winter night as well, so travelers say. No one has
heard so much as a footfall, let alone heard them speak.
And of course, they’re not the only
creatures to walk those dunes of red sand. Most people say the Nacaal
have travelers wear blindfolds so they’re spared the inherent hideousness to the place. Of course, that means the pilgrims are spared the
beauty as well – and perhaps that’s for the best. They say the
beauty can haunt you, that it makes all earthly color and allure become
meaningless in comparison. Did you keep your blindfold, or did you
peek? Did you see the horrid darkness that made reality nothing in
its wake? Did you hear as it spoke to something impossible? Did your
ears ring in its silence that called to far away things? People have
reported seeing things between the seams of the darkness, sights that
could only be described as 'other' or 'impossible'. Each vision
possesses a common thread: those pilgrims unlucky enough to catch
sight of those darkly beautiful abominations see themselves as if
from a distance. They see themselves fleeing, weeping, into the red
wastes.
What relationship do the Nacaal have
with these things? Can anything definite be said about the strange,
quiet creatures, save that they sometimes guide travelers safely
through the desert? Nothing is known about them, and you’re not the
first to be abandoned at the gates of Temperance by them, without a
word or request for payment.
Do you know of the Empire?
Did you once walk those gray streets?
Did you look up at the cold, colorless sky of London, where ash falls
like snow? Did you brush shoulders with those human-looking Strangers
with colorful patches on their arms – men and women whose parents
were something Other? The Others – those the pamphlets warn
about. They’re the ones who are sent to the camps. The camps are
for your protection, of course. The camps where the monsters are
chained, caged, and broken – if the creatures had their way, they
would feed on the innocent without compassion or guilt.
And then there are the Purified. Said
to be more than human and less than alive. They are the chosen
protectors of Empress Victoriana, bless her holy name. The Purified
stand by her and keep order in the camps. They police all the states
of the empire, some of which were sovereign countries before the
empire turned its gaze toward them. Some of them, the newer
acquisitions, still retain some of their original outlander
“culture”. Don’t worry. The empire will take care of that. The
empire takes care of everyone.
Everyone, that is, but the
Territories. Situated as they are on the wrong side of the red
desert, they are beyond the reach of the Empress. So many imperial
emigrants have stood where you now stand, weary traveler. Welcome to
Temperance. Welcome to the Kingdom of California.
