Story:Invisible Cities/Arasha

Ah, Arasha. Others may sing praises of the Grand Cities--of Tarimshar, where they say the Holy Mother set us down in this world to shelter and protect us from its Evil; Akhomet, where the greatest magics are wrought in search of expanding Her protection over all the world; or Dynhallow, that place of smoke, steam, and lightning, where the sky’s light never shines but the city is bright without end, powered by its towers of metal and fuels from beneath the earth--but I speak only of Arasha, a city of natural wonder in this world of divine retribution and injustice.

When one first arrives in Arasha, one is immediately struck by the color of her stone. The bleary colors of the surrounding world fades into the past as the dirty browns come into sight through the green air. Passing through her gates, and entering her sphere of safety from the maddening winds, one realizes that, rather than brown, the formations are in fact a vibrant red stone, into which the city has been cut. The blue glow of her Charglass protections contrast beautifully with the rock, and one questions why the sky could not always be a clear blue so that all who see the city may wonder on it from beyond her embrace.

Once you have recovered your senses, venture into her markets, where all the merchants of Arasha clamor for your attention. Spices and flowers that grow in this city alone, animals of the same red color as the rocks, and pigments of all manner of brilliant colors catch your eye and demand your focus, while the merchants seek to convince you to part with your coin for a sample of these fine products. Drifting on the air is the scent of finely spiced meats, and, should you follow your nose, you will spot dozens of stalls where fires blaze and spits turn, roasting all manner of creatures, from animal to monster.

Looking up, you will notice that the city climbs even the cliffs themselves, and a carved tower ascends to keep watch over all the city’s inhabitants. Should a traveler be so fortunate as to gain entrance to the tower, they might wonder how it was ever constructed. What hands could be so gifted to carve a tower from solid rock, and yet so that it seems it was once a living creature, frozen in stone, and placed here solely for the glory of the city?

Atop this tower, this lifelike statue of an enormous, winged serpent, the plutarch uses their enormous sums of wealth and political power to influence the trade and policies of the Grand Cities, who spend their own riches to acquire mere tastes of Arasha’s wonders. A single animal traded for a small fortune, a bag of spices for powerful magic, or colorful pigments for complex, fanciful clockwork inventions. And yet, so powerful is the pull of Arasha, so strong the desire of her admirers, that no matter how much they acquire, they can never be satisfied.

And so I say to you who yearn to travel, to behold the wonders that even this miserable world has to offer: go to Arasha, but go there last. For once you have seen her beauty, the remaining world will be as a dull canvas, and, no matter the sensation, no matter the thrill or the risk, you will never again be satisfied.