What do you get when you take an area so over run with tragedy and strife that the mortal landscape literally weeps with sadness? Where even nature has lost its will to live, where the weaver has given up and infrastructure just crumbles like ash to the ground? What does one find in the Umbra of a landscape wrought with feral packs of dogs, and even more feral packs of thugs, gangsters and homeless denizens, where riots and murder are part of everyday life, where toddlers run the glass covered alleys in diapers while hookers stand by watching? Can you even imagine? Can you even wrap your head around the real, let alone beyond the veil?
The streets are on fire here, the gutters spew forth gasoline, fueling the infernos that snake through out each alley way, each side walk. These flames roar and devour various locations which might have hosted a riot, a murder… and they are many. The heat is unbearable, the banes dancing in the burning light as packs of feral dog spirits tear apart a stray bunny or squirrel spirit that tried to skirt the horrors here.
The Wyld stampedes here, in storm and in herd, death vines of invasive weeds creep into cracks and tangle into the dying weaver’s web. Pockets of wyrd thrive around satanic churches and secret coven locations, swirls of dark magik, black and violet, pepper and spill out into the flames almost greeting them like a lover would.
But it is not all horrific here. There are pockets of balance, places of almost heaven like beauty where the Get of Fenris have nurtured and tended. Where the Shadow Lords have provided the means to clean and secure. Places where the wyld and weaver live in harmony and subdue the wrym. Where the spirits are content and strive to maintain their safe place. But these places are few and far between and what lies around them is impossible to describe. And what lies under the street? Dare you look?