Expedition! - Issue 2: "Gloomhaven"

It is said that those who live in the “The City of Shadows” wear heavy furs, a skeptical expression and have a ready hand on his pistol. 

I wish that I could tell you the whole of the sordid and colorful history of Gloomhaven, but much of its history has been lost to the war and destroyed by those less sympathetic to the trials of a historian. But it does not take a student of history to see the challenges of this unusual place. Blasted from the bitter Shaar much of the year and bombarded by seasonal storms from the sea, life in Gloomhaven is hard and cruel. The streets are ruled by thieves, cutthroats, pirates and is a sanctuary for criminals of every stripe. Many political and religious miscreants have carved out a little home in the glorified shantytown. Though it has been condemned by every holy and righteous person as a den of sinners and degenerates, it sits on the second largest river in High Moor, contains valuable resources, artifacts from the old world and is, quite frankly, impossible to conquer.

The city was originally named Glomehaven, which is an older word "to grab or steal". A fitting name in most quarters of the city. But its current name has clung to it like the perpetual fog which creeps maliciously across every surface of the city, making it a very dark place indeed. The earliest known record is of a small settlement among the ruins of a once glamorous city. Necessity has always governed the state of affairs within the walls of Gloomhaven. It has no regular streets, buildings are erected atop older buildings, layers and layers of stones, wooden beams and planks have been set atop each other until you couldn't see the ground below. Spires and towers break through the jumbled mess of buildings and structures like claws through a thin shirt. The one true landmark is the old fortress; a grey stone star-shaped castle, which looks like a lair of some villain. Called the Eyeless by the locals, the interior is a half dome building without windows, doors or any obvious way to enter. But locals report strange voices emanating from the smooth stone and feeling that you are being watched.

The city is separated into two districts and connected across the Mirror Lake by a series of bridges. The harbor is blockaded by a sea wall and several small islands. Ominous towers dot the wall, shining dark blue lights down on the waterways and patrolling the shore. Once inside the immense gates is a labyrinth of docks, piers, scaffolding and wooden buildings built atop each other in impossible layers. As you sail up the river Spine, Red Dragon District on the left side close to the Shaar and Ten Towns District is on the right closest to Gloomhaven Woods and the Scrimshaw Ridge.

Despite various factions squabbling over control of smaller streets and neighborhoods, the undisputed power in Gloomhaven is the Shadow King and the Weeping Queen. Enigmatic as their titles, there seems to be order amidst the chaos. There are unwritten rules and traditions that are carried out no matter how painstaking or nonsensical. Those who step out of line or disobey are visited by “Pales” who enforce the quasi-monarchy. Some describe these hooded figures as undead creatures or those cursed by the Malificium. But I find this dramatic description more in kind with the stories of ghosts, telepathic suggestion and rumors of strange women seeing the future.

Religion in Gloomhaven is as diverse as its people. All manner of men and woman walk the streets, practicing the old heaven religions, praying at shrines, trusting in trinkets and lucky charms. The Aluminat would be hard pressed to find a single person who adhered to the tenants of its faith. superstition rules the fate of many a sailor and bandit. 

Wealth in precious metals, minerals and pirated goods flood the streets. But Gloomhaven's true wealth comes from its ancient artifacts and relics from prior worlds which seem almost alien. I saw dozens of shows selling jewelry, trinkets, cursed items of foul wizards and dark magical items. Much of it appeared to be "window dressing" but there were a few items which bore magical runes, inscription and even hummed slightly with a powerful Aether. Many of these shards were sewn into clothing, incorporated into steam engines, personal tools and weapons. I believe even the streets were inlaid with the history of this great city, drug down from the mountain in stones and dredged up from the bottom of the river and used the reinforce the foundations. Despite of all of these little marvels, the chimneys belch out black smoke and the streets are filled with all manner of detritus. I saw modern amenities right next to what amounted to shacks. Walking down the street at any time of the day you might rub shoulders with poets, wealthy barons, merchants, pirates, murderers or tyrants. As more wealth is dug up from the earth, in mines in and outside of the city, more people seem to be drawn to its strange energy which draws prospectors, delinquents and fortune seekers into its ever-widening maw. 

After partaking of a small drink in a small tavern which stretched for miles in a collection of buildings all tied together in one long row, I ventured along the streets, noting the warehouses, silos and humongous digging machines. I contemplated the shops, the factories and pushed my way outside the public exchanges. I could not see why any man would desire to wade into the oily whirlpool as it slipped down into the dark tunnels beneath the city. This was a city on the fringe of the civilized world. It was a toppled giant whose bones were being picked clean by vultures. This was the world that lay sleeping beneath our feet, with unknown horrors a picks-fall or a turn of a spade away from being woken.

I lit my cigar and returned to Newhaven by the 10 o'clock train, away from the mad scramble of this blister on the edge of civilization.