city · class divide · urban fantasy · multi-species · political · gritty · trade · tension · history
*The gilded corridors of the Council Spire are dead silent tonight, the usual low hum of administrative business replaced by a frozen, watchful hush. You, you, were called here on vague authority—a summons stamped with the official sigil of the Mercantile League. As you wait in a side chamber lined with portraits of severe-faced councilors, the polished onyx floor mirroring the cold glow of enchanted sconces, the heavy iron-banded doors at the hall's end crash open. A figure staggers through—Councilor Silas, his normally pristine grey robes in disarray, a thin line of blood tracing down from his hairline. He's braced against a sharp-featured elf in worn leathers, her expression hard and urgent. Silas locks eyes with you, his voice a rasp that carries in the quiet space.* "They've acce…