The City, Kurshok Compound

Day 7 (Dawn of the Dark Age)

Visiting the same place two or three times can be dangerous, especially if it's a tourist attraction. The danger is that, in an attempt to get to know a place better, you'll end up finding the things you once found interesting competing with new attractions set up expressly for tourists. Theme parks are the worst, but virtual worlds can be nearly as bad. The Kurshok, frankly, are just such an attraction.

You can never be sure if 11th-hour introductions like the existence of the Kurshok was always "in the cards." Did the designers of this world intend to create an excuse for more dark stony dungeons? Or did they run out of ideas and say, "You know what would be great? Let's get those dumb guards from above ground and stick them in Creature From The Black Lagoon suits." It's hard to tell. You see, the Kurshok aren't that bad. They're culturally distinct from other groups in the City, they live in ruins (and ruins can be cool, as I trust the panorama suggests), and they glisten with early traces of Next Generation Gaming's obsession with specular maps.

But are the Kurshok their own culture, or just bumbling guards layered with a new veneer. With their predisposition to ending my life, I was unable to make a clear assessment. That doubt isn't something that can go away - without proof one way or the other, I'll always suspect that they're just the latest fish-themes tourist trap, trying to keep people coming back.

The City, St. Edgar's Cathedral

Day 4 (Dawn of the Dark Age)

The Order of the Hammer (or, colloquially, the Hammerites) doesn't mess around. Basically, imagine if the Cathars had teamed up with the Templars to overthrow the Vatican, and you pretty much have a flavor for the Hammerites. Their zeal is tempered by an obsession with their own imperfection, which they seek to purge through the construction of bigger and better structures. This cathedral is one such example.

The Hammerites worship "the Builder," a faceless being whose entire persona is captured by Genesis 1: he built everything perfectly. Ironically, the Hammerites are blind to the central paradox of their religion: if the Builder's creation of the universe was without flaw, how is it that humans (and, byextension , human nature) have imperfections? The blame is generally laid at the feet of the Builder's metaphysical nemesis, the Trickster, but this basic question (how can a good/perfect being be responsible for the creation of evil/imperfection?) is a core challenge to monotheism.

Hammerites are stark dualists with the reverse view of the heretical Cathars. They view the spirit as fundamentally weak, and take their strength from the physical. The Trickster represents temptation and impulse, both mental weaknesses. So they seek to purge the spirit and leave behind the pure perfection of the Builder's creation: the flesh. And they have the muscle and the stonework to back it up. The Trickster's worshippers (the so-called "Pagans") are generally on the run from Hammerite justice.

In the City's dark moral landscape, they're no better or worse than the other faiths available. Though the Hammerites are intolerant, insular, and belligerent, they live up to their promises. They protect their own with paramilitary enthusiasm, mete out harsh but consistent justice, and seek to improve the public good through their works. The overall flavor of the city (industrial) tends to suggest that the Hammerites are waging a winning battle against the forces of "naturalism."

But for all the architecture they've built, it's very unclear whether they will survive in the long term. The Metal Age was brought about by a disastrous schism in the Hammerite ranks (a theological divide over whether man had the authority to build automatons in his own image), and the dawn of the Dark Age finds the Hammerites weakened and withdrawn. The Hammerites are forcefully dogmatic, but their architecture is pleasingly neutral, and will no doubt continue to be used even if their religion collapses or fades away.

We have no real sense of what drove the construction of the cathedrals that dot Europe. Their construction took centuries, at enormous cost. Ignoring for a moment what that meant to city leaders and church officials, what did it mean to the common man? Did he look up at the colossus in his city square in wonder, or with the jaded gaze of someone who has seen it their whole life?

Will the Builder's message be somehow conveyed by these stones? Or will they, given time, lose that metaphor and simply become stones?

The City, Stonemarket

Day 1 (Dawn Of The Dark Age)

Fast-forward in the history of the City, that ambiguous metropolis of criminal fame. The close of the Metal Age has done great things for the local economy, as is evidenced by the cleaner, more decorated surroundings. It's unclear who in the City would finance such beautification, but its effect is much appreciated.

My previous visits to the City were, for lack of a better term, chaperoned. The City remained largely cordoned off, and I was given few choices about where to direct my explorations. Now, this is not to say that I wasn't given freedom. The First City Bank & Trust remains a masterpiece of small-scale world-building. But anything beyond the bank's courtyard was inaccessible. No longer.

The close of Metal Age has seen the City open itself to tourism. The streets are open to explore, the shops free to visit (and rob). This has come at something of a price, as the "criminal tourism" that made the City famous has suffered somewhat in the face of heavier law enforcement. Nevertheless, where there was once only the appearance of a city, there is now the impression of a city. It's not a true city by any means, but it is "fuller" than its predecessor.

Cities are especially difficult for world-builders. A human life contains so much information that forcing any number of lives into close quarters results in countless layers of detail and meaning. Having to build a collection of lives from scratch is difficult, even if it only means creating a coherent pile of artifacts to reflect that life, such as a set of diaries, a pile of photographs, or a collection ofknickknacks. So virtual cities tend to be simplistic metaphors for real cities. Stonemarket is one such example. True, Stonemarket is home to a variety of shops and public houses (most closed after dark, the only time a criminal tourist has any chance of moving around undetected), but no real-world City has such a small commercial district.

Of course, judging the size of the City is difficult because it is nearly impossible to scale the roof-line and look out across the skyline. This panorama was taken from a 2nd-story balcony, and gives a sense of the encroaching, looming architecture. Landmarks are everywhere in the City (as in most virtual cities), theclock tower being the most prominent in this view. This claustrophobia can work to a world-builder's advantage: when scale is difficult to judge, creating a feeling of enormity is less difficult. The downside is that the City is, as a result, a disorienting place. Stonemarket is particularly twisty, akin to the streets of Old London.

As I continue my meanderings through the City, I'm struck by the dark tone. My hosts see fit to remind me that there is an ill wind blowing. Local prophecies are not encouraging. More as things develop.