Beneath the hustle and bustle of the Bergama bazaar where market vendors and their patrons haggle exuberantly over aromatic spice and exotic fruit. Beneath the Bergama family homes, where both Crown and Forebear partitioned by ideology, eat of the same food, drink the same drink, play the same games, and sleep in identical beds. Beneath the Bergama Fighter’s Guild, where warriors both young and old sharpen skill and blade in anticipation of bragging their valour at the next anchor to fall upon the near-by Myrkwasa dolmen. Beneath the mages studying in their tower, trying to make sense of a senseless land where they are mistrusted as equally by ally and enemy alike. Beneath the Stone Oasis Inn where the Redguard Bard Mahasti sings like a mermaid of the desert sands, her silken voice rolling across the golden dunes in somniferous waves. Beneath Bergama’s extravagantly decorated hall of judgement, where the magistrate and her bailiffs strive to hold the city together against malevolent influence, both within and without the city walls.

The Breton’s have a saying that goes, ‘A city is not judged by the height of it’s minarets and spires, but by the depths of its sewers.’

Beneath her streets, Bergama hides a most dreadful secret.

S.K