The Plague of Shapes
City of Rix
Sixty or so years ago, the Plague of Shapes ravaged the world, transforming fertile land to barren crags—not to mention it’s effect on living creatures, the most common of which was to transform a perfectly good living person into a perfectly defunct dead one. In those days, Rix was a broad but empty city-state content to reap a living allowing scavengers to cull the ruins of the God-Sorcerers that dotted the landscape. When the Plague broke out, it was discovered that ancient magics constructed by the God-Sorcerers could be awakened by those who shared even the tiniest drop of their bloodline: a great dome of blue light, speckled with flakes of gold for stars, flared into life around the borders of Rix, but not before immigrants and refugees from nations the continent-over rushed into the bastion.
Rix is now home to over one million souls, a sprawling city built up, across, and below. Sorcerer-Savants have scoured every last ruin in the safety of the Dome to provide the city a world of wonders: an artificial sun lights the sky inside the Dome and great crystalline reefs purify tainted water.
But Rix is a fixed area. It has grown to the borders of the Dome, built higher and deeper to squeeze every inch it can from the land it has been given. There are no ruins left in Rix, no cranny left unexplored.
And the Dome is failing.
The city needs more power to maintain the Dome. The city needs a way to feed a population that grows hungrier while the land only dwindles. The city needs a miracle to push back the Plague of Shapes. The city needs a hero.
The city needs you.
You have been chosen (or, quite possibly, drafted) into an expeditionary team. You have been given quarters on the edge of the Dome, a bureaucratic quartermaster to crack the whip, and a single task: go into the Plagued world, and bring back an answer to the problems of Rix.
The City-State of Rix is, ostensibly, a nation united.
This is a patent lie.
Rix is a tightly-packed conglomeration of towns that surround the dense, urban heart of pre-Plague Rix. Many of these townships are fiercely independant, and even if sprawl has developed to the point where all areas are equally packed by building and roadway, they claim independence…claiming, of course, being quite different from achieving.
Rix proper is overseen by a council of those born to native Rixians, with a token representative from each refugee township being elected by their peers. This Parliament has the right to do damn near anything it wants within the confines of the city, and Parliamentarians have broad rights that override those of other citizens.