Tyre

Tyre is an ancient city on an island in the great Lor’sha’une River, in the settled east between the Lor’Sha’Une forest and the Saudient Mountains. It is cursed: by the stories, every mortal who has set foot on the island for hundreds if not thousands of years has disappeared and never been seen again.

An ancient bridge leads from the northern shore to the island, hundreds of feet above the water — untouched for centuries yet in perfect, pristine condition, broad enough that an army could march over it. A second bridge runs from Tyre’s island to the island of Sunton. No one in their right mind crosses either onto Tyre.

The party, shipwrecked in the crossing, washed up on the island of Tyre: verdant and sunlit, ringed by cliffs of some three hundred feet, with a trail winding up toward the walled city. What befell them there is told in session 1.

The walls and the customs of cargo

The city’s walls are black stone hung with ivy, the gate sealed. Outside stands a roofless customs shelter: a pedestal bearing a basin of hardened black beeswax and a bronze mouth, carved with travelers marking crates beside hulking figures. Its Celestial inscription reads: “That which cannot enter by its own authority must be declared. Mark the burden, name the burden, and trust the burden to Tyre” — ending in the word CARGO. Marks written in the wax in Common do nothing; marks in Celestial called rock golems up from the ground — eight in all — which carried each person over the wall like cargo, without malice, and set them down at the market.

Within the walls

The city has stood abandoned for about a thousand years, yet its main road is oddly intact. The buildings are dark gray and black stone, three and four stories, their roofs fallen in. Sheep thrive in the ruins. Shadows lie everywhere; flashes of color vanish when looked at; and unseen dogs pant in the streets — dogs that blink from place to place and multiply when struck. Three humanoid shadows also walk the city, allegiance unknown. In the ancient market courtyard a pillar of rainbow light some thirty feet across pours into the sky, and an ominous, resonating song meets those who approach it. West of the market rise the white towers of a castle untouched by ruin. On the market square stands the Moon and Phoenix, a shop found intact.