Another day, another oddity
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Below the streets of Arabel, the verminous tide of rodents scurry. Their ever swelling numbers filling the tunnels with the chittering of rat and the scurry of claws, small and large, on the filth covered masonry.
Except for one tunnel. Within this dingy refuge of filth, no sound is heard. The air is thick with the volcanic stench of sulphur. For those able to distinguish it in these lightless warrens, a heat haze shimmers in the gloom. The cess piles of food left in tribute remain, for a long time, half eaten or outright untouched.
Far to the north in the Stormhorns, a mountain shudders and lava bubbles. Already disturbed, something has further agitated the once slumbering pits of magna.
