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The Conflict Zones, as indicated by the red areas on the map, are localities of particularly extreme animosity towards mages. Characters that publicly demonstrate their magical talent, are openly sympathetic towards mages or are suspected of mage activity whilst in these zones are at high risk of encountering hostile individuals or groups, or subject to lawful imprisonment and/or punishment.
In the weeks succeeding the storms there is a silence of the world; a stillness, like the moment of suspension before a change in the wind.
Yet stories of the anomalies run as raucous as ever among the people of Moren Ezen; exchanged beneath the vibrant tents of the marketplace as readily as the merchant's wares; shared like elder's leaf between the guardsmen on patrol; debated as heatedly by the spectators surfeiting the racetrack as the Jibita favored to win; recited in ardent song and cry on city streets by minstrel and bellman alike.
All points to a single conclusion; a single determinable, responsible source.
Magic.
Tensions amidst townsfolk and travelers grow ever more taut, agitated as though scored by the abrading scales of serpentine coils preparing to strike. They wait, watching, listening - for a sudden movement, a sound... an excuse.
Then, an unexplained explosion tears Kestrana’s town center apart, and the city turns on itself, devolving immediately into chaos. Accusations are thrown blindly, non-mages blame the mages, while the mages claim sabotage. The governing parties order anyone accused of mage activity be turned over to the authorities, while sympathizers are treated with equal derision. Belakei and Kaetho soon follow suit. Yeshi vows to protect their own, and shut their gates to outsiders.
Far to the west an unseasonal mist begins to sweep across Ehiasall’s midlands, growing ever thicker as it rolls like waves threshing at the steep coast of the Naxirb. Soon it has stretched the breadth of the continent from Domonia to Rigsang, and across the Prut Passage into Aeslend as far east as Eclein. The thick, dank smog blocks the sun, snuffing it out as surely as the veil of night, a dreary darkness yawning in it's place. In it's absence a putrid rot sets in, purging native and cultivated flora alike, and in the stead of the blighted crops sleep lanterns begin to spawn; glowing their warm, golden bloom amidst the perpetual gloom, and driving hordes of people from their homes lest they succumb to the sleep-inducing spores.
The roads turn to rivers, their beds churned to mud and bursting at their banks with a current of warm bodies; refugees ripe with the rusticism of the wilds marching in desperate search of asylum. The ports of Tseten Thaye and High Harbour are flooded by those seeking passage across the Vluolst to more benign lands; for only the heaviest purses of valyut is it granted.
Their arrivals are greeted less than amicably, however. Yeshi's gates remain firmly shut, while a blockade of vessels assembled for combat safeguard the Kestran ports. Many a boat is turned away, their provisions failing, and forced to take more drastic action. And a second incongruous certainty is realized by all...
There is nowhere to run.
Prompt
Prompt
Depict where is your character amidst the discord, and how they cope.
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