Login

Harbat

Mecca had no time or place. No north, no left or right, no yesterday. Things that were, could only be that way because they constantly confirmed each other's existence. Things that stood alone were swept away by the slumbering mists of negligence, and lost their meaning, faded to myth. Thus, people tended to group together in tight clusters of certainty, cities, and towns; where bureacracy was king - goals needed to be attained! Order needed to be kept! Documents and seals assured that reality was real.

In a lonely corner of a vast sea stood Harbat, an island with tall chalk cliffs and coarse green hills, and upon it - filling the island almost entirely - a city. Here, everyone kept really busy with confirming each other's existence: offices and houses stood packed on top of each other in the town centre, the market thrived as ever, and day and night trade ships docked at the chaotic harbour. Outside Harbat, the island was lonely and barren, with only a few settlements along the coast.

But beyond the island, Harbat exploded into a myriad of tiny islets, and reality slowly lost its coherence. Nearest to the city was the dreary rock with the weather station on it. Just at the horizon one could still make out the Siren's Peak on a clear day: the mighty stronghold that kept a vigil on the sea. Beyond were the Goblin Islands, a small knot of rainy islands that were Harbat's little breadbasket, all three of them ruled by a baron: the first desolated but for a ciderhouse, the second with a ruined keep and some cattle herders, and the third the barony itself, with a small village.

At the outer ends the unpredictable no-mans-land seepled in, and the laws of physicality crumbled. Island started floating, drifting and swaying gently in the passing clouds. Some of these served as rogue hideouts, like the Eagle's Nest, other held things that the burgers of Harbat liked to forget. And from there the trade ships passed into nothingness, on sea, or suspended from sails and balloons, soaring the skies, filled with complex creaking machinery that kept (to some extent) track of your whereabouts.

The tourist information centre would be a good place to start for visitors.