The Magnagoran Winter
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Winter in Magnagora is marvellous sight. The snowfall casts a blanket over the
whole city, keeping the undesirable scenery from sight. All from the industrial
n'Rotri Spike which pumps soot ceaselessly into the atmosphere, through the
Gloaming the fires of which burn deep into the night with smoke of hideous
colours and quality, and nauseating smells pervading the whole of Gorgaliel
Boulevard as if to symbolically invoke the image of Gorgulu Himself; to the
ruined Old Quarter and its Fate's Square of shrivelled and ghastly trees. All
that I despise is magicked out of sight by off-white snow that wrestles its way
into the city through the striated and slowly churning sky.

Not long into the winter, the snow loses most of its niveous quality and is
smirched with soot and given a sickly iridescent quality by the chemical residue
swirling lazily over the city. The grisly slush persists on the streets, much to
the pleasure of the beggars who, unlike in the warmer months when their only
employer will be the Spike, find easy employment in the streets from the
government, keeping them pristinely clean and dry for the aristocracy to stride
along.

But Magnagorans still seem to enjoy it. The viscanti children play in the
streets, throwing snowballs at the beggars and splashing the slush from the
sidelines to the middle of the boulevards again; contesting one another to who
can upset their work the most and thus get them into trouble with one of the
predatory nobles. Nothing irritates one of the aristocracy more than
imperfections to their picturesque image of Magnagora, especially if it is
supposed to be being handled, in so far as they know - knowledge which naturally
only floats at the edges of their subconscious.

The noble couples parade down the streets in their finest, the ladies in
furrikin pelts of pure white or sable black, the gentlemen likewise and with
angel-feather capes. The men hold lavishly adorned parasols over them as they
stroll, be they even lace and silk with feathers, ribbons and expensive gems. I
find it unsurprising yet I have heard that such a display is uncommon in other
regions of the Basin. Parasols seems to have their use for ladies overprotective
of their complexion on sunny days of Dvarsh. Yet, in Magnagora the necromantic
dome that protects the city blocks out all influence of the Sun, for better or
worse. And so, parasols are only ever in fashion in the winter days to protect
from the chemical residue and soot that the snow pushes down from above.

Clearly such accessories must be changed or cleaned almost daily so the tailors
rejoice at increased interest in their wares and sketch for their fashion
collections in advance. The latest trend for parasols are merian scales,
preferably silvery, as those ensure a waterproof quality like nothing else and
allow the dirt to be easily sponged away, whilst remaining fashionable and
reflective no matter the usage. Naturally, due to the fact they can be reused
and are a much cheaper product than, say, angelskin, they are popular amongst
the less notable nobles who try to emulate the cream of society as much as their
purses permit.

Whatever the attire, the viscanti stay loyal to black and white as if to blend
in with the city's own monochrome mantle of winter. Other times, the rich
purples laden with gold ornaments, verdant greens accented with brass browns,
and vivid crimsons worked with bright silver embroidery dominate the streets - a
reflection of one's wealth. Perhaps in greyscale environment this not a problem
to stand out with colour anymore and so the indulgent aristocracy challenge one
another at yet another game with the bar raised. Whether this is a silent
agreement to do so or perhaps just a matter of refined taste to don such colours
when the naturally black cityscape is purified by snow, it is a painting worthy
tradition.

This is most prominent especially at the Necropolis where the area itself is
devoid of colour by the Megalith of Doom's immense power that wraps reality in
its closest proximity. Only the green runes worked into the archways surrounding
it are aglow with an eerie luminescence, a startling contrast and unfathomable
distraction. Here the citizens gather and huddle within the studies, rest at the
courtyards or partake in rituals or lectures at the Halls of the Void. The
occasional peddler with the right quality permit pushes his cart from place to
place, offering much desired kafe brews, herbal teas and warm cherub blood wine
as sooty snow continues to embrace the melancholic city.