There was a saying in the kingdom before the shattering of the alliance: ‘Everything is within two weeks of Crossroads.’ Located on a sheltered bay, Crossroads started as a simple trading post. It burgeoned into a sprawling city where every manner of goods and services were for sale due to the central location within the kingdom and the easy travel by both land and water in the surrounding area.

The city is incredibly diverse. All species are represented. The layout and architecture vary as much as the species who live here. Although Crossroads possesses some towers, the city grew wide rather than tall, stretching out across the land. The various sections of the under-city add to its copious footprint. With a large border that was constantly expanding throughout the life of the city, no substantial walls were ever constructed. Some sections abut lush forest, while others fade into open plains. The large bay makes landing large parties by sea effortless. This all adds to a tactician’s nightmare in defending the city.

Indeed, before the unification of the kingdom, Crossroads was constantly being conquered. But invaders always realized a fact about Crossroads: It is easy to conquer but impossible to rule. An army cannot oversee the sprawling population of Crossroads as easily as it can enter the city, nor can it convince a large population that a title holds more power than the flow of money. The abundant population of diverse people prove difficult to police effectively.

Following the law of commerce is the only unifying aspect. Under this law, guilds form the backbone of Crossroads. There is a guild for everything, and they are hyper territorial and protective of their trade. Even the shovelers of horse droppings have a guild. Don’t shovel on a street run by the shoveler’s guild, or you may end up getting shoveled. These guilds hold power beyond the various conquerors of old by directing the immense flow of wealth. Not all guilds are overt. Cults, crime lords, merchant families, and secret leaders along with the mercantile guilds make the true rules of Crossroads.

The fair weather belies swift political undercurrents. Policy can change from street to street depending on the particular group who runs that section of the city. Even that can change overnight. During the age of the Keridwyn kingdom, the mayor of Crossroads managed to hold a semblance of power. Now, without the backing of Keridwyn, even the illusion of power has been lost. The anarchy of Crossroads is held in tenuous balance by the various factions who utilize economic and criminal means to dominate each other, none capable of emerging over the others.

At least, not yet.

Even though the alliance has collapsed, the economy of Crossroads is an unstoppable beast. Everything is still only two weeks from Crossroads, and everything can be purchased … for a price.

Curiosity killed the Gnome. The Gnome’s name was Fizzbark, a practitioner of the Alchemical arts with an insatiable hunger for discovery and an unhealthy lack of fear. He made leaps in alchemical understanding and obtained high ranking in the Alchemists guild. When not in his lab, he would be elsewhere, tinkering with devices and scribbling on parchments, ever dabbling in his eclectic whims.

Decades before the closing of Keridwyn’s doors, the mayor reopened a long-abandoned section of the under-city for exploration parties of adventurers. Fizzbark accompanied a stern Shimmer, a naive Flora, a peace-avowed Demon, and an optimistic Rettocuru into the dark, partially flooded caverns, taking on the role of their cartographer. After several dangerous encounters, they thought they had met their end. An illusory maze threatened to befuddle them forever until Fizzbark’s creative thinking released them from the prison, but they were not the only thing released in the process. A necrotic avatar, an ancient and powerful being of shadow, revealed itself to the startled adventurers.

The next trap was a simple seeming device that Fizzbark methodically set to decommissioning. But the design was interesting, dangerously so. He tinkered with the trap, wishing to glean an insight into its construction. In doing so, he triggered a hidden element in the device, releasing toxic gas that filled his lungs with noxious air. His vision faded, and the world went dark. The necrotic avatar, expressing gratitude for its release, revived Fizzbark in a sense. He was reborn as a rare form of undead that never experienced a mindless state.

Currently, Fizzbark is a bridge between the society of the living in Crossroads and the secret undead societies who share their city. His body closely resembles that which it looked like in life, allowing him to dwell covertly among those who still draw breath. He defends the nearly undefendable city with his exceptional explosives, which are a huge boon on the battlefield when they work as intended. When he’s not managing undead relations or fighting in battles, he is operating one of the most successful breweries in Crossroads.

The cult of Drathnaz has a sect of leaders who read the signs to find each reincarnation of Drathnaz. Once the sect has found and deliberated on the signs, Drathnaz is instated as the leader of the Cult in Crossroads, the seat of their influence.

The current incarnation of Drathnaz is a Djinn who was given the name Hansen at birth before being discovered and revealed as the cult’s leader. He has mastered oratory skills, and his speeches are said to be capable of bringing a tear to the eye of the hardest of hearts. A smile is ever present on his face and good cheer follow him everywhere. He has adeptly navigated the turbulent social landscape of Crossroads to great effect, thrusting the Cult into higher prominence than it has had in the last thousand years. His greatest acclaim is when the Ancient Dragon Trydish, riled in anger, arrived at Crossroads at the front of the Dafed army. Drathnaz rode out to meet with the Dragon, and through four hours of conversation, convinced Trydish to leave and take his host with him.