Everything

The spiritual graveyard is a place of washed-out grays and long shadows. Even for the Penumbra it is still and lifeless. The few spirits that dwell here are Epiphlings representing fear, emotional pain and death itself. The landscape is uneven and ill-kept headstones protrude from the dead grass at odd angles. Few of them have writing upon them; the only marks are vague scratches made by some passing entity. On one edge of the graveyard stands a large mausoleum of glistening white bone. It is the reflection of the tomb of one of the city’s founders, an eccentric architect. Some say he designed the city with a street plan forming a mad occult symbol, a great spiral. Visitors find the doors barred, but the stench of decay and the clinking of chains emanates from deep within.