1d8 Places to Rest in the City
The upstairs of the Coronet, a seedy and rundown public house in the industrial district. The pub is under new management, and has been undergoing extensive renovations in the hope of cleaning up its image. Despite the owner’s best efforts, pickpockets and thugs loiter outside. And most nights, a smuggler by the name of Smiley Sam can be found in the barroom, ready to trade in secrets, coin, or illicit goods.
The roof of the Third Regional Bank, an imposing edifice with an atrial dome and a cluster of gold statues above its grand doors. From this height, you can see the sprawl of the whole city, its flickering lights and flares of magic. The night watchman might need paying off, and it’s none too comfortable in rain or snow. But the gargoyles have formed a sketch comedy group, so there’s built-in entertainment.
The Magnolia Pink, a fabulous hotel with genuine silver floors. The suites are worth the expense, from the liveried servants who attend the guests’ every need to the plush, indulgent beds and decadent room service options. But rumor has it that for every night you pass in the Magnolia Pink’s embrace, the less likely you are to come out again — at least until you can no longer scrounge up the cash to afford just one more night.
Under the Bodhi Bridge. This brickwork overpass provides excellent shelter from the elements, particularly because some enterprising vagabond has knocked in part of the supporting wall and created an accessible niche roughly 15x15 ft. in size. In time, other vagrants have left their marks: symbols in thieves’ cant, broken bottles, worn-out boots, and a pile of logs inoculated with a variety of mushrooms.
Inchibald Quingle’s Lodging House, a crooked three-story structure with drafty rooms, narrow hallways, and two hearty meals a day. The elderly Mr. Quingle has handed the reins to his son, Inchie Jr., whose passion for cookery has earned the Quingle Lodging House its place on the map. Inchie’s other passion—taxidermy—does put some guests off their supper, however.
The Asylum of the Ragged Saints, a humble almshouse dedicated to housing the poor, the pensioners, and the downtrodden. Available only to those in need, the Asylum’s rooms are clean and orderly, but offer little privacy and even less comfort. Its patron, Lady Parsimony Cross, is a crotchety and bookish young woman who inherited responsibility for the Asylum from a more kindly and warm relative. She is greatly concerned with the idea that the Asylum is being used by those who do not truly need its services, and has begun imposing increasingly high standards of poverty and desperation to its residents.
An abandoned underground transport station, dating from a time immemorial. A rusting metal wagon rests on a sunken track, its doors jammed into the open position. Moth-eaten seats line an aisle within. The track extends into the darkness of an enclosed tunnel, which emits an eerie buzzing noise. If the wagon doesn’t hold any appeal, you can always remain on the buckling stone platform and examine its illegible signage and explore the chambers lined in cracked, mossy tile which branch from the main cavernous space.
The basement of the Ershae family home. The Ershaes are friendly people, part of a social network which offers safe housing to travelers. As members of this group, they host strangers willingly and are welcomed by other strangers in the network when they travel themselves. The sole condition of your stay is this: you must join the network and list your address among the available places to stay. If you agree, you may sleep in this place as long as you need without charge, though you are responsible for your own meals. The Ershaes’ basement is wood-paneled, with a shaggy orange carpet and a vividly green sofa bed.
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