Is it the end times? Or has the world already ended? In the enormous city Icoross no one knows. Perhaps they don’t care? Completely self-sustained and isolated the peoples of this cold, timeless and vast city take little to no notice of the outside world as they slowly and inevitably work their way towards their own downfall.
Icoross is situated in the vast and narrow Scabrous Valley. From south to the north and through the valley, and therefore all of Icoross, runs the partially frozen river named Tearlang (nicknamed the Tear Canal) which ends in the northern slushy ocean known as The Deep Tear. Around the riverbed is a makeshift harbor that sees little use as no one has made it across The Deep Tear in a very long time. Fishing is difficult, and those brave souls who try this way of life often meet an untimely death in icy storms or get swallowed by gigantic creatures emerging from the depths.
Icoross itself is made up of an unknown number of districts, each ruled by immortal beings with very specific agendas. These immortal beings comes in many different shapes, but be they larvae hive minds, schizo-scientists, slumbering monstrosities, malfunctioning automata, bureaucratic vampires, recluse alchemists or anarcho-liches, they all take little heed of the common folk. Even so, some of the districts adhere to specific laws and customs that make them unique across the city of Icoross.
Although the immortals care little for the common folk they keep a watchful eye on each other. Most of them don’t take direct action, but they have been known to meddle in each others affairs from time to time. They are inscrutable beings though, so why they do what they do is often hidden in aeons of existing, mysteries of time and forgotten grudges.
Even though Icoross do not have a central ruler or council some individuals and organisations stretch their influence across and have a dealings in many of the city’s districts. Among these are the Templars of the Grey Papacy, who patrol the streets looking for believers and unbelievers of The Ashen One; the many guilds of Icoross, from The Merchant’s Guild, The Alchemist’s Guild, to the thieves of The Rat’s Hands and the assassins of Black Cowl; and finally the Automata Autarch, that no one has seen or even are sure exists, but who’s little bug-like mechanoids can be heard skittering inside walls, across rooftops, in back alleys and in the vast sewer system that runs below the glacially disrupting city.