Fiction
CONTENT WARNINGS: brief discussion of drugs (opiates, inhaled) [0:55:02-0:55:58], brief description of body horror [1:10:09-1:10:22]
Civilization has a habit of springing up in the unlikeliest of places, and Ruin’s Gate is no exception to that. Like flowers growing up through cracks in the concrete back on Earth, as the poets say, life sure does find a way. Against the harshest of wastelands, people made some place worth living. Not without its faults, its fights, its frictions, but nowhere really is, in the end.
Like any frontier town, it has its banal charms, its creature comforts, its quotidian necessaries. But what it had more than any of that was something brewing beneath the surface—always something, someone scheming or schmoozing or making plans. Deals struck in hushed conversations when no one else seemed to be listening. Promises extracted like the very hellstone coming up out of the mines, with the same blunt-force charm and grace to boot. And secrets, flowing free as the watered-down booze at the Felix Tavern Saloon.
This week, on Ruin’s Gate: Plans are made and friendships are forged.
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