Welcome to Bartovia. Our little burg on the edge of nowhere. It would be completely unknown but for one fact: Bartovia is home to the largest, unexplored ruin known to exist. Every year, dozens of would-be heroes try their luck and every year the lucky ones go home empty-handed, but a little wiser maybe.
Once a decade - or less - someone escapes with real treasure. A time-hopping artifact crafted by a half-mad wizard with an unspeakable name. A sword that speaks the date and hour of your death when drawn.
And that always starts another frenzy among the desperate, stupid, or both, who flock here to die in those cursed halls.
Of course, in their haze of greed and increasing desperation, more than one dumb bastard has tried their hand at robbing the inhabitants of our humble home. The young fools never stop to wonder - who would stay here? But for the ruins there’s no industry. Too cold to grow most crops; No precious ores to mine; Nowhere near any of the good trade routes.
They don’t realize - we are them. The same fools and try-hards of years past. We’re the ones who pushed too hard; exhausted our funds; got injured; or just never learned to let go. We couldn’t leave. But couldn’t go on, either. We sold what we could part with…and then the rest. We got jobs. Opened taverns, inns, and supply stores to fleece the next round of idiots. Nevertheless, we are an entire city - if a small one - of adventurers.
Certainly, some of us are a bit long in the tooth - but woe betide the next poor bastard who thinks to pick a pocket in Bartovia.
This is both a fucking great idea to counter Murderhoboism, but it’s also hilarious and hot as hell. If I ever get a situation where this would fit, I shall do it.
Made in Abyss vibes, 10/10. A great worldbuilding aesthetic of a city of would-be adventurers hanging on the edge of the ruins they want to but can’t explore.
Welcome to Bartovia. Our little burg on the edge of nowhere. It would be completely unknown but for one fact: Bartovia is home to the largest, unexplored ruin known to exist. Every year, dozens of would-be heroes try their luck and every year the lucky ones go home empty-handed, but a little wiser maybe.
Once a decade - or less - someone escapes with real treasure. A time-hopping artifact crafted by a half-mad wizard with an unspeakable name. A sword that speaks the date and hour of your death when drawn.
And that always starts another frenzy among the desperate, stupid, or both, who flock here to die in those cursed halls.
Of course, in their haze of greed and increasing desperation, more than one dumb bastard has tried their hand at robbing the inhabitants of our humble home. The young fools never stop to wonder - who would stay here? But for the ruins there’s no industry. Too cold to grow most crops; No precious ores to mine; Nowhere near any of the good trade routes.
They don’t realize - we are them. The same fools and try-hards of years past. We’re the ones who pushed too hard; exhausted our funds; got injured; or just never learned to let go. We couldn’t leave. But couldn’t go on, either. We sold what we could part with…and then the rest. We got jobs. Opened taverns, inns, and supply stores to fleece the next round of idiots. Nevertheless, we are an entire city - if a small one - of adventurers.
Certainly, some of us are a bit long in the tooth - but woe betide the next poor bastard who thinks to pick a pocket in Bartovia.
This is both a fucking great idea to counter Murderhoboism, but it’s also hilarious and hot as hell. If I ever get a situation where this would fit, I shall do it.
Made in Abyss vibes, 10/10. A great worldbuilding aesthetic of a city of would-be adventurers hanging on the edge of the ruins they want to but can’t explore.