Were you there that night,
When the lights died in Neon?
When the gods cursed them?
Did you see them fall,
the star-towers and sky-homes?
Did you watch them die?
The city's proud folk,
undone by their own hubris,
condemned to shadow.
No light can shine there,
not candle or torch or lamp.
Now darkness rules there.
But Neon lives on
in a peculiar fashion
of its own making.
Misery is gold.
At least when it's not your own.
Suffering is silver.
Folk come to Neon,
to gaze at its lost wonders,
to stare at its folk.
Some come there to hide.
Some come to be forgotten.
And some come to die.
Neon welcomes them,
as graveyards welcome the dead.
But some come and live.
Death begats new life.
Neon fell but it rises,
it lurches to life.
From the Water March
to the great Fallen Palace,
the city rises.
The merchants gather
in Downmarket and Gloom Street.
The city rises.
Priests whisper prayers
asking the gods for mercy.
The city rises.
In the deep shadows,
rogues go about their dark work.
The city rises.
The carrion men
sell corpses fresh from their graves.
The city rises.
Whores of every stripe
offer dark pleasures for gold.
The city rises.
Watchmen walk the streets,
alert for any trouble.
The city rises.
Urchins beg sweetly
from every shadowed doorway.
The city rises.
Adventurers come
braving the dark, hunting fame.
The city rises.
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