Rain
Falling on the Black City.
The
Rain is falling again, drizzling down from clouds infused with the
smoke of a million Corpse-oil lamps, staining everything with the
sticky foul smelling residue of burning corpses. The top of the Great
Lantern Spire cannot even be seen from here, the spire truncated
about three quarters of the way up by the smog, and the lantern
itself does nothing for the gloom, just makes the ominous dark clouds
around it glow with the greenish white of the corpse-light it gives
off.
