Curseborne Crows Of Justice

Night in Picia Bay. One for sorrow, two for joy.

By all rights, this city should not exist. The river that gives it the nominal port does not bend towards it in any other place, and the boat passage there should not be that smooth. The magpies that give it its name should not travel this far East. But it is, and the founders of the settlement of the city didn't question it as it became a trading center and shipbuilding port, and then later an organ of worldwide cargo transport and agricultural shipping.

Maybe they should have. Maybe the impossibility was what drew the occultists among them. Because the impossibility is because it is a...special place. A thin place between worlds. Picia is a nexus between rivers and between planes, an ideal stop when hopping between realities...and where there's travel, there's trade. Where there's trade, there's money, and when one is a stopping point between realities itself, that means there's an incredible amount of money involved, and relatively little the legitimate authorities are aware of...and those that are, are often in on it. Picia has been rated in the top ten Most Underfunded and Most Corrupt Metropolitan Police Department in many independent statistics for five years going, and there's been major hints that is only because people are brave enough to talk about it now.

Quite simply, Picia a city riddled with crime. And more than that, it's a city rife with Accursed, and secret societies eager to exploit the magic of the so-called Shallows, both the portals themselves and what unique finds they bring, to say nothing of mundane smuggling and the other forms of organized racketeering it supports. Worse, however, is that ever since the 60s, certain Accursed crime lords - starting with a the Masque of the Fifteen, a local Brood of the Faceless, to ritually dissociate their identities from their capers and assist in their ritual sacrifice of notoriety gains from it, but quickly spreading to their allies - started dressing in costumes and donning identities of showy, pulpy masterminds and thieves, figures of both dread and grudging respect.

Quite simply, they became supervillains. Their schemes simultaneously build an ideal environment for their other criminal endeavors as they become notorious figures known for particular tricks, and the ritual play of being powerful, tempting, and terrifying outsiders who others simultaneously fear and wish to be make the Bay ritually primed to harvest massive amounts of curse dice. Ideal for both showing off Heirloom gadgets to potential buyers too - and the fact the ritual dance of the grand caper often also results in the gang walking away with a huge score helps.

And you're sick of it.

This may not be a comic book - not all the so-called Masquers are outright awful people, and many of the more amoral ones are aware that the citizens turn a blind eye mostly to those who provide services the legitimate authorities don't - but let's be honest, it's narrow at best to hope and pray that this gang leader is going to be some kind of friendly chap who just occasionally needs to beat people up, especially when it doesn't mean squat for fixing the city's systemic issues. Hell, the Masquers want it to continue - as long as the cops are on the take, they more or less rule with impunity. To make change in this city - real change - you need to show there's a better way than the villains. That the villains cannot just rule forever.

You are not the first Crows to steal the city's Masques away, but you intend to be among the last...and the city wants you to win. Crows have taken flight before, and no matter how many times they're shot down, they hatch again.