I remember the first time I heard the name Paradis. It was whispered in the dimly lit taverns of the Aedyr Empire, a siren song carried on the lips of disillusioned souls. "A place where the sun always shines on a second chance," they'd say, their eyes glazed with a hope so potent it felt like a physical ache in my own chest. In 2026, having finally set foot in the Living Lands myself, I carry that whispered promise with me, a fragile parchment map to a destination that may not exist. The journey here wasn't just across the sea; it was a shedding of skin, an attempt to outrun the ghost of who I was under Aedyr's watchful, judgmental gaze. Their values were a cage of polished marble—beautiful, imposing, and utterly suffocating if you didn't fit the mold. So I left. I chased the dream.
And now, standing before the colossal walls of Paradis on the southwestern coast of Dawnshore, the reality hits me, hard. The city rises from the coast like a mirage, beautiful and distant. The rumors painted it as a sanctuary, a safe haven where the past was just a story you could choose not to tell. For us Aedyran exiles, it was the ultimate fresh start, a chance to rewrite our narratives free from the empire's stern expectations. But the air here doesn't smell of freedom; it smells of salt, sweat, and desperate hope gone slightly sour. From a distance, it’s paradise. Up close, you see the cracks.
Just outside those imposing walls lies the truth they don't put on the brochures. A sprawling shantytown clings to Paradis like a ragged shadow, teeming with souls for whom the dream is perpetually on hold. These are the refugees, the latecomers, the ones for whom the city’s gates remained shut. Living in a makeshift world of scrap and sorrow, they are the living, breathing testament to a promise broken. I walk among them, and their stares are a mixture of resentment and a weary recognition—they see another hopeful fool who sailed across the world for a lie. Making the best of it? That’s a nice way to say surviving in a state of perpetual want. The dream here is to simply get inside, a goal that feels as distant as the stars.
The Harsh Economy of a Broken Promise:
This limbo breeds a certain, grim necessity. When honest work is a privilege reserved for those within the walls, people return to what they know. The beautiful, untamed beaches and forests of Dawnshore, once just scenery, have become a thriving ecosystem of desperation. It’s the law of the jungle, quite literally.
| Denizen of Dawnshore | Trade | Haunt |
|---|---|---|
| The Smuggler | Moving "unofficial" goods past the city watch. | Hidden coves & moonlit beaches. 🌊 |
| The Thief | Liberating valuables from travelers and hopefuls. | Crowded market approaches & forest paths. |
| The Bandit | More direct, violent acquisition. | The dense woods lining the main roads. 🌲 |
This isn't just a few bad apples; it's a whole rotten orchard that's sprung up from the fertile soil of neglect. The paradise of the pamphlets has a very real, very dangerous price of admission.
And what of life within the walls? I secured passage, my heart pounding with a foolish, reignited hope. But Paradis is a city of stark contrasts, a tale of two cities woven into one. There are districts where wealth drips from the balconies like honey, where the dream seems to have been delivered. But turn a corner, and the facade crumbles.
Here, the danger is more organized, more brazen. Gangs like the Sparrowhawks don't hide in the woods; they own the streets. I've seen them operate in plain sight—a slick, intimidating confidence as they move contraband, shake down merchants, and leave trouble in their wake. The stories aren't just stories; I watched a man fall to their blades in a fog-drenched alley over a disputed debt. The city watch? They seem to look the other way, their presence a formality. The law inside Paradis is fluid, often for sale to the highest bidder or the most intimidating thug. The oppression we fled in Aedyr was institutional, a cold, bureaucratic weight. Here, it’s personal, chaotic, and wears the face of your neighbor.
So this is Paradis in 2026. My personal odyssey. It’s not heaven or hell, but a painful, beautiful purgatory. It’s the shimmering port that could be everything, standing defiantly against the wilderness of the Living Lands. It’s the heartbreaking squalor pressed against its flawless stone. It’s the desperate crime born of broken promises and the arrogant crime born of impunity.
The dream of Paradis is real. I’ve met people living it in the upper districts, sipping wine and laughing without looking over their shoulders. But for every one of them, there are ten in the shantytown, and five in the gangs, for whom the dream is a commodity to be stolen or a weapon to be wielded. I came here seeking a new life, and perhaps I’ll find it. But now I know the cost. Paradis doesn’t erase your past; it forces you to confront it on its own merciless terms. You don't find a fresh start here—you fight for it, tooth and nail, in the shadow of a beautiful, broken dream. This is the real Living Lands. Welcome to paradise. It’s gonna be one hell of a ride.
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