A peoples' city, full of life and color and folks of every economic class. There are thieves, whores, thieving whores, pimps, bakers, butchers, gigolos, killers, saviors, and every other sort one could possible hope to meet or not. It is life at its most purposeful; day, to day, to day. The architecture here is simplistic; the wealthy own homes of mud and brick, the poor gather in donated hut or colorful tents beside the wide, cobblestone streets, and the average man or woman may be found in a simple house of wood. A satellite city of Evilingus, this place provides a fair portion of the nubile flesh its greater sibling requires. In Dastard, the thieves' guild and scattered clergy command the greatest power. It is said that the demon queen Ulalume favors this city as it, unlike the scattered towns of the Wild Moors, has never fallen to the fangs of Impossible's horrors.

---

Wildwood Inn-Sanitorium - the entrance to Impossible.

Evilingus - the capital of Impossible, a fortress city of great mercantile and religious expression.
Dastard - a middle class to poor city outside Evilingus.
Wild Moors - the untamed countryside of Impossible.

---

Ari is terrified as she runs towards the sound of the dead screaming. Terrified, and pulling out a big gun, but still not stopping. She's several levels of pale.

Outside, things are wrecked. Bazaar tents are capsized, people are still running, but no one's screaming; they're all holding their breath. And the air flows in a lazy, moldy haze, thick and pungent.

At the center of the haze, a charred Shigoriath stands hunched over, his head turned at a sickening angle, tongue lolling, barbs pulsating. A sword protrudes from his back, buried to the hilt, and its owner lies on the ground nearby. Half of him, anyway.

Ari shudders a little at the sight...the gun is raised as she approaches cautiously, covering her mouth and nose with a cloth.

The sorcerer lich looks up at her.

"Again, you," he barely croaks, his voice a gurgling hiss. "The light is mine."

The wyvern quakes inwardly to see that he's still alive...but her face is resolute, gun poised. "No. Too many good things are perverted for horrible uses every day already."

Shigoriath gurgles again.

"He's barely alive," Trenton notes. "He'll be slow. We need to get to the summit, Ari."

Ari trembles, still. She wants to pull the trigger. She so does. But...she can't bring herself to. Not unless it's self-defense. Tears of frustration stinging her eyes, she nods, and starts running that way.

Almost as if insulted, Shigoriath's wailing howl roars over the village. There are no people in the area, now; all have fled.

Trenton is with Ari every step, of course. "Don't worry, we'll figure him out," he assures her. "Besides, I kind of have a plan."

She smiles at him a bit. "Tell me?"

"She said there was a dragon on the mountain. A dragon, you know? Shigoriath isn't moving fast. Nothing lives through being digested."

The mountain rises high ahead of them, in the center of the Wild Moors.