Noms

From "Noms Tourism Guide"

"This is a place like any other, friend. A city on the brink of survival, struggling needlessly through the apogee of the echo-cromomatic age. Barely breathing above the surface of a lake of fire molten running down your throat so you cant even scream or nothing; trapped under the bedrock never to be found again. The street here is paved in sorrow, just like everywhere else friend. Broken silhouettes slide shiftlessly through blank corridors; never quite pushing up to the sun. Dead eyes sit in rotted sockets, but yet still live lingers on tediously within. Stench rises up like from the graves of the dismembered and shit-ridden, lines upon lines, upon lines of tenement house buildings, packed full of starving, indolent, shit ridden children, uneducated, snipped of spontaneous reproduction as a service to the state, they scream like folding pigs in glass abattoirs, burning, pushing, churning up from the fires of the Glakkisemesh Pit, sent aimless into the world, starved for an angry birth; slit eyed and stinking they course the pavemented, aligned avenues like winter ghosts; friend, this is a place where your dream already went, long before, and deigned to die.
    That of course is what you might call, a poetic description of the city of Noms; sat deep south on the Valosian coast against the warm waters of the Nomarian Sea, with its ancient palisade walls, winding streets, stone and mudbrick bulidngs, and even a sort of (half collapsed) tunnel system, all from a long lost era of man. Such  records have long been forgotten, lost, or simply destroyed. And I wouldn't be bringing it up too much to your local Security Bearuea, unless you're ready for abrupt awakenings in the dead of night by trained militia men in black masks with rifles telling you to "stop asking so many damn questions." I know all about that; masqurade balls and polotical shills for favors and status ranking. All to get the cold barrel steel of a muzzle against your temple and a kind "back the fuck off. We have your mother in custody," before disapearing back into the night from when they came. Its what you might call one of the risks of the job." - Walter Pennick