Era Novum
Era Novum thrives in a web of light and sound along The Strip, a nexus where neon reigns and hovercars streak under clash of kaiju and massive buildings of glass and digital steel. Above, the Paradigm Broadcasting orb looms, casting scrolls of news that tentacle through the cityscape. Against this dynamic backdrop, clubs pulse with prismatic hues, their dance floors a mosaic in motion. Meanwhile, a deserter's den echoes in a defunct subway, with graffiti adorning its rugged interior—a mercenary's marketplace born from decay.
Bootlegger Stall, The Strip
Lootlegger Twitchwire's emporium emerges from the chaos, a patchwork palace of scrap metal boasting shelves laden with holographic displays. Each one flickers with the allure of forbidden resources, gear, and trinkets. Devoid of any sign, the stall speaks for itself—a trove where the esoteric meets the illicit, and where the proprietor, questionable character and self-proclaimed esquire, peddles his bootlegged wares with a sly nod and a hidden grin.
DJ Booth, The Strip
The DJ booth commands attention, flashing and disco-fied, a spectacle amid the club's cacophony. There, Solange Gifted sits ready to weave auditory gold. Her name emblazons the booth, a beacon calling to the revelers. Behind, the club stretches out, a playground of light and sound where each beat is a testament to her gifted touch on the turntables.
Hauberk Station, The Strip
An abandoned subway station, converted into a Mercenary Hangout. Cracked and leaking concrete/cement, weeds coming up through crack in the ground. Graffiti dons the walls and makeshift booths line the wall selling their wares.
Haunted Archives of Hauberk Station, The Strip
The haunted archives of Hauberk Station, shrouded in shadows and illuminated by the eerie glow of neon lights, stands as a testament to forgotten technology and desolation.
Neon Street, The Strip
The Strip's main drag pulsates with kaleidoscopic neon, buildings cloaked in shimmering ads and billboards. Pink and purple lights slice through the air, hovercars zip by, and every corner tempts with whispers of quests and treasures. To one side, kaiju clash in Marvel Park; to the other, the Foster Building ignites, its ascent to the stars outshining the urban spectacle below.
Paradigm Broadcasting Corporation, The Strip
Suspended above Neon Street, a colossal orb structure defies gravity, its surface gleaming against the skyline. Emblazoned above, a holographic marque boldly declares "Paradigm Broadcasting Corporation." Circling the floating edifice is a ticker screen, a ribbon of light scrolling endlessly with the eclectic headlines and tales spun from the very fabric of The Paradigm, broadcasting the pulse of a world ensnared by streams of ceaseless information.
The Ethereal Node, The Strip
The club bursts with a spectrum of vivid colors, each hue vying for dominion in the lively expanse. Ethereal sparkles drift through the air, mingling with the beats that pulse from wall to wall. At the heart lies a disco-colorful checkerboard dance floor, tiles alive with the rhythm of shoes and souls intertwined. Overlooking this vibrant ballet, atop a platform bathed in a halo of neon, the DJ booth reigns, the epicenter from which the night's magic is spun.
The Neon Alt+Strike, The Strip
Walking into the Neon Alt+Strike dojo, you half expect to gain XP just for showing up. It’s drenched in neon so bright, you can forget about needing your phone's flashlight. The equipment looks like it survived several apocalypses to be here, serving hardcore training vibes with a side of duct tape. And somewhere, amid the glow, there's a punching bag that's seen more action than your entire gaming career.
The Slop Pot, The Strip
The Slop Pot stands as a culinary mosaic amid the market's commotion, its stall teeming with an assortment of funky fare suspended from the rafters, each with a scribbled sign proclaiming its identity. Amid the organized chaos, a patina of grime clings to every surface, testament to the untold flavors and stories simmering within. Boldly, a swinging sign bearing the stall's name presides over all, inviting the adventurous to sample its chaos-wrought delicacies.
Tutorial, The Strip
The dim confines of a cluttered, too-tiny storage room. You idly wonder if you're going to be eaten by a Grue.
Weapons Stall, The Strip
The stall stands cloaked in matte black and rust, a stark canvas behind which a menacing arsenal is mounted—a declaration of its martial wares. Behind the counter, glass cabinets house rows of ammunition, each bullet a promise of precision. This is the domain of Acidic Leathery, a mercenary whose reputation is as formidable as the firearms she trades. Here in her shadowy niche, the currency is danger, and every exchange whispers tales of battles yet unfought.