The twin suns shone brightly above the hazy green skies of Vombarf. The massive, ancient city—built from bone and chitin—was as ugly as ever; the structures crumbling and leaning, barely held together by hardened mucus and living flesh. The tribalistic monsters and mutants that made up the city's denizens were beginning to wake. Plumes of smoked meat wafting out of carapace huts; orcs gathering around the Corpse Cliffs to relieve themselves and chat about last night's grog; Tentacled creatures wriggling through the trash-laden walkways brushing their slick tentacles against everything in sight; insectoid broods gathering around their bloated bug-mothers for the precious ichor of their teats. The vile and violent city of Vombarf was home to all things grotesque and dangerous...
Jirn's bone hut creaked; the rumbling steps of a giant transport beetle's tarsus shook him from slumber as it scuttled by. The slender goblin stumbled to his feet, taking a swig of slug-splat from his canteen shell. He peaked inside his biofridge—the living container was empty.
"Fuckin' cursed, I is," Jirn muttered, scratching his long ears with frustration.
Jirn puttered out of his squalid abode, greeting the twin suns of morning with a stretch. The sounds and stenches of Vombarf filled his nostrils. The moist thoroughfare squelched as all manner of creatures passed by—some on their way to the steaming amniotic springs, some to the cliffs or the azure fungus forest to forage, others just wandering, drinking, fighting and screwing.
Jirn watched