Castra Deposita
Location: Outlands / Wandering burg
In the Outlands, there’s a burg that’s more of a moving fortress than a place to call kip. Castra Deposita, they call it, the Stricken Camp. It ain’t like any burg you’ve seen before. This place roams the Outlands like a hungry wolf, always on the prowl, searchin’ for burgs teetering on the edge of slippin’ from one plane to the next.
Now, who runs this gritty camp? It’s the Doomguard, of course cutter. That bunch of fatalists who see beauty in decay and reckon that helpin’ shift the terrain will erode the boundaries of the Outer Planes a little bit more. They believe in entropy, see, the slow crumble and decay of everything. To them, helpin’ a place slide from one plane to another is like givin’ the Multiverse another gentle nudge towards its inevitable end. The Sinkers hear about a burg that’s teetering on the edge and immediately up sticks, heading for the vacillating town. When they get there, they set up shop, spreading chaos, or destruction, whatever it takes to amp up the local tensions enough for the burg to slide over into a neighbouring plane.
‘Course, they only send burgs towards the Lower Planes or the Planes of Chaos—imagine the Sinkers trying to send a burg to Mechanus! No, they only know one thing, and that’s spreading the entropy of destruction. But they’ve been successful. Chant goes that the Sinkers of the Castra have pushed more than a handful of burgs off the edge, including Plague-Mort of the Undead.
The camp itself is a quite the sight—they’ve got tents, wagons, and temporary structures all rigged for travel and toughness. No fluff, no finery, just stark functionality. And frankly it’s seen better days, the whole place looks like it’s falling apart. The Doomguard aesthetic see, they truly live and breathe their mission. In every rusted iron spike and every taut (if fraying) rope, you can see their commitment to the cause of spreading entropy.
And the atmosphere? It’s heavy, cutter. Dark and intense, like a storm cloud ready to burst. You walk through Castra Deposita, and you can feel the weight of its purpose. It’s a gritty camp driven by a philosophy as old and relentless as time—the slow, steady march towards decay and destruction.
Source: Alex Roberts and Jon Winter-Holt, mimir.net
