The Old Ones
Everyone knows how the city of Salt-In-Wounds came about, but for those who have not visited in person it is difficult to guess the scale of the place. It is even harder for outsiders to understand how wholly the economic engine of butchering the bound Tarrasque has transformed the society of Salt in Wounds in addition to the surrounding landscape. Upon approach to the city, the first thing a traveler will note is the sounds of the monster screaming. Its roar echoes for dozens of leagues, and the ground occasionally trembles as the creature at the core of Salt in Wounds thrashes. Most times the God-Butchers and Marrow Miners keep the creature unconscious, but even they – in day and night toil of eternal butchery – cannot keep the massive beast insensate for every hour. Much of the profit from this butchery enriches The Binder Lords. Most of these hereditary oligarchs can trace their lineage back to the original adventurer heroes who bound the Tarrasque; their authority derived from knowledge of one of the 13 Command Words that can release one of the immoveable harpoons which keep the Tarrasque bound. Rumors of the decadent excesses of these aristocrats run rampant throughout the city, the most salacious of which involve secret orgies fueled by blood wine where biting, cutting, & feral bloodletting intermingling with the carnal merging of bodies – a cacophony of violence, hunger, and lust that can last for as long as the blood wine continues to flow. The war with Salt-In-Wounds has disrupted the Imperial supply of Ambergris – it is up to Flotsam to make up this deficiency.