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monsters get afterlife trials too (new D&D setting)
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This window is divided into sixteen identical rectangles. When Livie and Zekt enter the room, all of them are working together to display a single view, looking out from a high tower across a shining city that stretches to the horizon. Tree-lined avenues stretch between tall buildings of white stone, which give way to aqueducts, canals, and parks. Light streams from every window and street corner, and each arch, column, and dome is placed with care, working in harmony with the elements around it. Winged shapes, tiny against this magnificent backdrop, swoop through the sky. 

As they approach, the windows shimmer and change. The four in the centre now display a smaller version of a similar skyline—although an attentive viewer can easily notice that none of the same landmarks appear.

Around the edges, the remaining twelve panes each display an individual scene from closer to ground level, sometimes inside buildings. A winged person speaks to a crowd gathered in a square. Blue-skinned traders hawk their wares from market stalls. A group of people who seem to be on fire (and not at all bothered about this) are hard at work making a steel girder. This pane shows a courtroom; this one shows an auction house; this one is pointed at a construction site from across a busy street. 

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Zekt stares. 

"That's so many people." More people than she's seen in her whole life, not just 'at once' but at all. 

 

 

She can't help but notice that none of them are troglodytes—although, on closer inspection, none of them look like any other species she's familiar with either. And, to be fair, she doesn't look like a troglodyte herself right now, what with being an insubstantial ball of light. 

"Can it show specific people?" she asks. 

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"No, sorry. The views are from specifically enchanted windows on the other end; we can't just look at anything we want. You probably wouldn't recognise your friend if you saw her, anyway," she adds gently, guessing why Zekt asked. "She'll have a new body, like everyone else, and won't look anything like how you remember her." 

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"So that's why I don't recognise any of those species? Makes sense. What's with the ones who're on fire?" 

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"Those are azers. They're not so much on fire as...made of fire, almost? Their bodies are generating the flames."

Being familiar with what people tend to worry about, Livie adds, "It doesn't hurt them or anything, and if they decide they don't like being on fire they can put it out—although that would hurt them—or leave that body and get a new one that isn't an azer." 

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"Can't imagine why anyone would want to be on fire on purpose, even if it didn't hurt. Is it useful for something?" 

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"My understanding—I've never tried it myself—is that it's useful for working with heated metal and other molten materials, because you don't get burned by those either." 

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Zekt looks at the window again. The azers are shaping red-hot metal with their bare hands, and Zekt isn't an expert—has never seen metal forged, in fact—but that looks like it would be a bad idea for anyone who wasn't immune to burns. 

"What are they making?" 

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Livie squints at the window. 

"I'm not sure. I don't know much about metalwork. It looks big, so it's probably going to be a part of something big, like a bridge or a ship. Something that helps lots of people, rather than being for one person to use." 

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...one of those words didn't translate. "What's a ship?"

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"Oh, right, you lived in the mountains, didn't you?" 

Livie can...find a window that's showing a river with boats sailing up and down it, and point them out while explaining that a ship is a big boat, bigger than any of the ones they can see through that window at the moment. 

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...honestly, that sounds fake. Not that Zekt thinks Livie is lying; the setup feels wrong for that and there'd be no point anyway. It's just so far outside Zekt's experience of the world that it feels made up. 

"Boats and ships. Okay." 

She goes back to watching the windows. 

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The windows cycle through different views of city life at regular intervals. All of them are public spaces, full of people going about their daily business. Most people don't acknowledge the windows, but occasionally someone waves at one. 

This window looks out over a bridge across a river, with carts and pedestrians streaming in both directions while boats pass underneath. This one shows a park where a group of people—some short and hairy, some tall and blue, some with lion's heads—are playing a ball game. This one shows a busy street, where some enterprising street performers have set up directly across from the window and are putting on a play told entirely in mime. This one shows people queuing up to drop tokens through a slot into a large box. 

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"Do they know the windows are there?" Zekt asks, squinting at the street performers. 

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"Oh, yes, they're required by City ordinances to be clearly marked so people know they might be being watched. Obstructing their view is illegal but deliberately arranging yourself to give them a better view isn't, as far as I know." 

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Alright, so everything that can be seen through these windows is what the City wants people to see of it. That makes sense, but is also somehow disappointing. Zekt is abruptly much less interested in the view than she was a moment ago. 

She looks around at the rest of the room. "Can we see the other afterlives here, too?" 

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"Yes, the other three windows are the other afterlives! Which one would you like to see next?" 

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Zekt bobs up and down in the ball-of-light equivalent of a shrug. 

"Might as well see what the Maelstrom is like, I suppose." 

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"Alright, this way!" She leads Zekt over to the opposite wall. 

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In contrast to the neat, identical panes of the City's window, this one looks like someone took a hammer and shattered it, then stuck all the pieces back together in their original places like a jigsaw puzzle. The panes are jagged, irregular shapes, tiny in the middle and larger around the edges. They jump between views erratically, with no discernible pattern. 

Here's a brief glimpse of a handful of winged rock people gathered around a large, writhing red snake that seems to be on fire. Here's a broad vista of a stormy sea, with merfolk dancing in the waves. Here's a thin sliver of the inside of an erupting volcano. Here's a lizard-like humanoid riding a giant crystalline snail through a cave studded with gemstones bigger than their head. 

One of the larger panes is currently devoted to a massive thunderstorm. Tiny winged shapes are tossed around like dolls in the high winds, and the scale is impressive enough when one imagines them to be the size of a troglodyte. Then the winds throw one closer to the window, revealing it to be a dragon easily fifty feet long and prompting a sudden recalculation of the size of the storm. The dragon's maw gapes wide, filling up the pane, and the scene goes dark before switching to a different window. 

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Zekt flits from one view to another, unable to pick one to focus on. 

"—wait, there, riding the snail, was that a troglodyte?" 

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"Probably not; I've never heard of a mortal species being duplicated exactly in the afterlife. But it wouldn't surprise me if there are people in the Maelstrom who want to be reptiles and end up in a form pretty similar to a troglodyte, especially if they used to be one in life."

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"We didn't see any reptile people in the City." 

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"We didn't," Livie acknowledges. "That doesn't mean they don't exist; the City is incredibly big, and what we saw was only a tiny fraction of it. But I don't know them to be especially common." 

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Nod. Back to watching the Maelstrom, trying to piece together an impression of a coherent whole from the chaos. 

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