Travelers do not forget the city of Brucca, for it is a city unlike any other. Part a city of land and part a city of water, the Brucca sits many stories in the air, its smudge gray buildings weighing heavily upon an ancient bridge that towers over the river Osarre.
Impressions of Brucca are best from afar and it is not unusual, on young spring days, to find countless travelers picnicking on the hillside slopes beyond the town. Inside the city gates, however, the impressions of distant Brucca give way to convoluted streets and shadows. In this gray-hued prison, men are not afforded the light reflected off of the river- for the apartment towers and shops crowd the ledge. The storefronts are stacked with towers of charcoal newspapers and the grim and crowded alleyways jut off the main street, draining lost men and vagrants into the river.
Travelers report that they have been to Brucca, ambled along the coastal road up and over the great bridge. They will have no sketches of the city up close. Like some men, Brucca strikes an impression wonderous and dreamlike from afar, but up close, appears to be rotting and pockmarked and lightless.