Zherisia

Zherisia is a domain of gaslamp gloom, desperate civility, and rot beneath a polished veneer. Its lone city, Paridon, sprawls under a sky of ash-colored clouds, cloaked in drizzle and rising smog. The buildings of black brick and oxidized iron stand packed together like mourners at a funeral. Cobblestone streets glisten wet, not from rain, but from the blood, bile, and ink that leak from the cracks in this decaying society.

Once hailed as a beacon of progress and prosperity, Paridon has become a place where each day teeters on the brink of chaos, and each night erases the unworthy.

Paridon is defined by tension. Factories churn smoke into the sky but produce nothing of real value. Artisans labor, but their goods are hoarded or stolen. Food is scarce, yet feasts are rumored behind aristocratic gates. People speak in whispers, because no one knows who’s real anymore.

Every night, people vanish—workers, scholars, guards, even families. Their homes are found in perfect order, meals half-eaten, beds undisturbed. No signs of struggle. Just silence.

Most citizens believe they are being taken by the Skin Thieves, shapeshifting killers who replace their victims and wear their lives like costumes. Others suspect the ruling class, who benefit too well from fear and secrecy.

Some say the truth is far worse: no one was real to begin with.

Zherisia’s Darklord is Sodo, the first of the doppelgängers—a creature of shifting flesh and shattered identity who has lived for untold generations, discarding persona after persona. Once, Sodo ruled Paridon from behind a thousand faces, manipulating progress and policy alike. But now, he cannot remember who he was.

Driven mad by centuries of deceit and self-replication, Sodo stalks Paridon’s catacombs and sewers, hunting those he suspects may be doppelgängers like himself. But even he cannot be sure whether his fears are real or merely projections of his fractured mind.

Sodo is cursed to chase truth in a city where everything lies, to mold Paridon into a place where only he survives—and even then, not as himself.

Each day, Paridon erupts into protest—workers’ unions striking for wages that no longer exist, riots over moldy bread, neighborhood watches searching for impostors. The city guard is underpaid, overworked, and deeply afraid.

A single act of mistaken identity can spark a firestorm. Paranoia spreads faster than disease. Propaganda fills the broadsheets. Trust is a memory, and community is a liability.