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Copy file name to clipboardExpand all lines: public/roadmap/roadmap.piml
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(priority) High
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(assignee) Gemini
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(created_at) 2026-01-08T14:00:00+03:00
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(notes) Implemented Void Architect achievement.
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(notes) Implemented Void Architect achievement.
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> (issues)
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(id) FEZ-25
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(title) DND Content Expansion
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(description) Added new stories, characters, places, and items sections to the Dungeons & Dragons pages. Includes advanced filtering, modal views, and search functionality.
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(category) Content
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(status) Completed
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(priority) High
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(assignee) Gemini
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(created_at) 2026-01-08T18:00:00+03:00
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(notes) Major content update for Serfs & Frauds campaign.
Copy file name to clipboardExpand all lines: public/stories/characters.piml
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(book) The Chronomancer's Dust
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(description) A master clockmaker who uses ash from destroyed cities to power his Chronometers. He allows people to relive their past, but he never lets them change it.
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(status) Alive (Cynical)
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> (character)
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(name) Dr. Brann Corshield
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(role) Chief Alienist / Villain
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(book) The Sanity Ward
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(description) An immensely egotistical psychiatrist who runs St. Jude's Asylum. Obsessed with his own image (literally) and maintaining "order," he seeks to lobotomize the Sultan of Butterflies to silence her "delusions."
Copy file name to clipboardExpand all lines: public/stories/places.piml
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> (place)
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(name) Corrigan Investigations
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(type) Office
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(category) Residences
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(book) The Broken Path
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(description) A dusty office with a flickering neon sign, smelling of stale smoke and cheap bourbon. The sanctuary of a man fighting his own shadow.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) The Tipsy Lizard
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(type) Tavern
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(category) Establishments
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(book) The Broken Path
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(description) A dive bar where secrets are traded for ale. The kind of place where you wipe your feet on the way out.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) St. Marlowe Hotel
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(type) Inn / Flophouse
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(category) Establishments
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(book) The Broken Path
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(description) A rundown hotel for has-beens and never-weres. Its walls hold more regrets than paint.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) Blade's Clinic
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(type) Medical Facility
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(category) Establishments
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(book) The Tales of Doctor Blade
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(description) A sanctuary of white marble and lavender scent. A place of miraculous healing, and sometimes, quiet death.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) The Lower Ward
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(type) District
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(category) Locations
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(book) The Tales of Doctor Blade
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(description) The poorer district of the city, where an orphanage stands funded by questionable means.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) Craninal
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(type) Town
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(type) City
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(category) Settlements
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(book) The Butterfly's Jest
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(description) A town where truth is a dangerous commodity and the only safe place to speak it is on a comedy stage.
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(description) A city where truth is a dangerous commodity and the only safe place to speak it is on a comedy stage.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) The Laughing Stock
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(type) Comedy Club
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(category) Establishments
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(book) The Butterfly's Jest
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(description) The comedy club where the Sultan of Butterflies performs and gathers her silent army.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) Music Festival Grounds
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(type) Event Location
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(category) Locations
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(book) The Butterfly's Jest
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(description) The site where Hellbound played "Last Breath" and Galarian Freiton took his.
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(status) Inactive
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> (place)
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(name) Glareach
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(type) City
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(category) Settlements
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(book) The Sins of Glareach
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(description) Once a poor town, destroyed in the War of Fourbournes, now rebuilt as a neon-soaked metropolis of casinos and vice. A monument to Aester Cloudwear's greed.
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(status) Active (Corrupt)
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> (place)
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(name) The Clockwork Sanctum
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(type) Workshop / Shop
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(category) Establishments
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(book) The Chronomancer's Dust
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(description) Klaude Barral's workshop in Craninal. A place where the air is thick with the smell of oil and the dust of dead cities, and where every tick of a clock sounds like a funeral bell.
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(status) Active
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> (place)
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(name) St. Jude's Asylum
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(type) Medical Institution / Prison
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(category) Institutions
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(book) The Sanity Ward
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(description) A sterile fortress of white walls and silence, run by Dr. Brann Corshield. It is where the "mad" are sent to be broken and rebuilt in the image of conformity.
**Subject:** The so-called "Sultan of Butterflies" (Widow Freiton)
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**Observer:** Dr. Brann Corshield, Chief Alienist, St. Jude’s Asylum
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I looked up from my desk. On the opposite wall, the oil painting of me receiving the "Key to Craninal" seemed to nod in agreement. It is a magnificent piece, capturing the steel in my eyes, the commanding set of my jaw. It is one of three hundred and twelve portraits I have commissioned. A man of my intellect *should* be documented. Future generations will need reference material when they build statues in my honor.
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I adjusted my silk tie in the reflection of the silver tea service—another portrait, fleeting but perfect.
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"She is a cancer," I dictated to my trembling stenographer. "A chaotic anomaly in the ordered mind of our society."
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The widow Freiton. She calls herself a comedian. A revolutionary. I call her what she is: a hysteric. A broken woman who could not process the simple, natural death of her husband and instead invented a fairy tale about glowing energy and government assassins.
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And the people... the sheep... they listen to her! They wear those ridiculous pins. They laugh at her jokes as if they are scripture. It is an insult to Reason. It is an insult to *me*.
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I am the architect of the public mind. I have cured the unruly. I have silenced the loud. When Aester Cloudwear—a man of vision, almost my equal—came to me with concerns about her "cult," I assured him the solution was clinical, not criminal.
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Martyrs are made by bullets. Madwomen are unmade by white walls and quiet rooms.
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I walked to the window, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. Impeccable.
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"Draft the warrant," I commanded. "Cite 'Public Endangerment' and 'Acute Delusional Paranoia.' We will bring her here. To St. Jude's."
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I turned to the portrait above the fireplace—Me, in a toga, holding the scales of Justice.
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"I will not just lock her up," I whispered to my painted self. "I will dismantle her. I will peel away the 'Sultan' layer by layer until only the weeping widow remains. And when she finally admits that Galarian Freiton died of a weak heart, I will be there to accept her apology."
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I smiled. It was a dazzling smile. I really must have a painter capture this lighting.
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"The Butterflies think they are free," I said, picking up a scalpel from my tray. "But every insect looks better pinned under glass."
**Gözlemci:** Dr. Brann Corshield, Baş Alienist, St. Jude Tımarhanesi
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Masamdan başımı kaldırdım. Karşı duvarda, "Craninal'ın Anahtarı"nı alırken resmedildiğim yağlı boya tablo onaylarcasına başını sallıyor gibiydi. Gözlerimdeki çeliği, çenemin o emredici duruşunu yakalayan muazzam bir eser. Sipariş ettiğim üç yüz on iki portreden biri. Benim zekamdaki bir adam belgelenmeli. Gelecek nesiller onuruma heykeller dikerken referans malzemesine ihtiyaç duyacaklar.
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Gümüş çay takımının yansımasında ipek kravatımı düzelttim—başka bir portre, geçici ama kusursuz.
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"O bir kanser," diye dikte ettim titreyen stenografıma. "Toplumumuzun düzenli zihninde kaotik bir anomali."
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Dul Freiton. Kendine komedyen diyor. Devrimci diyor. Ben ona neyse onu diyorum: bir histerik. Kocasının basit, doğal ölümünü işleyemeyen ve bunun yerine parlayan enerji ve hükümet suikastçıları hakkında bir peri masalı uyduran kırık bir kadın.
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Ve insanlar... o koyunlar... onu dinliyorlar! O gülünç rozetleri takıyorlar. Şakalarına sanki kutsal metinmiş gibi gülüyorlar. Bu Akla bir hakaret. Bu *bana* bir hakaret.
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Ben kamu zihninin mimarıyım. Asileri iyileştirdim. Gürültücüleri susturdum. Aester Cloudwear—vizyon sahibi bir adam, neredeyse benim dengim—onun "tarikatı" hakkındaki endişeleriyle bana geldiğinde, ona çözümün kriminal değil, klinik olduğu konusunda güvence verdim.
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Şehitler mermilerle yaratılır. Deli kadınlar ise beyaz duvarlar ve sessiz odalarla yok edilir.
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Pencereye yürüdüm, camdaki yansımama bir göz attım. Kusursuz.
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"Emri hazırla," diye emrettim. "'Kamu Güvenliğini Tehlikeye Atma' ve 'Akut Sanrısal Paranoya' maddelerini ekle. Onu buraya getireceğiz. St. Jude'a."
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Şöminenin üzerindeki portreye döndüm—Ben, toga giymiş, Adalet terazisini tutarken.
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"Onu sadece kilitlemeyeceğim," diye fısıldadım boyalı benliğime. "Onu parçalarına ayıracağım. Sadece ağlayan dul kalana kadar 'Sultan'ı katman katman soyacağım. Ve sonunda Galarian Freiton'un zayıf bir kalpten öldüğünü itiraf ettiğinde, özrünü kabul etmek için orada olacağım."
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Gülümsedim. Göz kamaştırıcı bir gülümsemeydi. Bir ressama bu ışığı kesinlikle yakalatmalıyım.
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"Kelebekler özgür olduklarını sanıyorlar," dedim, tepsimden bir neşter alarak. "Ama her böcek camın altında iğnelendiğinde daha iyi görünür."
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