Strata is the ice-rimed carpeted streets of Amaranth where high elf dilettantes fund revolutionary cells for sport. Strata is being blessed by the Spire Herself and watching, helpless, as ash-grey roses burst from your skin. Strata is a pulp author with a gun who knows the occult power of purple prose. Strata is a drow so deep in service to the goddess they have burned their identity on a funeral pyre as tribute to her.
Strata is rescuing thirty drugged and mutilated drow from a wicked sculptor-surgeon. It is fighting for what little you’ve got when the police try to take it away from you. It is stumbling blind through the backstreets of Pilgrim’s Walk, hoping your handler doesn’t sell you out to your enemies as a bargaining chip.
Strata is higher highs and lower lows. Strata is the next evolution of Spire, digging deeper into the secrets of the city, and offering more ways to fight for what you believe in.
