The Court
Seat of Fontaine's judicial system, where public trials double as civic spectacle — marble halls, high verdicts, higher theater.
Fontaine keeps its courts in marble and its streets in canals. Here's what a traveler ought to know before the tide comes in.
From flooded plazas to floating theaters — a shortlist worth the detour.
Seat of Fontaine's judicial system, where public trials double as civic spectacle — marble halls, high verdicts, higher theater.
A submerged fortress serving as both prison and refuge. Life inside runs on its own quiet economy, far from the sun.
The nation's working port — canals, cranes, and bridges arched high enough for tall-masted ships to pass beneath.
A grand hall reserved for opera, public address, and state occasions. The acoustics carry a whisper to the back row.
Part theater, part research station — a vessel that drifts above the city on the quieter days of the year.
Where the nation's engineers keep the machinery of the flooded districts running, one gear at a time.
The nation's affairs — legal, criminal, and everything between — tend to run through a small circle of names.
The presiding figure of Fontaine's courts and public ceremony — theatrical in manner, exacting in judgment.
A reserved official known across the nation for an almost inhuman consistency in matters of fairness.
Runs the Fortress of Meropide. Calm, pragmatic, and unusually well-liked by those in his charge.
A pair of stage performers whose act blurs the line between trickery and something more real.
Quiet, careful, and most at ease several fathoms down — the sea suits him better than the surface does.
Leads a prominent local trading house and is fiercely protective of the people working under her.
Chronicles the nation's affairs for a local paper — sharp questions, sharper deadlines.
Moves between the city's legal and less-legal circles with equal, unhurried ease.
Much of the city's architecture takes its cues from Belle Époque Paris — wrought iron, glass domes, and a taste for ceremony.
The lower districts flood on a seasonal cycle, and locals plan errands around the tide boards, not the clock.
Public trials are treated as entertainment as much as law — seats fill up early on a big docket day.
The Fortress of Meropide runs almost entirely on its own internal economy, cut off from daylight.