Brookies and Breakers - what's the deal with Broken Towerites anyway?

The Broken Tower is Broken. Once upon a time, it might not have been. Those that live here can sometimes catch glimpses of its former glory; of  great silvery archways buried in the rubble, of crystal woods that have been smashed to a glittering shardcrust beneath a shattered dome. But Broken it is, and Broken it remains - so it follows, thus, that the people who seek it out, are broken too.

When seeking to play a Broken Towerite, you have to keep in mind that you're not actually playing a Broken Towerite. By that I mean that there's no Tower to be loyal to, and those that are, are the descendants of those that were there when it first fell, when it was still the Silver Spire. They're called Silverem.

So let's make this clear right off the bat: Silverem are not playable.*

Why? Because they're not quite right. To say that they're not sane would be an injustice to mental sickness, because mental sickness can be cured and worked with - what the Silverem are, really can't be fixed. Something has gone devastatingly wrong with them, with their very essence, and the wild magic has torn them utterly apart - both on the inside and the outside.

Silverem can be seen as ghouls haunting the ruins of the Broken Tower, as suddenly brilliantly beautiful ethereal creatures, and sometimes just pathetic rags cowering in a corner. They're at the utter mercy of their own erratic thoughts, and the Stellaeri does with it as it will. They shuffle through their broken corridors, only to suddenly brust into a supernova of wild magic, and die. 

The ultimate proof of how badly magic can treat you.

Brookies, on the other hand, are something wholly different. Brookies are people that have, for one reason or another, had to flee citadellian authority. They're outlaws, exiles, people that know too little or just too much to be allowed to live within any other Tower's restrictions. They're the children of criminals and beggars, of the underbelly of the Citadel; Brookies are, to put it bluntly, those that just don't have a place.

So they've made the Broken Tower their place!

Brookies live here, in this downright wilderland of unpredictable magic and Silverem hauntings. They've erected small safe-zones, pockets of groupings that are thick with welded akarek-scraps.

For a Brookie, survival is key. They don't have a Tower to be loyal to, so they're loyal to themselves - to their family - to their gang. Scars are worn like medals of pride, and tattooes as a symbol of where and how they belong. They're fiercely protective of those they care about, and anyone who threatens their turf? Those will face the full competence of someone that has created a life in the most dangerous parts of the Citadel.

Due to the harsh reality of the place, Brookies have a way of being strangely open towards strangers. Whereas an Obsidianite will be wary of outsiders and always use trickery, Brookies - while loyal - are quite the opposite. If you find some poor sod treading through the Broken Tower, you don't just leave them there; if you've got any decency, you bring them home. You feed them. And if they prove themselves? Sure, they can stay.

Magic is almost seen as a poison, something disgusting and wretched. Not only is it impossible to practice, as every spell has a way of backfiring or fizzling or worse - Tearing; Brookies see what the Stellaeri can do every day. They don't consider themselves worse for wear because they can't use it; they consider themselves fucking blessed.

In the rare occasion when someone does attempt to Blossom, the experience is often so traumatic and violent that they never try it again. Spellblinds come in heaps and heaps - not that anyone would be able to tell the difference between someone who can't, and someone who just plain won't.

Someone once said that because the Tower is so grey and worthless, someone's gotta bring some colour, eh? Brookies don't come in one shape or size, as they've got roots out of all the Towers, and mixbreeds are almost default - especially from those born in the camps, second-genners.

If everything you own kind of rips at the seams, and it's hard to get good, sturdy clothing - why not make it into a fashion statement? Punk and hardcore is what you're looking for in character design, with studded leather and spraycan-neon colours. Mohawks and shaved heads, with pastel lips and tattooes.

Each gang and camp will often have something that sets them aside from the rest, just so people know where your hood is.

Yes, how to make a living indeed? Most Brookies are multitaskers, that weel and deal whatever they need to in order to make it through the day. The Broken Tower might be a barren hellhole, but it's also home to a lot of fucked up shit that can be sold on the black market.

The one alleyway where Brookies are welcome, whereas they usually need a Tower-ID to pass through the portals, is the Barathrum Pit. In the Pit, they can fight as gladiators or trade off their scavangeing harvest for food and water - both which are hard to come by.

Due to the war, things have been tight lately. While the weapon trade has been booming, most else of the merchant and black market dealer's livelihood has been compromised. Shipments keep getting stuck in the crossfire, the gladiator arena has near-to vanished due to fighters being reqruited for the army...

It ain't easy, livin' the thug life.