This is the City. In here, struggle brings you down and complicity lifts you up. Valiance, honor, honesty? Whatever moral code you have, it undoubtedly will be your end.
The City has its rules. You may be Rork himself but you follow them. They run through your blood since you are born and until you die. These rules are the dirt under your nails, your wornout soles; the scarlet ribbons of the Summer Festival, the falling stars on a silver night; swishing daggers, clinking coins, St. Edgar's chants, Moira's screams, Shalebridge's lullabies. The City is perilous and scoffing, enticing and evasive, hedonic and wild, and this is the only promise it will keep until the end.
Shall you try to leave it one day, it'll let you go. But it will never ever leave you.

9 tracks