Something is wrong with the spirits of the city. The creatures that are spawned from the city itself have started… vanishing.
It began small. An imp tribe from a rubbish ground, a dryad from her lamppost, a neonfly hatching ground from the sodium lamps that hugged the edge of the sub-stations. But then the larger spirits began to disappear too, the old canal wyverns that lurk beneath the scum of still waters; the gargoyles from the sides of the churches, crab-clawed boilerbugs that scuttle through the pipes at night, the queen of the cats with her one missing eye and half-chopped tail; King Fox from his overgrown inner city court. The shamans called out for them, the Friendlies walked the streets in the lonely hours of the night, trying to find them. But where there was once noise, teaming life bustling just beneath the surface of reality, now there is silence.
The city is dying a death of a thousand tiny cuts, the creatures that give it life, disappeared into nothing.
And we cannot stop it.
– Report from the Minority Council of the Aldermen, 2/99BI-C