How do you kill a place? I mean, you can knock a building down – but people will tend to put it back up, if they need it, and if they're used to the idea that it's there and that it's useful to have it there. The place is still the place, even if the building is new. In Sarajevo in the 90s, the fruit-and-veg market downtown persisted through the Serbian siege, even when there was next to no food in the city to buy and sell – and even when it was hit with mortars repeatedly, and even when those mortar attacks were horrific enough that they were what finally triggered NATO intervention. Even after the war, when relative comfort returned and the process of memorialising began, the marketplace stayed a marketplace, and the memorial there now is surprisingly unobtrusive.
which I talked about before, turned an imperial palace into a city and the emperor's domed mausoleum into a cathedral, which is thus the oldest in Europe. Spaces for performance and entertainment persist like this too – performances like public executions, say, or fights, or plays: theatres used to be bywords for fire hazards and yet they were always rebuilt (which is why so many of them are called the Phoenix). London is full of pubs and theatres that used to be cockpits, bearpits and the like. Lots of them are still called that. Places and their purposes persist.
Having a party kill a place would be a good urban quest. Anyone with a moderate amount of
In the centre of Chirica is a web of buildings by the long-dead occult architect Karint Sphora, who lives on through her works, influencing the commerce and conduct of the populace for purposes unknown to any other. Her students and enthusiasts wittingly and unwittingly sustain her creations and their purposes, but there are others in the great city working to loosen the grasp of her dead masonry hand. They will hire the party to make sure that nobody ever wants to buy or sell under the convoluted iron vaults of the Nail Market again: to empty the House of the High Tallow of its pyrotheist sect: to put an end once and for all to the savage, revolutionary cabaret played every night for coppers at the Wheelwright's Rest: to dry up the mouths of the great, coiling masonry serpents at the Ninefold Fountain forever.