HOLLOWS of ROACH CITY - In January of 1693, a group of 150 settlers led by Reginald Graves journeyed across the countryside in an effort to escape persecution at the hands of the puritanical establishment. After 100 days, the group exited the Deadland Desert through a small mountain pass into a valley. This valley, or hollow, as the settlers referred to it, would come to be known as Graves’ End. Within a century, two more thriving communities developed along the Purify River. Graves’ End, joined by Nohaven and Dogsbody became a formidable society and thriving trading post.
By 1800, the residents of the three communities began to refer to themselves as The Hollows of the Purify. Despite their respectable growth, many outsiders found the citizens of this society to be much less than respectable. Outside traders conducting business within the seaport often referred to The Hollows by another moniker… Roach City. Eventually, the whole of the outside world began to know the area by this name.
In 1843, The Hollows of the Purify, created a unified mayoral government and in true fashion, officially adopted the name Roach City. In 1867 and subsequently 1937, Highborn and Scarlet Pointe would join the ranks of Roach City’s Hollows. Conducted as a mayor/council system, all five hollows are comprised of districts, each represented by an elected councilman. Each hollow council appoints a lead council as its voice within the city government.
Each of the five hollows brings its own unique history and culture to Roach City, defining this diverse society as a melting pot of social and commercial necessities. It has been said that each hollow has played a major role in forming the powerful municipality that Roach City has become. This understanding was effectively reflected in the poem Carnal Harlot circa 1976 by famed Roach City poet Evana Roadman.
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Carnal Harlot
by Evana Roadman
Roach City, carnal harlot, passionately strong-willed;
manipulates her customers until her soul is filled.
Her head, her heart, her tongue, her backbone and her legs;
each one supports the other to satisfy the dregs.
Graves' End is the head from which her method was born;
once her method took hold, the head no more than a thorn
Nohaven is her throbbing heart, it beats with wanton lust;
it pulses blood through every inch, her feet, her hands, her bust.
Highborne, her inviting tongue, charming men with each allure;
betrays herself from time to time showing she is not so pure.
Dogsbody is her backbone, gives her strength to persevere;
she walks the streets and does her job without a hint of fear.
Scarlet Pointe, her restless legs, open for all to desire;
she'll walk to you when you have left, and coerce you to rehire.
Roach City, carnal harlot, steadfast in her ways;
at times a greedy high priced whore, the client always pays.
On March 3rd of 1983, at Punition Penitentiary, a copy of Cities of America: Anthology was found in the prison cell of Kelvin Stuart Deniman. Among the works published within the anthology was Evana Roadman’s Carnal Harlot. Opened to that very page, the book was found on the floor beneath the convict’s dangling feet. Fashioning his blanket into a noose, Kelvin Stuart Deniman had hung himself in his cell. Scratched into the wall beside him was his response to Evana’s verse -
The Mother’s Prodigy
by Kelvin Stuart Deniman
The whore was raised with good intentions
Or so the story goes
Salem was her birthplace
The womb from which she rose
The rebel child she broke away
With wounds still on the mend
Driven by her righteous thoughts
From her head known as Graves’ End
Once so pure and true
Overcome with black of night
Seeking comfort from the dark
By the glow of a red light
Nohaven is the blood of her veins
Like a river of broken dreams
Sirens wailing through the night
Though she doesn’t hear their screams
Highborn is her throat, her mouth
From which the whore she moans
Expressing all her wretched thoughts
As if they were our own
The waste that is Dogsbody
The back on which she lay
The sweating, panting, red-faced whore
Growing uglier everyday
Scarlet Pointe, the open legs
The rotten stench of home
Yet no one smells the difference
It’s all we’ve ever known
The whore, she is our Mother
The teacher of our lives
Everything we’ve ever learned
Our fists, our guns, our knives
I am my Mother’s prodigy
Another bastard Son
She fought to build me in her image
I’m sad to say she won
