"Stadtplan" gibt es keinen. Die Queststapel werden einfach irgendwo auf dem Tisch in Reichweite plaziert. Dieser Bereich ist dann die "Stadt".
In dem Thread auf BGG sollte auch ein Link zum MCG-Forum sein. Dort hat sich der User "Redmick" bereiterklärt, das Schreiben der Erzähltexte zu übernehmen. Als Beispiel hat er dort seinen Intro-Text für den Mod gepostet. Ich copy / paste das hier mal dazu.
Around the flickering, hissing and crackling campfire, a pensive group of seamed faces stare into the dancing flames with rheumy eyes. Hands clenched around the handles of jugs of ale, or resting on creaky knees, these venerable old-timers reflect on past glories and, filled with foreboding, whisper about the times ahead.
As flurries of snow drift down from the leaden sky, and the ground freezes in the jaws of winter, so the men swap stories of when they were young, and filled with the spirit of adventure, threw back the shadows through their courage, strength and tenacity. Now, wrinkled and descending into the sere, it is time for others to take up arms against the Darkness.
For indeed, Darkness has come into the world. Everyone feels it. From the farmer, staring across the felled clearing towards the shadowed eaves of the forest; to the lordling, staring from the crenellated tower of his city keep out into the mist-wreathed moors; to the women sewing nets together by the flinty shores of the turgid rushing river; to the caravan boy, wobbling on the stoop, passing slowly across the yawning mountain pass. It is a nip in the air, the smell of burning borne on the wind, in the phlegmatic cough of the dying and the rising weirdness around the borders of formally civilised lands.
In the cities, shadowy shapes flit down the alleys and splash through the nocturnal sewers, sharp blades clutched in scabbed paws; the Grubbers are on the march some say, drums beating in the rolling hills north of Three Rivers; below the stagnant mire the hatcheries of the crawlers disgorge leathery black eggs, seeding chitinous monstrosities beneath the soil; and under black stone spires, the ministers of the damned sing anthems of the dead, rousing things best left in shadow.
Behind all of this, a cold intelligence with a burning will, which has waited in the void for too long, with the patience of aeons, plots its final coronation. It is time for new legends to be crafted, and for heroes of the light to step forth and offer a spark of hope, a candle flame in the inky pool of night.
So it is that you all travelled north, hitching a lift on a cart for the last half a mile. The glum murmuring of the trader is an accompaniment to the rolling squeak of the wheels. Yet, despite the dour company you are all fired with the spirit of adventure. As the horse clops across the cobbles of the bridge, and under the arch of the wall and into the frontier town, you prepare to meet with Marcus. The call to fight had been shouted in the villages and towns of the south - the threat was clear - Marcus, the bold - some say foolhardy - had raised a militia. Now, they are calling him 'the Ready' - but you remember simpler days when the only fighting he did was to heave the grinding wheel at the village mill. You intend to see what you can do to help - and maybe, just maybe, you will make your fortune or your name in this darkening land.
Text by Redmick