BittyBobcat
Llama hand
It does not rain in the city of Theb.
Floodplains may leave windows facing walls of water for weeks on end and the mud-caked ground may arguably be more liquid than earth, but these are all problems of the outside—it does not rain in the city of Theb. The glistening mountain of a city is surprisingly dry for its surroundings (though, there isn't a single wall that hasn't known water damage). Sure, leaks occur here and there, but the build team (colloquially, and unfortunately, known as "the Pluggers") is quick and thorough, and those that reside in the lower-cost housing toward the outer areas of the city have long since grown accustomed to the smell of mold... a smell which hangs thickly in the air surrounding the Western gate, the aptly-named main entrance to Theb.
Between the mud layering the floor and the winds roaring against the walls, it's hard to tell where the outside ends and the city begins, but a large, domed building sparkling with inlaid gold is enough to show the mark of civilization.
Voices raised in argument over which shipment was received when. Cargo thumping against the floor as it's removed from its too-small container. The thundering creak of the gate as its winch pulls its doors achingly open and shut. The Guildhouse is always brimming with activity and noise which echoes down its ornate halls. The structure has been built in to the entrance, forcing any who walks through it to face the judgement of the Travelers' Guild before they may go about their business in the city. In recent months, it's been even busier than usual as more and more materials for Theb's infamous railway project arrive.
Directly through the main hall of the Guildhouse—through which most visitors pass—lies the Candlelit Market. Filled with enchanted candles that float lazily through the air and never seem to go out, the market is lit at all times of day (and, with 'time' being as arbitrary as it is within a rock-roofed city, crowded with people equally as often). Travelers, both Guild-certified and not, rent out colorful stalls to sell their wares to a myriad of customers that come from the furthest reaches of the city to have first pick on foreign goods while less overt deals are made through whispers, covered boxes, and poorly-carved passageways that no city plans ever included.
Here—in this patchwork crowd of those wealthy enough to afford custom shipments from beyond the city's walls and those forced to pickpocket for the coin that will buy their next meal, of Travelers who would be more comfortable in a frozen tundra than a market square and city-dwellers who have walked more on carved marble streets that they know like the back of their hand than dirt, and of people with skin, fur, and scales of every color—we gather our party.
Floodplains may leave windows facing walls of water for weeks on end and the mud-caked ground may arguably be more liquid than earth, but these are all problems of the outside—it does not rain in the city of Theb. The glistening mountain of a city is surprisingly dry for its surroundings (though, there isn't a single wall that hasn't known water damage). Sure, leaks occur here and there, but the build team (colloquially, and unfortunately, known as "the Pluggers") is quick and thorough, and those that reside in the lower-cost housing toward the outer areas of the city have long since grown accustomed to the smell of mold... a smell which hangs thickly in the air surrounding the Western gate, the aptly-named main entrance to Theb.
Between the mud layering the floor and the winds roaring against the walls, it's hard to tell where the outside ends and the city begins, but a large, domed building sparkling with inlaid gold is enough to show the mark of civilization.
Voices raised in argument over which shipment was received when. Cargo thumping against the floor as it's removed from its too-small container. The thundering creak of the gate as its winch pulls its doors achingly open and shut. The Guildhouse is always brimming with activity and noise which echoes down its ornate halls. The structure has been built in to the entrance, forcing any who walks through it to face the judgement of the Travelers' Guild before they may go about their business in the city. In recent months, it's been even busier than usual as more and more materials for Theb's infamous railway project arrive.
Directly through the main hall of the Guildhouse—through which most visitors pass—lies the Candlelit Market. Filled with enchanted candles that float lazily through the air and never seem to go out, the market is lit at all times of day (and, with 'time' being as arbitrary as it is within a rock-roofed city, crowded with people equally as often). Travelers, both Guild-certified and not, rent out colorful stalls to sell their wares to a myriad of customers that come from the furthest reaches of the city to have first pick on foreign goods while less overt deals are made through whispers, covered boxes, and poorly-carved passageways that no city plans ever included.
Here—in this patchwork crowd of those wealthy enough to afford custom shipments from beyond the city's walls and those forced to pickpocket for the coin that will buy their next meal, of Travelers who would be more comfortable in a frozen tundra than a market square and city-dwellers who have walked more on carved marble streets that they know like the back of their hand than dirt, and of people with skin, fur, and scales of every color—we gather our party.
