Thread: Kings of the City (Alvis Alendran & In-Doubt)

It wasn't as common as expected to see a city this side that had been built by so very many different kinds of people. Most places picked a style and went with it. Not so here. STandard and comfortable squared off buildings rose intot he sky like normal, though when you looked to the main downtown you noticed the difference far more. The center of town had a spire rising from it, like a slender needle of peral and silver, rising in the skyline, a true marvel of construction. But that was what was expected when Elven architechts put their minds to building a place that they were proud to call home. Everyone wanted to have a population of elves in their neighbourhood, they errred ont he side of rich, and had the clout to make sure that anywhere they lived was clean and polished, it just looked like a better class of place to live. But Elves tended to stick together these days, and rarely ventured out of the downtown without a very good reason. That left much of the city otherwise to begin to rot. It was worse in the districts that were mainly made up of orcs or goblins, a people that rarely put much effort into maintaining anything. Their slums were in very rough shape, very few new constructions ever going up, and when they did they wound up looking crude, though they were solid enough to stand. People woudl avoid those areas when pssible, knowing full well that to do so was to risk your life or worse if one wasn't well protected. The worst of them, simply called the Warren, was considered a No Mans Land even to police, any forays into it resulting in far too much loss of life. But if you truly wanted the very best opf buildings, there was really only one way to doit, and that was to get a dwarf. And that was exactly what had happened with the bar that Mokkurkalfi, or Mokk to those that knew him, stood outside of. He rolled his shoulders to try and work some of the tension out of them. Thew building he was looking at looked exactly like thre people who ahd made it. Short, squat, but strong. Real stone went into the building, somethign fantastically expensive, but it also gave Mokk a strange pang of nostalgia, of longing for something he'd never known. Mokk was a big man, hovering near to seven feet off the ground, and had a thick, heavy build of someone that took care of their form very well. His hair would have fallen just past his shoudlers, but it was braided tight to his scalp, a winding pattern that looked like it was shaped into some kind of rune or the like, clearly more than just practical, and the hair was the colour of old frost, a washed out white with a faint tinge of blue to it. Being fair, his skin bore a dusky blue hue to it as well, marking him as someone that clearly carried blood other than human in him. His eyes were a sea green with felck of ice clue in them as well, and he stepped towards the bar. It had looked like it would have low ceilings, but he had to take five steps down a stone staircase to reach the door, adn he pushed it open to see what the place looked like. Dwatven architechture hadn't changed much in more than two thousand years, and for good reason. They'd gotten it right the first time. The place was open, though it was broken up by rising stone columns that rose to the ceiling, and the entire place was hand carved by stone masons that had centuries of experience at their craft. The ceiling was made of carefully made brick, fitted so finely that there was barely a perceptable line where each new brick was placed, the whole thing fitted together without mortar, a feat that boggle the mind, but it looked gorgeous. The ceiling was vaulted, making it twelve feet in height, which made this one of the few places Mokk could go without worrying about hitting his head. He saw each table was built of solid oak wood, polished down and finished to a high sheen. The place had a decent crowd in it, about half full, but that was an accomplishment given that it was barely past noon. The bar was a masterwork of construction, and against expectation, it wasn't wood. Most dwarves would tell you that wood wasn't good for much mroe than burning. THis was all carved basalt, and Mokk didn't want to even think about the expense of hauling that much volcanic rock up to the city. Still, it accented the place well, and the polsihed surface shone in the light of the place. The bartender was only what could be expected, a squat dwarf with a long beard and a permanent scowl on his face. Mokk found a stool, one that sat low, knowing that it had been made specifically for someone like his to put him at a comfortable eye level at the bar. Grunlock. Mokk said in greeting. The bartender gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Good to see you too. The dwarf gave another wordless grunt. Can I get a pint of the ale? The dwarf nodded, adn grabbed a metal stein, and stepped to a wooden keg at the back of the bar area, and turned the tap, expertly topping up the stein. He set it in front of Mokk without a word, and moved on to another customer approaching hte bar. Mokk took a long pull fromt he glass. Cold and strong, it was the best ale int he city, bar none, and it always made him smile to have a drink. He scanned around the bar, looking for anything that might seem out of place, and he saw some new faces. A few toughs from the various excuses for gangs in this area, none of htem could really muster much in numbers or strength, but they put on airs like they were untouchable. What he also noted was a ground of three of them all hassling a woman that he didn't recognize. He cocked his head as he watched her try adn deflect them, knowing that he'd have remembered if she been in here before, she stood out a little. Still, he didn't like the look of this, and stood up, resting his jacket on his stool, and started to make his way over to the brewing confrontation.