"The Old-world Way"
| Languages: | common, dwarven, orcish, beasttalk |
| Biome: | old pine, stone soil, barren mountainside |
At the foot of one of Mheara’s many mountains sits the forge town of Munas kuvak, an ever-burning lump of coal against the wind-swept, snowy crags. It knows no lords but its founder, Avak’dun, who sought to continue the work of his forefathers a hundred years past; mining is and has always been its business, and the large town sees black smoke furling against the mountains side at all times of day from its many smouldering forges. A tepid truce and its horrid remoteness keeps the settlement in peace, it will supply arms to any who have the coin for it without judgement, for those seeking steel will have to leave the nearest path hundreds of miles away from civilization and trek against unforgiving ground and dense wilds to reach it.
Bereft of river and heath alike, the soil crunches underfoot between rows of evergreen pines, it is mostly stone where nothing of any value grows; food is laboriously transported to stores upon the backs of oxen wandering from far and wide and sold at an incredibly marked up price. If one does not forge or mine they earn no coin, and without a steady flow of it not even the most basic of vegetables can be afforded upon meager budgets, for a potato in the north is doubled in price amongst the lifeless ridges of the mountainside. What little game there is is hunted vigorously and violently to the point where, in winter months, there is often nothing to find amongst the hardy ferns at all.
These harsh conditions and the exhausting way of living has caused the population to skew heavily away from the ‘weaker’ races to the point where even humans are out-numbered, mostly occupying the town as mere visitors seeking to arm their bandit armies with blades. The main population is divided between Orkin and Beastkin supplemented by a fair few dwarves who act as overseers to the tangled, dangerous depths of spiralling mine-shafts that go on for miles and miles; physical prowess is valued, for the days are long and hard. The shared culture is ‘work’. Aside from that, no greater beliefs or ways exist about the smokey towns stoney walls.
The outer layer of houses are mostly occupied by workers alone renting bedrooms and sharing amenities, many arrive to the town to work for a season or two before returning to their actual homes elsewhere, but there are a fair stupid few that have decided to mete out a full-time livelihood from the dirty occupation and have dragged their families into a space that exists not to thrive in, but to toil in. This is allowed but heavily discouraged, the coal-smoke and burning metals have long been known to cause early deaths and do so with vigor, this is no place to raise a child or to seek out the softer, lovelier emotions that come with merely existing.
The inner layer has stores, but they are not the kind for pleasantries, none come to Munas kuvak without reason and they exist out of the necessity of trade and nothing more. It does not get ‘tourists’. In said stores one can find sweet and savory bread cooked by a single bakery sat upon its jagged outskirts (or imported from somewhere far cleaner), welled water, extra equipment or requests can be put in for a metal worker to repair broken gear. There is only a single place of pleasure… a large inn of black-stone, it is comedically huge and sees a stupid amount of footfall due to the fact it is the only place to go to actually have a good time. When the population is primarily large, strong males working themself to death, well… its popularity is a given.
Crime is also a given. Though it does not fall to the level of being a bandit town or criminal hub, because of the non-existent laws of who can buy what, it is more often than not those from the underworld who wish to purchase weapons from the multitude of blacksmiths about. The quality is vast and there is so much variety to choose from that it is the dream of any vagabond on any sort of budget to visit the wayward location (if they can find it before dying in the search from starvation, exposure or criminal ambushes), the quality can be as fine as the blades of northern lords to as cheap as the steel mercenaries brandish for petty crime; but weaponry is not the only export at play. Gold, silver, coal and a variety of precious metals and stones are the bulk of its money-making and can be found in specially dedicated shops. There are rumors of an illegal mint somewhere deep in the heart of the mountain, but good luck trying to get anyone to talk about it if they want to keep their heads.
As such, Munas kuvak is plagued by thieves hungry for its spoils and its sentencing against them is strict; if not the stocks, entirely bare and left to the elements, then straight up execution is at play. It is however hard to keep sticky fingers from roaming when there seems to be no larger guard assembly at work, rather than protecting the streets from theft and the differing factions congregating in one spot to try and kill each other it is the many, many mine-shaft openings dotting the steep walls that are protected instead. There have to be well over a hundred spanning the heights, internally all mixing and muddling in different directions, seeing people entering and exiting holes as large as Crown holds central gate to but a few feet tall.
With its lawlessness and unaccommodating aura there ever-hangs the threat of violence in the air. Workers who did not meet quotas are starving and forcing themselves to pick up extra shifts, shop keepers are striving to desperately get beings only interested in arms into their crystal stores, drunk idiots are making their own fun, thieves are looking for unaware targets and a fluctuating homeless population huddles against street corners hoping to make just a little extra coin so that they can get back into the room they have been kicked out of. Notably, most of them are sick and dying from the smoke.
It is not a place for the foolish, lazy, or lovely. The flaunting of wealth will see you marked, these people are worked to the bone and will not suffer the attitudes of high-borns... tread carefully.
- Its only notable spot is the Grand forge; it rises above the town like a looming threat, the beating heart of Munas kuvak, where only the most skilled of blacksmiths craft weaponry for buyers who have gold in their hundreds to afford but a single short-sword. One cannot enter without clearance from Avak’dun’s personal guards, who check for both wealth and knowledge. Its sides are flanked by the many wings of what would be feasting halls in any other place, but here, they are treasuries and grand vaults dedicated to parsing the quality of the goods fed from the mines; it is here products are graded and sent far and wide to both war-lord and rebel army alike.
- Its only notable person is Avak’dun himself, who comes from a long, ever-growing line of dwarven miners. He explicitly chooses to take no sides between the crumbling Arshakan empire and Ilica’s high houses and warns to lash out violently against either side should they step up to the plate. Often seen wearing the clothing of a commoner, he has earned the respect of both foreman and miner alike by continuing to work despite amassing plentiful wealth and not needing to. His strict views on how things should be done are both a blessing and a curse, for though every man has the chance to grab fortune in the way of hard graft the shunning of Magitech means such work is restricted to the old ways of rails, cart, and good old fashioned pulling by arms or by equine, should they fit the shaft.
