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Pish (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} toph) wrote,@ 2007-11-03 22:35:00 |
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Finally- began the actual writing. About time.
Agriani was a unique city. Build on a completely terraced mountain, each tier growing in affluence as it rose higher and higher. At night, the streets – lined with homes and shops on one side, and open to the sky on the other – filled with the more unsavory of folk; the prostitutes, the gamblers, vendors of stolen goods, those who offered chemical bliss. The streets were made of sin in the darkness, but once dawn broke, they all retreated. They never stopped their business, they simply hid it where the light never touched. Tunnels wound through the mountain, simply claimed by those who got there first and lined their walls with brick or stone. Here the fun ran unabated, twenty-four hours a day. The entrances to such places were kept hidden, so if one didn’t have a connection, someone in-the-know, they’d hardly know that such a place existed.
The top tier of the city belonged to the mayor of this grand but secretive city, one Ser Bzordui. Tunnels ran here too, but far older than the ones of the common people. These, built when not a soul even considered there might be possible encroachment, were naught but wooden support beams with packed earthen walls, hardly secure by modern day’s standards. Yet, it had been so long since they were useful, that they were all but forgotten in favor of more pressing concerns, such as budget cuts for the city guardsmen, or whether to wear the blue wrap or the gray one to the reception held for officials from neighboring cities. Clearly, there was enough more important things happening that the existence of the earthen tunnels was hardly even thought of.
But at least one person thought of them. A man, somewhere in his thirties, thin and starved, scraggly and ragged, was digging. If he could only carve out his own personal grotto, not a soul could take it from him, guaranteeing a place to begin a business and finally have the stability he was looking for. This man, who went by the name of Gat, was making slow progress. Unlike many of the others who excavated space to operate in, he didn’t have the money to hire help.
Total wordcount: 5,097/50,000
Story wordcount: 367/50,000
Agriani was a unique city. Build on a completely terraced mountain, each tier growing in affluence as it rose higher and higher. At night, the streets – lined with homes and shops on one side, and open to the sky on the other – filled with the more unsavory of folk; the prostitutes, the gamblers, vendors of stolen goods, those who offered chemical bliss. The streets were made of sin in the darkness, but once dawn broke, they all retreated. They never stopped their business, they simply hid it where the light never touched. Tunnels wound through the mountain, simply claimed by those who got there first and lined their walls with brick or stone. Here the fun ran unabated, twenty-four hours a day. The entrances to such places were kept hidden, so if one didn’t have a connection, someone in-the-know, they’d hardly know that such a place existed.
The top tier of the city belonged to the mayor of this grand but secretive city, one Ser Bzordui. Tunnels ran here too, but far older than the ones of the common people. These, built when not a soul even considered there might be possible encroachment, were naught but wooden support beams with packed earthen walls, hardly secure by modern day’s standards. Yet, it had been so long since they were useful, that they were all but forgotten in favor of more pressing concerns, such as budget cuts for the city guardsmen, or whether to wear the blue wrap or the gray one to the reception held for officials from neighboring cities. Clearly, there was enough more important things happening that the existence of the earthen tunnels was hardly even thought of.
But at least one person thought of them. A man, somewhere in his thirties, thin and starved, scraggly and ragged, was digging. If he could only carve out his own personal grotto, not a soul could take it from him, guaranteeing a place to begin a business and finally have the stability he was looking for. This man, who went by the name of Gat, was making slow progress. Unlike many of the others who excavated space to operate in, he didn’t have the money to hire help.
Total wordcount: 5,097/50,000
Story wordcount: 367/50,000
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