Post by Stix on Feb 16, 2007 9:43:51 GMT -5
It's argued that this area of the city isn't a proper ward at all, an argument that ignores the fact there's no definitions of wards to be found anywhere. Certainly the Lower Ward's been shrinking over the decades. Old-timers remember when it included the City Armory and the Mortuary. (Younger folks and newcomers place these in The Lady's Ward and the Hive Ward, respectively.) This creates a little confusion between young and old. Whatever the boundaries are, most sods agree that the Great Foundry is the center of the ward. Radiating out from this are lightless warehouses, smoky mills, ringing forges, and a host of other small workshops. In this district are concentrated most of the city's craftsmen.
The ward got its name from the number of portals to the Lower Planes that're found here. These doorways have affected the nature of the place, so there seem to be more smoke, steam, and cinders in the air than there should be. The Lower Ward's the source of most of the foul industrial smogs that sometimes choke the city, brownish-yellow blankets of stinging sulphurous gas that cling to the air and linger as a stench in clothes for days afterwards. Too long outside in the Lower Ward and a cutter's throat gets raw and his eyes teary. After a while, his skin absorbs enough crud to take on a sickly tone. His eyes grow hollowed and dark, his hair pale. The Lower Ward's the only spot from which a berk can be placed just by his appearance.
Folks in the Lower Ward tend to be secretive and stubborn. Most of the craftsmen feel like they've got trade secrets, and they're always peery of strangers, even customers. Their moods aren't helped by the number of lower-planar types that haunt the dives and flophouses tucked in back alleys, or by the barmies who slip out of the Hive by night to prowl. The Harmonium patrols aren't strong here, and most folks expect they've got to take care of themselves.
The ward got its name from the number of portals to the Lower Planes that're found here. These doorways have affected the nature of the place, so there seem to be more smoke, steam, and cinders in the air than there should be. The Lower Ward's the source of most of the foul industrial smogs that sometimes choke the city, brownish-yellow blankets of stinging sulphurous gas that cling to the air and linger as a stench in clothes for days afterwards. Too long outside in the Lower Ward and a cutter's throat gets raw and his eyes teary. After a while, his skin absorbs enough crud to take on a sickly tone. His eyes grow hollowed and dark, his hair pale. The Lower Ward's the only spot from which a berk can be placed just by his appearance.
Folks in the Lower Ward tend to be secretive and stubborn. Most of the craftsmen feel like they've got trade secrets, and they're always peery of strangers, even customers. Their moods aren't helped by the number of lower-planar types that haunt the dives and flophouses tucked in back alleys, or by the barmies who slip out of the Hive by night to prowl. The Harmonium patrols aren't strong here, and most folks expect they've got to take care of themselves.