Tricilve

It is said that noble metals do not smell. This is not true in Tricilve, where the golden trakines smell of everything from perfume to fish. Each guild mints its own coins and as they do so, they imbue them with their own particular smell. Thus, the user can always know when a coin is freshly minted.

When me and Baldyr arrived, the city was preparing for a feat. The Freedom games were about to start, commemorating the independence from Palamux. The hedonism of these feasts was originally a stand of resistance against the harsh regime of the Shamashi priests, but nobody seems to remember that, or care about it, anymore.

We easily found ourselves a room at a tavern, left our luggage and ventured out to explore the city. This, the capital of the Empire, is a sprawling area, raised on highly unstable clay. Thus, the wall surrounding the city is uncommonly low for such an important strategic point, but then, the Empire's wealth is built on trade, not military prowess.

As we made out way through the streets, shock full of people, I found myself noting the extreme vanity of the city's youth. Men and women eagerly paint chosen body parts in bright colours, often shamelessly displaying areas that in other parts of Ereb would most certainly be covered up by more chaste peoples.

Clothes here are supposed to be impractical, colourfull, and noisy. The most wealthy Paratornians dress in clothes of kamsunian papyr, a material that is so sensitive that any movement will create a tear. Those so dressed have to sit absolutely still to keep the dress intact, and is carried by slaves whenever mobility is required. The same slaves will feed the noble, as well.

For our part, we bought more sturdy clothes, made from algea silk, which is grown in ponds close to the local coasts. The industry is a major source of income for the people around the capital.

We then turned to the amphitheater to watch the opening of the games. It is made out of marble, and on the stage were lit fires of many colours, created by alchemical powders and expensive kromantter wood from the jungles of Samkarna.

Now, a man dress in white, a bard in fact, strode forth and started reciting the mythic epic "Tiamati woes". Tears rose to my ears, as this godly singer had a voice of liquid gold.

Thus I was very surprised when the front row started whistling and throw projectiles on the bard. Then some thugs jumped up on stage, destroyed his instruments, tore his clothes off, and carried him around the arena to the sneers and jeers of the masses. A naked equestrian stormed in, apparently representing Kastyke. She let her whip loose on the bard every time she passed him. Baldyr explained that the scene represents Paratorna's independence from the stifling rule of Palamux. The hapless bard was later carried down to port and put on a raft, which is pushed into the harbour and set adrift.

The rest of the night continued in the same vein. The amphitheatre presented re-enactments of famous battles or duels, while the streets and parks became havens of unbridled debauchery.