A Walk Through the Local District: Where Industry Meets Shadows
The First Steps: Where the Docks Meet the Streets
Stepping away from the docks and into the Local District, the first thing one notices is the change in atmosphere. The salty tang of the sea is still present, but it is now mingled with the scents of labor—wood shavings, tar, and the distant aroma of spiced meats roasting from vendor carts stationed near the entrance.
The streets here are a marked improvement over Old Town’s tight alleys. Though still considered narrow, they allow for the passage of carts laden with trade goods, barrels of ale, and shipments of salted fish. Cobblestone pathways are uneven, worn by years of heavy foot traffic, and in some places, wooden planks have been laid down to cover gaps where the earth has swallowed parts of the road.
The buildings rise taller here, two or three stories at times, leaning over the street as if in quiet conversation with their neighbors. Balconies jut out over walkways, adorned with drying nets, laundry, and the occasional flower box—a rare but welcome touch of life amid the drab colors of stone and timber. Lanterns hang from posts at wide intervals, their glow insufficient to chase away the looming shadows, even during the day.
The Bustle of the Working Class: By Day and By Dusk
During the day, the Local District hums with the steady rhythm of industry. Dockworkers with strong backs and calloused hands walk these streets, some heading home to modest residences, others seeking a warm meal and respite before returning to their duties.
Shops cater to their needs—tailors offering simple but sturdy garments, cobblers repairing worn boots, and smithies forging hooks, nails, and tools for ship maintenance. The air here is thick with the clanging of hammers and the occasional bark of merchants arguing over pricing.
Despite the roughness of trade, the district has pockets of affluence. Some ship captains own homes here, their residences distinct with better upkeep—sturdier doors, iron-reinforced shutters, and in rare cases, private guards standing watch. These homes often feature intricate carvings on their beams, depicting sea serpents, crests of past voyages, and symbols of maritime pride.
As dusk settles, however, a shift occurs. The laborers who can afford to retreat indoors do so, while others take to the few taverns that dot the district—places where coin flows as easily as ale and where a man can drown his exhaustion in a mug of something strong.
The Unseen Underbelly: Where Shadows Gather
As night falls, the Local District’s dimly lit streets become a playground for those who thrive in darkness. Lanterns, sparse to begin with, flicker and fade, leaving whole stretches of the district swallowed in blackness. The scent of industry is replaced with something less tangible—the musty aroma of damp stone, old wood, and a lingering tension that warns travelers to keep their purses close.
Figures move in the periphery—hooded individuals whispering in alleys, hands exchanging pouches with knowing nods. This district does not have the lawless chaos of Old Town’s backstreets, but it has its own dangers. Organized crime finds a foothold here, with local gangs controlling certain corners, charging “tolls” to pass through safely.
The thieves here are professionals. They do not act in random bursts of violence but with careful precision. A purse cut so subtly that its owner notices too late, a merchant’s ledgers tampered with overnight, a warehouse mysteriously short on goods come morning—such are the marks of the Local District’s ne’er-do-wells.
There are also whispered rumors of a hidden guild operating from the depths of the district. Its members rarely show themselves, but those who cross their path and live to tell the tale speak of a society that does not merely steal, but controls—its influence reaching beyond the district’s borders.
The Taverns and Hideaways: The Last Beacons of Light
Not all who roam at night in the Local District are criminals. Some are merely seeking refuge, and for them, the taverns remain open late, offering light, warmth, and some degree of safety—though how much depends on the establishment.
The Bent Hook is among the more reputable choices. A low-ceilinged, smoky hall filled with long communal tables, it serves strong ale and hearty meals at fair prices. The barkeep, a broad-shouldered man with an eye patch and an ever-watchful stare, keeps the peace with a hand always near the club beneath his counter.
For those preferring discretion, there is The Cockeyed Walleye, a more hidden establishment, marked only by a faint blue lantern hanging above a nondescript door. Inside, the air is thick with pipe smoke, and deals are made in murmured voices. This is where captains find discreet crews, messages are passed in folded notes, and those with means can hire expertise for tasks best left unspoken.
Then, of course, there are places best avoided entirely—taverns where fights break out with little provocation, where one may drink something and wake up hours later with empty pockets and no memory of what transpired.
The Journey to the Grand Bazaar: The Path Forward
Navigating the Local District at night requires a keen sense of direction. The streets, though wider than those in Old Town, wind unpredictably, forming a maze of passageways that can leave outsiders disoriented.
As one nears the Grand Bazaar, the scenery begins to shift once more. The buildings here, while still modest, are better maintained. The streets show signs of more regular upkeep, with patches of brick and stonework indicating efforts to prevent decay. The lanterns, though sparse, are at least consistent in their glow, signaling the transition into a district where trade and commerce rule over shadowed dealings.
Still, even here, figures in the dark linger, watching the flow of travelers who pass through. The Local District does not relinquish its grip so easily. It remains in the memory of those who walk its streets, a place where the hardworking and the cunning coexist, where industry meets shadows, and where every step forward must be taken with careful consideration.
In the Local District the streets are slightly wider than Old Town, but still considered narrow by the rest of Shalannan City’s standards.
At night these narrow streets are home to numerous thieves and ne’er-do-wells.
