A city of Ancient origins and old customs, newly revitalized by sea trade. It’s people are the half-orcs who sit behind a giant stone wall blocking the grasslands of the Uruk from access. The cramped corridors houses a diverse population with various skills and professions. It is a city of constant life, fueled by the ambition of its people. In the alleys satin and silk clad temptresses beckon with bracleted arms jangling, merchants with oiled skin cajole from behind wooden stands, calling in foreign accents, and the scent hangs in the air, thick and musty calling forth visions of spice, writhing bodies in the night, and a vague scent of iron.
All of this masks a subtle war fought by blades and poison in the night, where generals are crime lords and politicians, and the shadows of these sins are hidden by the excitement of the city.
Lndmarks include the Bay of Gioul where stone wharfs jut into the craggy waters of the Northern Sea. Filled with a constant crowd the wharfs now hold the majority of the trade in Tel’nar, sailors weed through the crowd to get their fill of wine and women in the city whilst captain’s sell the fruits of their homelands and fill their holds with bounty. Though bountiful one can still kick up the dust off the ground, caked there from years of the wharfs disuse.
The city is now filled with a vibrant energy. Every week a parade is roused in the streets and lute wielding, flute blowing, and singing crowds push through the streets cleaving the night with their lusty music. And even when the marching stops, a note hangs in the air like dust framed in the sunlight. A note which tells of a deep craving, dark hands groping toward some unseable future, and a crimson rage.