Velandreis was the capital of the Immortalyn nation, a veritable city of earthly delights — at least on the surface where the Aristomagi dwelled and erected their many pale towers in imitation of the Lonely Spindle that was the home of their ancestor. Stories said that they built the city upon the magical glade nestled in the mountains that the legends spoke of but whether that was verifiable fact was beyond any to truly recall.
As far as the eye could see, the city gleamed white and pristine, like so many bleached bones scattered across the verdant grasslands. There was space aplenty and room for all to have handsome parcels of land. At least, among the aristocracy.
The middle class, with its merchants and tradespeople, proceeded downward into the mountain, for several levels dedicated to various trades. Agriculture occupied the uppermost level, so there were large glass skylights that allowed the sun in to help the crops to flourish. The next level beneath that was for smithing, forges, and the like, so that the heat rising from those places would help to keep the agriculture beds warm and humid, ripe for planting year-round with proper rotation. The next level down was for crafts and trades like leatherworkers, tailors, enchanters, professions that required little beyond materials. Beneath those were several levels dedicated to storage and warehouses, for the excess that each level produced and for winter stores for the entire city.
Underneath all that, deeper into the ground like furtive moles, were the levels that housed the lowest caste, the Ochlomagi — The Sullied. Those whose magical bloodlines they had broken by their usage of magic, their bodies sullied by the onset of time and age, bodies that they polluted with many vices, from alcohol to drugs to promiscuity to using their magic to change their shapes or their features; beautiful, powerful, but doomed to be fleeting candle flames that eventually flicker out.
It was down past the many levels of known civilization that Edouard went. There were some on the tram that traveled into the deeper levels that looked at him in askance; it wasn’t common for a nobleman to traverse these railways. The rich and powerful had their own, more secretive ways of reaching the places that entertained them in the deeps. Most of the people on the tram were common laborers and workpeople, the porters that ran goods up to the various levels and to the surface as they delivered things from the warehouses.
He stood off to the side near the railing of the tram, watching as the world he never knew passed him by. The verdant greenery and endless tidy rows of the Agriculture Level rivaled even the most cultivated gardens on the surface. When the tram stopped, people got off that were dressed in dirt-covered overalls wearing broad-brimmed hats to protect them from the sunlight that streamed in the skylights. They seemed happy, even excited, to return to their labors. Edouard marveled at this. From the what his peers spoke about the work of the middle class, it never seemed like anything anyone should feel happy doing. It was all hard work and dawn to dusk labor with only a few breaks in between.
How could people be happy doing such endless work with little time for reprieve? How did they pursue the things they truly wanted to do? When did they have time for leisure? The thought of living such a life made Edouard distinctly uncomfortable. Not because the thought of work made him squeamish, but the thought of having no time for himself to do the things he wanted to do with his life — The loss of his freedom.
As the verdant levels passed out of sight, it was a relief for Edouard to see them go — at least until the first blast of heat wafted up from the next levels that housed the smitheries, foundries, and other mechanical industries. He winced a bit, feeling that heat; he couldn’t imagine spending all day every day in such environs. The heavily built and muscled workers that filed past him laughed a bit at his discomfort, several of them eyeing him a moment before rolling their eyes. The young lordling was getting only the barest sample of what their daily lives were like, and they relished in his discomfort. One man grunted, giving Edouard a cocky grin. “Welcome to reality, mi’lord.”
Edouard blinked in confusion and stupefaction. He knew the history of the city, of course, as all nobility enjoyed education thus, but he never could have fathomed all this. To experience it and see it first-hand truly drove home the lives people beneath the Aristomagi lived. Those not prosperous in the middle class owned homes on these self-same levels as their shops and businesses, only the most wealthy of them affording homes on the surface. Edouard looked upward, back along the railway where the sun and the sky had become a small circle of light in the distance. He couldn’t imagine living a life completely underground, never seeing or feeling the light of the sun. Another pang of remorse filled him, lending another layer to the discomfort he felt.
Out of the halo of heat, the tram continued, passing through the quiet and mostly dark levels of the storage and warehouse levels. Fewer people came and went from here, most of them porters pulling small pony carts that were empty or loaded with things to be stored away. None of the porters acknowledged him, some of them even gave him a wide berth. They had little to nothing to do with the nobility and didn’t want to have anything to do with them now. Edouard was grateful for the silence and the lack of judgmental stares.
That quietude did nothing to prepare him for his descent into the levels that housed the den of iniquity that was the home of the Ochlomagi. These levels were one large pleasure district, designed to feed a variety of vices, addictions, and entertainments. Homes tucked away in corners or lofted above businesses as if ashamed to be associated with the lanes they perched on. While everything was well-kept and the streets were clean, the people stumbled, danced, or merrily ran hither and yon in various states of strung out inebriation or exhaustion. Shifty-eyed men and women idled on street corners, some providing legitimate business, others as thieves looking for easy marks to take advantage of.
As Edouard stepped off the tram, no one made their way past him to get on the carriage or off of it. This struck Edouard as curious. Did no one travel this way to get down here? A sudden flash of violet light off to his right gave him the answer to that question as a gaggle of people came rushing out of a large building, chattering about all the things they’d get into and do while they were here. A brief peek into the building showed several rune-circled pads with a large central desk manned by several older elves.
Something would light up on the desk, a series of runes or words that floated on the air, then one mage would move to a rune circle and cast a spell. Not long after, a group of people would show up, or sometimes just one or two. Spells of teleportation.
Even as he watched, the old elven man that cast the spell doubled over, clutching at his chest, breathing heavily. A younger woman ran up to him, helping him back to the central desk.
Every spell cast leeches the Caster of their life-force, taking years off their life until there is nothing left… The words of one of many lessons Edouard had in his youth about not using his magic. Yet, here were people casting spells every few minutes as if their lives didn’t matter. It was mind-boggling to the young lord. What did they stand to gain by burning up their lives just to teleport people here to be entertained? Why not make them walk or use the tram? The cost of such a convenience seemed absurd, wasteful.
Edouard hastened onward, to where — anywhere but that doorway in that moment. He was so preoccupied with what he’d seen that he ran headlong into a beautiful elven woman in a stunning sequined dress. No, not sequins… It was a gown of gold coins woven together by a thin, gold filament. Her bright violet hair fell in artful waves across her shoulders and back as she smiled at him from blue-painted lips. She was as much a riot of color as the spell-illuminated street they stood on.
“Well, well, well… good evening, young lord.” The woman purred at him, lifting a hand to put it on his shoulder, pushing him away to arm’s length. “If you’re interested in some company this evening, I can certainly oblige you for the right price, but until then I’d be glad for you to keep your hands to yourself.” The woman cast a glance to a nearby alleyway where a burly creature stood by with a massive club held in one hand.
The creature was large, green with a thick braided beard and a slightly upturned nose. Clad in little more than an elaborately belted fur loincloth and leather boots, it cut an impressive, well-muscled figure. Intimidating and vaguely frightening, as was likely the intent.
Edouard backed off from the woman, holding up his hands in refusal. “Ah, n-no, not tonight. I’m actually looking for some information.”
The woman arched a brow. Inspecting her brightly painted fingernails, she drawled out casually. “Information oft comes at a higher price that company down here.” Her eyes flashed to him, momentarily looking dangerous and cunning. “Are you sure you’re willing to pay for it?”
Something about her shift in demeanor unsettled Edouard, like a mouse trapped by the gaze of the hunting alley cat. He resisted the urge to swallow down his fear, wanting to show nothing of his emotional state to this corner-dweller. “I have to know.” He managed to say with a modicum of confidence.
The woman sniffed in satisfaction, waving a hand. Out of nowhere a young boy appeared, dressed in a bright red jacket with the face of a hyena in color-shifting paint emblazoned on the back of it. “This is Genet. He will take you where you need to be.” She told him before making a shooing motion with that self-same hand. “Now away with you, you’re scaring off the paying custom.”
Edouard nodded, looking to the boy expectantly. The child was somewhere in his teen years, though it was hard to pinpoint with elves, more-so with The Sullied given their prolific magic-use. He had large, guileless brown eyes and mousey brown-grey hair with a shock of red in it that ran down through his hair from his right temple. He kept it tucked behind one ear so the red streak went along the side of his head. Edouard couldn’t help but think it looked like a streak of blood. A very brief pang of sympathy lanced through him. Was that intentional? Meant to beguile passers-by into thinking the boy was some unfortunate?
Edouard’s brow furrowed. Things down here were not what they seemed.
Genet led him through the winding streets. Every shop had some kind of magically created lighting, some even more elaborate, that frequently shifted to advertise a shop’s many wares. Bright lights warred with each other, making the streets a riot of dancing colors, all while music, loud voices, hawking vendors, and many magical fireworks popped and crackled as they tried to draw the attention of the crowds. Under any other circumstance, Edouard might have been enchanted, even excited to see such goings-on and be curious to explore and make merry. It was enough to make him stop a moment to gawp, but Genet put a stop to that quick enough by tugging on his sleeve and pointing on down the lane.
Edouard followed the boy onward, far away from the bright lights and energy of the heart of the level. They proceeded into areas that were still well lit but clearly not intended for the tourists. Tenement homes cloistered together in tidy, well-ordered rows, but tightly packed. Nothing like the spacious and open living estates on the surface among the Aristomagi with their manicured lawns and elaborate walking gardens. Edouard couldn’t imagine what it felt like to live this closely packed in to other people, literally living on top of one another.
There was something ominous, oppressive about the way the buildings shouldered up against one another like an endless army of faceless soldiers, the windows staring out like a thousand weighing eyes. Edouard kept close to Genet as they continued along, farther and farther away from the light and merriment of the areas closer to the tram until only the occasional sputtering lantern lit the way. A moment of brightness in otherwise night-dark streets.
Eventually, Genet came to a stop outside a tiny hovel. Possibly the smallest tenement that Edouard had seen in this long journey. From the outside it looked like it was no bigger than a single room, barely enough for a small shop much less as a place to live. Genet gave him a courteous bob of the head, then the boy disappeared into the shadows leaving Edouard standing awkwardly on the front stoop of this minuscule shack. Steeling his courage, Edouard knocked.
