Riisi found a bank easily enough not far from the docks - The Bank of Kundarak.
A muscular dwarf greeted him inside with a tattoo up his neck, under his beard, and across his cheek to his eye. It was a strange and complicated pattern, but from how he stood and presented himself, he was fiercely proud of it. He wore a paisley vest over a loose-fitting, puffy white shirt. A gold chain spilled intentionally from his front pocket, advertising that he owned a timepiece.
"Welcome to the Kundarak Bank of Sharn." He said, looking down skeptically at the poorly dressed figure.
Once it became clear that Riisi was as foreign as he looked, the Dwarf explained the bank's business model to him. They accepted deposits, which they would then use to invest, keeping profits for the bank. To withdraw funds, Riisi can show his Lyrander-issued ID in any Kundarak bank, wait a short period while they confirm his record, and he'll be given whatever amount he requested. His ID was a small booklet with his height, weight, name, and public record. It produced a small illusion of Riisi when opened to the front page, for verification. He was warned that there could be a fee if the bank needs to employ a Sending Stone to check the records, and that if he alerted the bank to travel needs ahead of time, he have his records sent at no cost. It can be safely assumed Riisi did so after having a chance to explore the city and decide where he was likely to do the bulk of his banking, unless he prefers it here.
Like all banks, they offered safe deposit boxes, but what struck Riisi as peculiar was that they also seemed to deal in safes, locks, and magical storage solutions. He wasn't in the market for anything like that at the moment, however. Once he had opened an account, the dwarf took his ID, opened and empty page, and placed an Arcane Mark onto it, showing an elaborately inked Manticore behind an easily read account number.
With a more reasonable amount of coin on his person, Riisi began to explore.
The first thing that appealed to Riisi was finding the ground. Clouds seemed to fly by, the air was thin, and a maze of towers descended below. The road itself hovered precariously over cavernous depths, moving to and around the tall spires. Leaning over the railings was like staring into a canyon of buildings, with the spaces between them slowly filling into clusters until they formed just a few giant towers, then, at the bottom, seemingly one.
He found staircases that led down, walkways that led along, and even arcane lifts operated by wizards to ferry people and goods up and down. Airskiffs occasionally plied the spaces between buildings as though they were canals, dropping people but more frequently crates off. He passed through Middle Central, and saw the tops of shorter buildings and towers here, including churches and embassies, that were only occasionally drown out from the light. Was this the bottom? It didn't seem so - rather, it was the roof of one of the great towers. The walkways and towers above cast long shadows here, and it felt as dense as any reasonably city should.
Riisi passed by a grand cathedral that was undoubtedly designed by the same person who had designed Fyodor Saltsvits' uniform. It must be where he works, Riisi could easily conclude. Near it, there was another set of stairs surrounded by fences that seemed to go underground. It must be the entranceway to the grand tower. Signs here marked directions to places like Dura, Tavick's Landing, and Northedge, seeming to lead to these others city-towers, but Riisi wanted to find the ground today.
He descended further. Residences and storefronts greeted him, and if he hadn't seen the City of Towers from the air, he might almost have concluded it was underground. Light seemed to stream in only occasionally, and most of the windows around the outsides were shaded through most of the day.
Riisi's stomach rumbled angrily, and his feet were sore. He'd been travelling for hours. He found himself in a open space of some sort, three stories tall, that gave the illusion of a village square. Restaurants lined the bottom, with seating that extended out into the walking space of the square, and some inside. He could see a tray of ice and oysters being delivered to a table, shared by a pair of elven women over white wine.
He decided he needed a break. He went to that same restaurant, which sat him at a communal table. He was greeted by a warm old man in religious clothing strikingly different to Fyodor's. "Welcome to the table!" He smiled.
He introduced himself as Vassal Erlin Mourn, a cleric of Olladra, the Sovereign of Feast and Fortune. He spoke high praise through the meal of community eating - coming together to share a meal with strangers. Vassal Mourn worked at a local distillery, "where bad liquor finds redemption", he joked warmly. He insisted that everyone on the table drink some of the latest batch.
He was sat with a young elven man as well, Enilam Roole. Riisi had seen few enough elves this deep down the spire, other than in this restaurant. He was told that many of them were travelers visiting Olladra's Kitchen to try the food - it was a culinary destination across Eberron. He lived here, and liked to paint people. One day, he told you, he dreamed of living in Middle Central, and seeing his work hung up in the Brelish Museum.
The three of you ate, and you drank, and told stories and laughed, quickly becoming fast friends. People were delighted to learn about Riisi's past, and thought it was out of this world that he'd come from out of this world. It at least explained to them how none of them even knew what a Yinglet even was. The distilled spirit was redeemed from a particularly foul batch of champagne, he'd learned, that had turned deeply sour. Mixed with herbs and sugar, you could almost taste the champagne behind it.
The talk grew louder, and the drink more serious. Vassal Mourn smacked his fist hard on the table laughing, and sent plates scattering everywhere. Riisi fell from his chair, and Enilam knocked over a waiter trying to reach him to help him up. The three of you were thrown out. Bleary eyed, they parted company. Riisi found himself a nearby inn to collapse into, and a bugbear porter dressed in a trim red uniform helped him up into his bedroom.
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Topic: House of Storms (Read 39167 times)