“Hells, lass, you never been to Ryvauld before? That’s the Raining.” So saying, he points towards the roiling grey mass sweeping across the sky. “Them wizards do it twice a day; supposed to be at nine before noon and five after noon, although I swear they’ve been early a few times this season.”
Shaking his head slightly, he turns away from the darkening field towards a brightly coloured, bustling mess of a city. It reminds you of a gnomish settlement you visited early in your journey, except louder. There is none of the artistry and precision favoured by dwarven architects, nor any sort of plan at all; instead, the main structures seem to be made of patched together wood, flamboyant cloth and repurposed carts. Despite the enclosed shadows cast by infrequent awning, the roofless design somehow makes you feel even more exposed than your walk along the surface earlier.
Tall folk, the same species as Jhiro and Aman, bustle about with a similar chaos. Groups of them huddle around campfires, laughing and drinking, while others still move from stall to stall, questioning and bartering, complaining and snubbing. They all seem to be speaking in common, although you’re sure you heard a rough laugh accompanying dwarven somewhere amidst the mess.
Other than the many ramshackled wooden structures, most of which look like a decent earthquake would flatten them, there are a few noticeable buildings, the main one being a large stone structure deeper into the market, towering high above the rest of the city. Despite its rather rudimentary construction, it is however the most sturdy place you’ve seen so far; it’s difficult to tell anything more about it from this distance.
Jhiro coughs into a hand, before looking down at you again. “I don’t got long before Aman’ll be needing me to help set up, but if this is your first time here… is there anything you be needing help with?”