The Rusty Artery

The most infamous tavern in Nayora, rumoured by Graal Lark's articles to be an underground base for the union

Outside

It is... A grandiose mess might be the best way to describe it. A large cube of rusted iron plating, painted with tan, red, faded blues, and many, many, many pieces of graffiti is badly supported by iron framing. Huge pipes that could easily fit ten men widthwise and serve no apparent purpose rise up from the riverbed, before entering through the walls and ceilings. In some places, they are cut open to reveal windows, from which music and lights emanate, fighting against the city's sounds and the setting sun.

There are too many signs at the door, most of which serve no purpose and only visually pollute the place, but the ones Ravik catches seem to be ads— special events, different drinks and foods available on some days, a tailor who recently joined the GMEC, a fisherman trying to get funding for a new boat. A sort of job and advertising board, of sorts, mixed in with the tavern's affairs.

Interior

It truly feels like a child's idea of what a factory should look like, gigantic pipes rising up from the riverbed to connect to the main building like carnivorous vines digging into flesh, windows carved onto their sides to reveal the interior revelry.

Inside, past the haze of honey-scented smoke, a myriad of signs of ads and available menu items, you are faced with the blood that pumps inside the Artery.

Dozens of people fill a large dancefloor, at the center of which an engine rages on. Exhaust pipes bleed the honey-scented haze in small cascades like tiny waterfalls, and the machinery's rhythmic clicking and chugging seems to be worked into the baseline of tonight's music.

Through pillars of copper and girders of steel, you spot a band of kobolds and goblins playing music, their instruments a mixture of percussion, string, and brass. Away from the center, many tables line the Artery's floor, with slightly more private booths hugging the walls. A bar lies to your right, and it seems like many people still pursue crafts here- Ravik sees the same bulky war forged tattooing a tiefling, and artists paint the skin of partiers with fluorescent moss extract, finding beautiful and messy patterns on them.

Looking up, every twenty feet or so, a new floor takes the place of the ceiling, going up at least three stories. Framed and reinforced glass makes up the bulk of the dance floors themselves, but beams and pillars cut through them at certain points. It seems anything beyond that, in the spaces reserved for booths- if each floor mirrors the ground floor- have more solid, non-translucent footing.