Petalite; A Description

[Camille]

A thick smog hangs heavy over this area of the city, dark and looming. It’s presence only matched by that of the heat flowing from the same source. A large factory was located in the center of the city; the pinnacle of production within Idola. The air is thick, and nigh difficult to breathe inwards, let alone keep well whilst living within such an area.

The factory in itself is large, and looming over a good portion of the city. It reeks heavily of heat, and steel, of sweat, and blood, piss and shit. It smells of men working, and meager sacked lunches. It reeks of everything which could ever be considered devastating, and still, it runs, through day, and night. Loud and overwhelming, churning and pumping out pound after pound of product; some of which are fully completed, and others are simply bits and pieces of a larger project.

Men go into a factory like this as simply young boys, and come out as nothing less than worn, old men. These boys return home dirtied and stinking, home to their wives’ poorly made meals, and of children begging for a father’s attention. These men unable to reply with any sort of display of affection, for the simple fact that they were impossibly exhausted. Their children too young to understand that their papa’s were neglecting them for their own sake. The hours within the factory were loud, and excruciating. Uncomfortable, and stifling.

There’s little difference to be found between the Tephroiite District, and the Petalite district, save for the minimal dollar amount of difference in their paychecks.

The streets of the Petalite District are busy, and cramped, dirty and loud. The people are neither rude, nor overly friendly. They are all highly apathetic towards one another. They were all in the same boat, after all, barely making their house payments, and keeping their families well fed. Either side of the roads are cramped with tightly packed, and none-too-charming row houses.

Most blocks are cornered with a pub, or two, intimate and near a necessity within such small, and stressful spaces. Many a drinker can be found within this district. Very few bar fights occurred after closing hours. After all, there’s barely space enough for a man to walk between one house, and another, let alone enough for any sort of ruckus to occur in a back alleyway.

The district of Petalite is cramped, the air heavy with smog, and stress, stinking of damn-near everything foul. The men sick of their long work hours, and minimalistic pay, having long since grown weary of Empress Camille’s greed.