No track selected
The Cursed Blue Rose
Timber comes off the shore in rafts and goes straight into Lundever's yards, which is the shape of the city's whole working life: raw material in, finished goods out. It stands on a lake in the boreal forest of the north, and the water serves as both road and workyard — barges through the open months, sledges hauled over the ice when the lake hardens. Around the yards cluster the trades a production city gathers to itself: joiners and coopers, tanners, ropewalks, charcoal burners working the forest edge. On still mornings the smoke lies flat over the water, and the whole place smells of resin, hide and hot iron.
Raised in the first wave of expansion after the original foundations, Lundever is old, and quietly aware of it. Its people keep apprenticeships that would swallow a human lifetime whole, and hold to methods refined across more generations than anyone bothers to count. The Glac Dom governs here and disposes of what the yards produce.