Cities: Smithville

Smithville

Caught between Fire and Rust, it’s not surprising that Smithville’s name is incredibly fitting. All manner of metal works from blacksmithing to silversmithing and everywhere in between is practiced within its limits. The constant fall of hammers creates an ebbing and flowing baseline which harmonically shifts as one makes their way from one side to the other. There are also a great deal of burn victims in Smithville, all of whom own their scars -big or small- with pride. In fact, the people here take body modification to the extreme for everything, even their flesh, is a canvas on which to create. Many find a strange sort of beauty to Smithville’s people, others unchecked revulsion. There really is no in-between. Those looking to belt out some tunes can do so at a dive bar called the Inferno. Of all the shitholes across the ruined world, this one is the most typical. Its windows are long boarded over, its walls a plain brick. The door bears just as many nicks and scars at its servers. The booze is cheap and the room stinks of it. A plain wire fence protects a Warband performing from the crowd. It doesn’t protect from piped-in flame from nearby forges if they clock in a lousy set.

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