A Thought On Towns

Not every coliseum has to be an Italian one.

Home Is Where The Thought Is

There are lots of towns out there. Towns are the perfect subsidiary to a big city. They are present because a small group of people decided they wanted to be there, formed a working society around it, and then made it accessible to strangers. Villages are a bit different, but this isn't about villages. Villages tolerate tourists, towns thrive off of them.

A town exists because it has unearthed its niche. That niche could very well be a specific export, or perhaps it involves whatever strange happenings occur in the town square at night, but it is a niche so long as it is unique. Cities have no need for such a thing. Their quota has already been filled by the sheer variety of its inhabitants.

A niche does not have to be a thing. It can be a thing, but the presence of that thing is not required for the niche itself to be effective. Villages and towns have sustained off the knowledge alone that, hundreds of years ago, their mountains were once swathed in gold. Those places are cities now.

A niche can be an idea. A thought. A social conduit. One village may enforce its curfew with vicious intent, whilst their neighbour allows even children to roam in the dark. Despite being mere miles apart, the idea is dissociated. 

In this way, towns become a projection of their citizens, rather than their citizens an infection of the town.

Note: I think now would be a good time, if possible, to take a gander at the concepts introduced in Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities. This is the first time I've referenced this work here, but it will probably not be the last. Fascinating stuff.

The Cracked Wall

Nestled between a mountain range and what now comprises The River Gap, the hill-town of Jacquet bustles with the sounds of life and commerce. It is an isolated space, despite its quaint strategic location and the abundance of its resources, leading to a largely negligent relationship with their suzerain: The Republic.

Jacquet is a fighting town. There is not a singular locale nor person you could find in this place that does not show signs of wear.

Street signs are adorned in gashes and indents. Pathways are flat scars of dirt. Every conceivable corner possesses a faded, red blotch somewhere on their flushed face.

The walls surrounding the city have all but collapsed, serving more as an obstacle than a defensive structure for the last 100 years. This also means that the walls are suitable replacements for tunnels, with expert criminals or fencers adorning its sandy carcass.

Even the hint of livestock is shunned if it does not abide by this code. Cock fights are popular for this reason, second only to Baryul (large, moose-like creatures with malleable horns).

Everyone in Jacquet wears their scars with pride. A woundless body invokes the likes of outsiders. Or cowards.

The Broken Pail

Every town has an idol, too. A place or object which provides a unique service to its patrons. It could be a church, or a courthouse, or even a giant nickel. What matters is the precedent:

This thing is ethical to the town's continued existence.

Here, it is the Jacque-de-Lune Coliseum.

These would be helpful if my setting had a visible sun.

Having been built a mere 46 years post-storm, the Jacque-de-Lune is by far the oldest structure in Jacquet, having outlasted even the stone walls which once encased the town. The town's history is ripe with tales of its construction; struggling to build the massive, alabaster arena and its ceiling.

These struggles are tales of pride, of course. Hardship such as this requires celebration!

This is why every week the stadium is packed with peasants and soldiers, merchants and masons, as well as anyone who isn't just sick or dying. Although even the dying would come, if not just to feel the thrill. When the coliseum is at maximum capacity (which it almost always is), each and every not-threateningly busy citizen is present to witness the carnage, with some extra seats to spare for visitors. It isn't uncommon for townsfolk to join in the festivities themselves. Settlings bets or proving your abilities is an ever so slightly admirable cause in front of a crowd, isn't it?

But the champion of the arena is not a native of this town. It isn't even a man at all.