There are any number of public houses in Akvero. Bars, wineries, restaurants and inns, there are no shortages of places to sleep and to drink. The pub that sits on the Grande Canal has the distinction of being the only one of them run by a Dwarf – and run quite well, at that.

    Gotris is pretty enough, if a person likes their women short and stout and bearded. But it isn't her looks that have made the Grande Canal Pub a success. Her pub serves everyone – yes, even Elves – and she doesn't tolerate shenanigans within her doors. The prices are fair, the beer is good, the wine is better, and no one is quite sure how she gets her bread to taste so fine. That bread is not a native food of the Dwarves helps with the confusion not at all.

    The seats and the tables are all made of petrified wood, which some theorize is because it can be worked in the manner of stone. The glass lamps in the walls glow with the pale yellow light of luminescent crystals, that lowest and cheapest form of magic. Gotris and her employees accept no barter: pure coinage only reigns in her bar.

    The rooms are nothing extravagant, only enough room for the bed and a bag, but the comforters are clean and the drafts are minimal. Cheap enough, though she does not allow her rooms to charge for the hour. The exchange of favors is yet another shenanigan that Gotris doesn't tolerate, not in her pub and not under her nose.

    A very modern and progressive Dwarf she may be, but some things a lady simply cannot be expected to tolerate. Still, though she is quick and though she is clever, the proprietress cannot be in all places at all times. Her sterling reputation makes her pub an ideal location for shadier deals, if a person can manage it. It's a trickier proposition than it sounds, and the axe behind the bar isn't just for show.

    You can take the Dwarf out of the mountain, after all...

    Akvero is a city of water. Built on a peninsula run through with rivers, it sits in a sea that opens to the ocean, central to the western continent. Its position makes the city-state central to trade throughout both the mainland and across the oceans. Canals take the place of many of the roads, traveled by boat rather than by horse, with slender walkways paved in cobblestone.

    Everyone comes to Akvero. It is a human city, but not by much. Dwarves, elves, halflings, even folk far stranger call this place home. Many pass through, but some cannot help but stay, drawn to the culture or the people or both.

    Akvero is a city of masks. The summer and winter solstices are celebrated with festivals, each lasting a week. True decadence requiring anonymity, the masks are a vital part of the celebration; free from the confines of their everyday lives, masked revelers take great pride in the artistry of their masks. Glamoured, enchanted, carved, painted, these masks make powerful talismans. Entire schools of magic have been born around these masks, and certain cults have taken to wearing them at all times.

    It is considered the height of rudeness, downright taboo, to make known who the person is behind their mask. It may be obvious that a dwarf is a dwarf, but it's polite to pretend not to notice.

    No modern city could avoid having magic, and Akvero is no different. Enchanted weaponry or other forms of fighting magic are forbidden within the city walls, though this law is loosely enforced. Make no trouble, and it's unlikely anyone will mind. The streetlamps glow with the ethereal light of luminescent crystals encased in glass, and all the best tailors stitch glamour into their clothes. Watermills power alchemical reactions, and printing presses are bewitched to hide subversive messages.

    Akvero is a republic, but elections take place only once a decade. Corruption is rampant, but it is not oppressive; if anything, it is a trifle too permissive. Cause no trouble for the wealthy, and the authorities are unlikely to notice.