In the Bizzannite city of Gnopolis (formerly Charitynaeya) in the Darkmouth Emirate, The work is being done on the largest temple of Stryfe ever constructed.  So massive is this project, that it could not have been placed within the city’s walls without displacing a large portion of Gnopolis’s inhabitants.  Instead, an extension to the walls was made, at city expense provided the church assists with keeping the peace within and guarding the new gate.  This extension increased the size of Gnopolis—already a major city and capital of the Emirate—by an additional 40%.  It was assumed by many that the now-superfluous wall between the temple district & the rest of the city would be stricken when the new external wall was built, but thus far the church has made no effort to do so, and the city has not earmarked funds for the demolition, although that section of the wall is no longer manned. 

Already the framework for the massive spires is the first view over the horizon for visitors approaching by sea, despite the temple district being on the opposite side of the city.  The influx of workers—highly skilled and otherwise—have increased the city’s business, and its crime.  Opportunistic folk, both legitimate merchants and less savoury characters (such as pc’s), have also immigrated to take advantage of this large project.  Most of the workers, as well as those hoping to hire-on, live in tents—often large and communal—and temporary shacks.  As the large increase of visitors due to the construction drove rent prices up—especially for inns or apartments—no common labourer can afford to stay outside of the temple district.  The few rooms that remain are nearly all nightly-rent only, rather than longer-term, and a manual worker certainly cannot afford a hotel room every night. 

Walking through the temple district, one weaves through piles of building materials and rubble, under a buttress still unafixed and over a small cookfire of workers huddled together.  The smell of sawdust, freshly quarried granite, coffee, and sweat, all mingle into a pervasive odour unique to this part of town.  Well-off architects going bald from worry scurry about, notes in hand, stepping over obstacles that you were sure they had not seen.  Carpenters hammer away overhead, while those hoping for work laze the day away in the shade of a tarp.  Small knots of church officials may be seen on most days:  the jovial Abbots, the violent-looking Bishops, and the completely robed-and-veiled scarily silent White Priests.

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