Each district has its own mayor who handles local affairs, all of whom are elected except the mayor of The Nettles, whose additional role as guardian of the cursed Cauldron Hill requires he be ap- pointed by the governor and approved by the king.
Districts also elect representatives to the city council, whose authority is balanced against that of the city governor, Roland Stanfield. Technically the position of governor is elected, but aside from brief periods after the deaths of various incarnations, Stan- field has held the position for over four centuries.

Navras Opera House

Flint’s oldest surviving building is the Navras Opera House in the central district. Navras, an eladrin who fled Elfaivar after the Great Malice, designed the opera house and laid the cornerstone with a brick he had brought from his homeland. He spent nearly two hundred years personally overseeing its construction, and was aided by no less than eight Risuri kings. When he completed the building, incongruously huge for what was at the time just a small river fort city, Navras gave the first performance by sing- ing the dirge of Vekesh. As the audience cheered and wept at his performance, he walked off the stage and disappeared forever. The acoustic design of the performance hall somehow captures magical power from song, or from the emotional reactions of the audi- ence. Impresarios who coordinate performance almost always hire spellcasting bards to harness this energy and craft a magic item as a me- mento of the show. In the three hundred years since the Navras Opera House opened, most of these items have found their ways into private collections, but a rare few have become famous, such as the Hurricane Violin, which commemo- rated the Fable of Seaquen and later banished a sea monster that threatened Flint Harbor in 417 a.o.v.

Depending on who you ask, the name Bosum Strand comes either from the boatswains who frequented its taverns, or from the har- bor’s more traditional name, which translated to bosom of the sea. In either case, the docks along the east shore of Flint Bay are the heart of the city’s trade, culture, and crime.
Hundreds of warehouses serve Flint’s merchant fleet, and doz- ens of bars, taverns, gambling houses, and brothels serve its dock workers. Craftsmen, artists, and money changers own shops sur- rounding several scattered public squares throughout the district, and the district’s mayor Griffin Stowe has strong-armed property owners along major streets to ensure that when the wealthy and influential travel the strand they are not forced to see any of the district’s uncouth underbelly.
This is why, of course, the dockers make a point to perform on as many street corners and squares as possible.
The district is currently clearing out tenants and demolishing buildings for a freight rail line. The station is already under con- struction, and once complete it will speed delivery of raw materials and natural exports. More importantly, it will let Flint share its industrial bounty with the rest of the nation. Unusually, many local druids have been recruited to speak with the spirits of the land and appease them so they will not disrupt the building process.
The Night of the Mirror Moon occurs when the High Winter moon is the fourth full moon of the season. From the moment the moon shines on Flint Harbor, anyone who enters the water while holding a mirror will emerge in the Dreaming analogue of Bosum Strand. There, it is said, the docks are replaced by a glorious beach where all the fey from miles around gather for the wildest party one could ever imagine. Sometimes people fail to get back before the moon sets, while others return with magical powers, a gift or bar- gain from the fey. The last such Mirror Moon happened seventeen years ago, in 483 a.o.v., and the next will be in two years.

The oldest and most developed district of Flint is home to its main government structures, including the city council, superior court, police headquarters, and the offices of various civil functionaries like tax collectors. Grand party halls, ornate druidic garden temples, and parks filled with monuments to old wars provide recreation and entertainment for the city’s nobility and prospering middle class, while the Orange Street commodities market and the prestigious Pardwight University are the dual hearts of Flint’s economic and academic cultures. The district mayor Oncala Putnam recently approved construction of a grand subrail station to serve
as the hub of a city-wide transportation network. Currently the Central district is often clogged with traffic from the surface rail station, since the proposed tunnel through Humble Hill in the Nettles, meant to provide an easier route to the factories of Parity Lake, has been dogged by sabotage from elements opposed to the industrialization of Risur. Just off the coast in Flint Bay, the city governor’s mansion occupies what was once an island fortress. For the past 400 years Roland Stanfield has, through various incarnations and with only rare disruption, served as city governor, earning near universal respect for his wisdom and leadership. Perhaps most importantly for the PCs, Central district is home to the local headquarters of the Royal Homeland Constabulary, headed by Lady Inspectress Margaret Saxby. Extensive details of the local branch are presented below, in the Royal Homeland Constabulary section.

A major freight and passenger railroad line enters from the south and stops at King’s Station, but local light rail routes are being constructed throughout Central District. Most of this route travels underground, thus earning the moniker subrail. One section parallel to the freight line travels aboveground in the same corridor, and a brief stretch of track near Pardwight University rises to the surface by necessity, due to some magi- cal quirks of geography.

The eastern outskirts of Flint are dominated by towering mountains, their peaks constantly shrouded in clouds that feed lush rainforests and verdant streams. The steep highlands are sparsely populated, but numerous plantations and small farms fill the flatter terrain near the coast. Few city folk venture out to these lands, believing that here the veil between the real world and the Dreaming is thin. Local myths include countless tales of farmers, travelers, and juvenile miscreants who wander into the foggy woods and suffer wretched fates at the hands of capricious fey.
While most who live in Cloudwood consider it common courtesy to share a bowl of milk or plates of sliced fruit with unseen nightly visitors, the district’s new mayor, Doyle Idylls, has forbidden district employees from engaging in the old tradition.
Mayor Idylls shares his office with the local police branch, and he recently had salt baked into bricks around its base in order to keep away curious fey. Soon after, the building developed a gopher problem. Though criminals in Flint tend to make the Nettles their first stop when on the run from the law, those who really need to lay low find the wild rainforests of Cloudwood ideal. The most rural areas of the district are practically independent thorps and hamlets, many of which are sympathetic to desperate outsiders. Until recently they reaped rewards from collaborating with at least three gangs which operated out of the forest, but a new player in the area has somehow managed to get the gangs to call off their attacks.
Somewhere in the high misty mountains hides Hana “Gale” Soliogn, an eladrin who fled to Risur after she escaped the rich Danoran family who had kept her as a trophy for over a century. Upon leaving the dead magic zone of Danor, Soliogn discovered an exceedingly rare talent for innately controlling winds and weather, which earned her the name Gale.
She enjoyed a brief celebrity upon arriving in Flint a year ago, but almost immediately withdrew into the wilderness and began recruiting followers among those opposed to the influx of industry. Law enforcement officials believe she’s trying to punish Danor by proxy, and in the past several months hundreds of acts of sabotage on factories and steamships have been linked to her. In one incident, Gale was caught in the act of trying to assassinate a sleeping industrialist, but she managed to fly away and avoid capture.

A small spur of the mountains of the Cloudwood cuts into the heart of Flint, and for most of the city’s history these hills were home to druidic rituals, or simply let romantics witness wondrous vistas of the beaches from on high. Their traditional name came from an old commander of the Flint fort, who saw them as a thorny barrier against attack from the north.
But then in 346 a.o.v. a coven of witches took residence upon a jagged mountain at the range’s edge, which ever since has been called Cauldron Hill. For decades they terrorized the city, sending goblins and specters to abduct people for sacrificial rites, then hiding in the veil between this world and the Bleak Gate whenever any tried to assault them.
Eventually the witches were defeated when King Lorcan allied with a Crisillyiri godhand and led an assault during a lunar eclipse. Ever since, the peak of Cauldron Hill has been rife with haunting and spirit activity, and one of the key tasks of the district mayor has been to keep daring fools from ascending the mountain and coming down possessed.
The greatest achievement of the previous district mayor was constructing a highway across Humble Hill to make travel across the city easier, but in the past few decades the district, even the base of Cauldron Hill itself, have grown thick with slum housing, as more and more people flock to Flint hoping to find work in the factories. The broad switchbacks of the highway are cluttered with shacks, often with two or three families sharing the same building. Poorly crafted houses cling to the sides of slopes, and they have become a nightmare for local police to patrol, giving a whole new connotation to the name “The Nettles.”
Current district mayor Reed Macbannin has been unable to halt the new arrivals, and he hasn’t been helped by the common prejudice that the factory workers are prone to crime, laziness, and general mayhem. Despite this, he has managed to earn passing respect from the people of his district; few are trusted with the stewardship of Cauldron Hill, and he has leveraged his office to get city tax money for the poorest of the poor.

The sun rises through the mists of Cloudwood, banishing the night with pale purple clouds dashed by the golden gleam of dawn. Fresh sea breezes sweep the gloomy haze of soot away from pristine beaches, letting clear daylight fall upon gently crashing waves. The day wanes, and the sky explodes with crimson and vermilion as the sun sets behind the twin peaks of Great Horned Mountain. Night drapes a starry curtain across the world, and still the waves gently lap upon the North Shore.
Home to the most beautiful urban beaches in all of Lanjyr, Flint’s North Shore district prides itself on its appearance, despite being so close to the polluted Parity Lake. Demand for beachside property has pushed out all but the wealthiest land-owners, those who can afford to hire druids to pray for favorable winds to keep the smoke at bay, and armies of cleaning crews to scrub their walls and streets when the druids fail.
Of course with wealth comes corruption and temptation. Young girls end up dead in alleys. Criminals stage daring robberies of villas protected by curses. Destitute nobles, dragged down from their towers by the machinations of rivals, stumble from nighttime streets into strangely-scented shops they’d never seen before and find offers they cannot refuse.
The district mayor, Aaron Choir, unabashedly serves the inter- ests of the wealthy, and he is currently petitioning to build a wall between North Shore and Parity Lake to keep out “undesirables.” Likewise, police violently deter the occasional protest that crops up outside the Danoran consulate, which sits a few blocks inland from the shore. Mayor Choir is careful, of course, not to appear too friendly with the unpopular Danorans, no matter how much they pay him in kick-backs.