The city is entirely mechanized.

Deep in the Roktar Canyon, beneath skies of ash and smoke, there where it widens in the trail and the crags grow sharper and steeper are the walls; There is Bloras, the city from which no whisper is borne. Plenty of whispers beyond its narrow walls, speaking of how the city has no history, how it was discovered and the Gods disclaim it, warning all not to trespass. From without, the city looks as if great mechanics run it, with the clanking and clattering of automatons, the designs of a race perhaps older than those of the Sarandanon itself.

The gates remain untouched by time, forever closed and rusting away in the cold, dark, timeless Canyon. Unfettered, unwashed, unknown.

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