room descs

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A field of cotton bathed in sunlight.
All through the day, the loose soil underfoot radiates the sun's warmth. Rows of cotton plants spring from the fertile earth, their spindly branches blend with the dirt while their fluffy ends bob in the wind like will-o-wisps. The bleats and base smells of sheep waft in on the sticky air.

Out back of a warehouse.
The business end of the Fates, a utilitarian, stone warehouse stands proudly. Packed down by beasts and waggon wheels, the ground is hard and full of ruts. Stacked by the west corner of the building, empty barrels and crates are ready to be carried away. On the opposite end, a covered walkway meets a small door. For service, a wheeled, elephantine gate spans the entire height of the warehouse. Windows along the top of the building allow for sunlight and to curious eyes, the very tops of gargantuan shelves full of textiles are just barely visible.

The receiving hall of the requisitor.
Starved of life, a fragile stillness haunts this receiving hall. Hard, stone walls and sparse furnishings would exaggerate any commotion, but the musky air suggests infrequent visitors. All the way down the tapering hall, a nondescript bench directly faces the unadorned wall like a sullen child. In otherwise perfect condition, only the bench and floor's yellowing varnish reveal their ancient nature.

Crammed inside a cosy office.
A harlequin pattern of shelves and cabinets weave their way across the office walls. Each alternating cubbyhole is impeccably filled - fabric swatches, records books, and spare supplies all meticulously organised. The tight space is so efficient that only a modest walkway surrounds the shelves and the desk in the centre. Stamps, jars of ink, and more paperwork in neat piles warm the heart of any bureaucrat, while a small oven in the corner warms the rest.

Far within aetherways of twisty, transmittal passages, all alike.
Like traversing the innards of an aetherbeast, organic passageways undulate and ripple, passing on their inhabitants. Infinitely rearranging, the tissues shift and reveal new exits. Small, scarred arrows were cut into the walls, but as the passages grow in and out of existence the directions disorient too, mirroring like a fleshy kaleidoscope. The corridors' vital stench is offset by fuel emanating from a dim lamp reflecting ahead forever.