As they approached Rattropolis it quickly became apparent that the place was not quite as terrifying to behold as their reputation implied. The entry was a great big decorative archway beautifully hand made out of stone. It seemed practically everything was made like that. (Artisan rats literally chewed the scenery to sculpt it. The goal being a beautiful style that was not tempting to gnaw on. For such requirements salt licks and wooden blocks were sold at neat roadside stalls or “gnaw bars” which always had customers outside.)

When she heard the place had once been a wizard’s tower Mibbet had expected it to still bear some semblance to the thing it had been based on. But here’s the thing about rats, they like to burrow and expand. Every inch of the tower from top to bottom, and a good chunk around and below, had been carefully added to and improved with whatever the residents could get their paws on. (Which was pretty much everything,) the wizards tomes had been salvaged and adapted to make a city which laughed at physics, beat it up, gave it a wedgie, then stole it’s lunch money.

It started off wide at the base, with a seemingly endless array of rat apartments, each featuring a hammock and a few really nice decorations expertly gnawed from whatever they dug up. Then the tower tapered in the middle almost to the point of hitting the original tower. That seemed to be the posher district, all stalls, stores. The occasional fancy bazaar. But oddly the houses were about the same. According to what Mibbet had read according to the rats every rat was king (including but not limited to those with tangled tails who held the name in a different manner.) Since they had decided after dealing with their pesky wizard infestation to decide collectively on most things, and simply eat anybody who tried for a formal leadership role.

The streets were of course immaculate. That’s what happens when your residents are the ultimate omnivores (or at least some of them were, there were other races here too, but we’ll get to that later.)

Oh back to the city itself, once you got past the taper you hit the factory districts and other messy parts of the city. High up where the smoke would rise away from the residents and the wind was strong enough to clear the smog. All told the place looked strange, and would probably make architects and urban planners the world over run home crying to their mothers while hugging their drafting compasses and slide rules. But as odd as it looked it seemed to really really work for them, though it must have taken an extremely large amount of magic to hold it all together it seemed there were plenty of rats to do so.According to a slightly chewed pamphlet they had been handed by a local kid on their way in the system worked because for a short time in their life every rat was asked to contribute some of their own magic power to holding the city together. (Mibbet had to admit if you wanted a solid sense of collective responsibility the realisation of how easily a selfish individual could cause a part of the city to collapse was a pretty solid way to make sure everybody got it. Something about working your ass off to hold something together and knowing if it falls apart it will screw you over too acts as a pretty solid way to learn.)

The residents were another surprise, when you hear the words mutated rats the first thing that may spring to mind is huge teeth, spines. Maybe a scorpion like tail. When you first think the word assassin you think dark, broody. Maybe wearing a hood, and carrying some kind of rusty blade. Either way the first words that would enter one’s head would not be cute, fluffy, adorable, or button eyes. But the Ratten definitely fit those last three words in a far more fitting manner than any others.

They came in a whole array of colours, sometimes all on the same rat, and wore carefully tailored clothing, usually with mutton top sleeves, lace fronted shirts, and a feathered hat worn at a rakish angle. On the weapons front the only blades they ever saw were a strange kind of tail mounted rapier, which they used to settle disagreements via duel. Almost like on learning of their reputation as assassins who killed their former masters they had decided to lean as far into weapons grade civility as they could manage. Each resident wore a warren mark for what family they belonged to (as previously mentioned rats have big families, and each had their own alliances and differences. But differences were settled via duel, unless a particular rat was unable to duel in which case a spirited debate or game of dice were considered an acceptable alternative.)

There were other races too, though not in the same numbers. For starters there were the Caneiree, who had started off as mana contamination detectors down in the mana-stone mines many years ago. They usually acted as couriers between the many places, and were easily distinguished by their bright colouring. While on duty they wore wing mounted blades, so anybody interfering with their job would get the message that they would never actually get the message. Obviously they didn’t wear much, beyond a strap secured hat and their messenger pouch. Though some deliberately accessorised and held their skill at supporting extra weight as bragging rights.

Then there were the Dook, many wizards had favoured Ferrets and polecats as subjects because they could double as familiars and bodyguards. A plan which had well and truly backfired as the Dook considered themselves to have more solidarity with their ratty brethren then some human in a silly hat bellowing out orders, and the really important things to look for in a bodyguard are the ability to shield you and the inclination. They did not expect those they had treated like disposable commodities for so long to actually dislike them enough to stand aside or assist their overthrow. (Really who saw that coming? They must have been totally shocked.)

So Rattropolis was a surprisingly pleasant place. At the very least on the surface.