The tale as it's told in Mayura (a city, it should be said, that never chooses truth over a good story) is that an aged, latter-day Wizard-Kings, Mordrey, upon his death split his kingdom among his children. For reasons known only to himself, he bequeathed rulership of his capital to his most unassertive son. While Mordrey had seen fit to place powerful wards upon city so that no one of his blood could rule if they took the city by force, the timid Prince despaired that one or another of his grasping and ambitious siblings would find some indirect means kill him and take the prize. Fearing any day might be his last, he threw himself into pleasures to live life to the fullest. He began spending his inherited fortune on distractions. Entertainers and artists flocked to the city to partake of his largesse.
The prince died young and without an heir, though not at the hands of his siblings but as a result of his sybaritic pursuits. By then, he had inadvertently placed the city on the course it holds to this day, passing through the end of the Age of Magitech, the Demon War, and the darkness that followed, largely unchanged, if not unscathed.
It is true that, despite popular depictions (often popularized by the troubadours and theater troupes of Mayura, itself), a city of its size and importance must have citizenry beyond artists and performers. Of course, there are craftsmen, merchants, beggars, and servants. But how many artisans are only supporting themselves until the quality of their verse is recognized and rewarded? How many moneylenders or soldiers are perhaps actors researching a role?
Mayura is still a monarchy technically, though its ruler is not of the line of Mordrey. Instead, a grand, annual, nonlethal fighting tournament held at the Aristeion colosseum used to select who will serve as the ceremonial ruler for the next year and a day. Competitors are drawn from all over Parsulan, and the event is bolstered by matches and demonstrations by the professional gladiators in the arena's training schools. The Mayura citizenry feel that having such a formidable and dynamic public representative helps deter otherwise bellicose neighbors. They also appreciate the coin brought in by the spectators to the competition.
The work of running Mayura is done by an elected council of citizens interested in that sort of drudgery. The actual ruling in the sense of setting a course for the city's future is currently done by an unelected former dancer, the Lady Petalutha. The paramour of a former four-term King, Petalutha has parleyed her celebrity into a position of real power, and no one sense has been willing to brave public disapproval to make her give it up. By all accounts, however, she is a capable leader, bolstering Mayura military, leading to a quelling of the coastal pirates, and pushing for trade deals that have benefited her city. She is not well liked by the old nobility who control the lands around the city-state, however, who would prefer a more tractable head of state.

























