Chapter 142 - A Day in Vel’khan II
Tal’ihir was a massive rainforest, a boundless woodland spanning a third of the continent. But because it housed so many inhabitants, its tree coverage was far from uniform. There were many paths carved into the forest, and whole cities as well. Not all of the jungle’s beneficiaries cared for its retention or conservation, with many races developing architectural styles completely at odds with their native woodlands. The halflings were a prime example. They dug their single-story houses into the undergrowth, regardless of how many roots they destroyed. To them, short-term privacy was of a far greater importance than the maintenance of the vegetation that upheld it.
The well-trodden path that Claire and Sylvia followed came with arguably less destruction. It was crafted by kelpfins, semi-aquatic shark people with no trouble spending entire lifetimes above the surface. Being among the tallest of the fish folk, the paths they made had little in the way of looming branches. Everything that approached the highway was reduced to lumber, such that pedestrians and other travelers would not have to be concerned with evading stray branches. They had bulldozed their way through the rainforest with such efficiency that their roads were clear, even from high up in the sky.
So well maintained was the highway that they expected it to see frequent use, but the only groups that traversed it were heavily guarded convoys. Many of the knights, mercenaries, and adventurers shot looks in the pair’s direction as they passed them by, but not all were wary or hostile. Some of the self-proclaimed good samaritans had appeared concerned, and one particularly nosy group, led by an old elf, had even tried to call out to them, but Claire had silenced him with a cold, paralyzing glare before he could relay his message.
Each fleet of wagons came with its own beasts of burden. Some had horses, some had large cats, and some even deigned to power their carriages with other people, but the most common was undoubtedly the turberi, the work turtles employed in most parts of the world. While Sylvia was caught off guard by the three-headed reptiles, Claire found them an ordinary, everyday sight; even Cadria saw them as the standard pack animal of choice. The semi-aquatic shell bearers were quiet, quick on their feet, and durable. They were also incredibly strong for their size. Even a young turberus could pull five times the weight of the average adult centaur. And yet, the farm animals remained perfectly docile. Only those with extreme temperaments, such as survivors of long-term abuse, would ever attack; most of them would instead withdraw into their shells when threatened, an instinct bred into them through thousands of years of domestication.
The gentle draught animals suffered from only a few minor weaknesses, the most often cited of which was that they made for poor mounts. They stood at only half a meter tall, and their shells were arched at an uncomfortably steep angle. Smaller riders could learn to straddle them with enough time and practice , but most believed it wasn’t worth the effort. Another common complaint was their lack of stamina. They could sustain a respectable speed for only a few hours at a time, after which they would inevitably need to sleep or graze. Most drivers got around the problem by exploiting the convenience factor that was their small stature. The dog-sized reptiles were light enough to lift, and most travelers would bring two to three times the number needed to pull their carriages. One group would be deployed, while the others were allowed to board and rest until it was their turn.
Vel’rulm didn’t appear on the horizon until the sun was directly overhead. The halfbreeds very well could have reached their destination in an instant, had Sylvia worked her magic, but they had decided to go about their lives without the almost extraneous convenience. There was no rush, no reason to skip the journey whilst they still appreciated the fresh sights. Even though there wasn’t always something to see. When they did eventually get bored, they passed the time by chasing each other down the highway, with each abusing her magic as best as she could. Sylvia would twist the roads with her spellsongs and completely befuddle her pet moose, while Claire would call various objects to her aid and ensnare the magical catdog in a series of overengineered fox traps.
Like most notabe settlements, the city was a castle town, built around a large fortress governed by a local aristocrat. Claire couldn’t quite recall the intricacies of Vel’khanese culture, but in Cadria, it was not uncommon for the aforementioned governor to be a merchant, craftsman, or philosopher. Anyone with enough wealth would be allowed to possess a domain in their name, so long as they were willing to abide by the government’s regulations.
Vel’rulm was certainly on the smaller side, but it bore a close resemblance to many a merchant-run Cadrian city regardless. Its castle was the biggest giveaway, with the structure constructed for show and not defense. The poorly planned stone fortress lacked the battlements, moats, and towers that she was used to seeing. It was made instead of large columns with enough space between them for troops to pass through, and no clear way to close off all the entrances. The entablature that sat atop the pillars was large and heavy, a surefire sign that it was weak to destruction by catapult.
The city’s outermost defenses were also lackluster. It was surrounded not by walls, but rather thick wooden pillars with hefty chains running between them. Claire suspected that the poor defenses were derived from circumstance. Wolves aside, the creatures living in the surrounding area were almost entirely harmless. Goblins were the worst she found.
“I think we should pick another gate this time,” said Sylvia.
“And change how we look,” agreed Claire.
The entrance they had attempted to use during their first visit was located on the city’s west side. It lay at the end of the path they had followed and was closest to the abandoned building they later made their home. As far as Claire could tell, it was only one of the four gates available. The dense rainforest prevented her from making out any of the other paths with her eyes, but she could hear the rattling of carriages coming from a trio of different directions.
“Actually… do you think the guards would notice if we just got in a bubble?” asked Sylvia. She raised her paws overhead and moved them in a large circular arc.
The lyrkress placed a hand on her chin and paused briefly before shaking her head. “Most likely not.”
Some cities had magical barriers that would alert their protectors to any unwanted intruders, but Vel’rulm was clearly not one of them. It simply wasn’t of the right size or scale to afford such an expensive piece of technology.
“Wait! Then why didn’t we just sneak in last time!?” asked Sylvia.
“Because I punched the guard. They must’ve been looking for us in town. They might still be.”
“Oh… right. Then I guess I should probably do something about how fuzzy I am.”
There was a flash of white light as the vixen turned into a fairy and donned her fae dress. The tiny foxgirl flew right up to Claire’s head and hid in her hair, as she often did when they were in public.
After stepping into the rainforest and checking for any potential observers, the lyrkress mirrored her companion’s actions and went through a drastic change of her own. Her body shrank to two thirds its previous height as her half-equine, half-serpentine lower half was replaced with a pair of humanoid legs. Her blouse and cloak were adjusted accordingly. Though her insistence on remaining incognito had gotten her in trouble during her last visit, she kept her hood pulled over her head. The tiny risk of recognition was not one she wished to run.
“Uhm… Claire?”
“What?”
“Can you do something about your ears?” Sylvia grabbed one of the fluffy appendages and lifted it above the other girl’s head. “They kinda make it really obvious that you’re the same person.”
“No. They’re pretty.”
“Oh come on! At least hide them! And your true ice shard! That thing’s a dead giveaway!”
“But it’s also pretty.”
“It doesn’t matter how pretty it is if it gets us caught!” shouted the half-elf, as she lightly tapped one of her feet against the top of her mount’s head.
“Then get rid of your tail.”
"No way! I love my tail!” The fairy pouted as she started fiddling with her hair. The long, messy strands shared the same colours as her vulpine form. It was mostly made of orange, with shades of black and white at the roots and ends.
“Exactly. Now leave my ears and my shard alone,” said the lyrkress.
Sylvia breathed a sigh. “Ugh… fine! But it’s your fault if we get caught!”
“We won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I hit them hard enough for them to forget me.” Claire flashed a smug grin as she put her hands on her hips and puffed up her pitifully flat chest.
“If that was how that worked, then we never would’ve had to run away in the first place!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She navigated the forest with her ears as she spoke. The road wasn’t exactly close, but the distant rattling of wagons was distinct enough for her to trace its source with ease.
“Wait! What happened to using the bubble!?” asked Sylvia.
“I want to go through the gate. It seems more fun.” Claire said, as she waded through the undergrowth. “We can use the bubble if this doesn’t work.”
“I swear, Claire! What the heck! You’re gonna get us caught!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The lyrkress stuck her head out from behind a tree as she arrived at the next highway over. Even without looking, she could tell that it was far more populated. While the other path had only larger groups accompanied by armed guards, the freshly discovered trail was bustling with almost neither. Most of the passersby were unarmed pedestrians, walking either by themselves or with a small group of companions. Some were carrying goods, but the majority were empty handed. They reminded Claire of the students and workers she often saw in Valencia, commuting to and from their regular destinations.
“Woah… that’s a lot of people!” shouted Sylvia, in a whisper. “I’m pretty sure I already see more than there were in Darkwood Hollow!”
“Those weren’t people. They were foxes.”
“Foxes are people too!”
“Foxes are foxes. People are people.”
“Rude!”
Though they got a few strange looks, the pair was able to join the procession without any difficulty.
“You think the guards are going to be jerks again?” asked Sylvia.
“I doubt it,” said Claire. “They look too busy to harass us.”
It was fairly difficult for the halfbreed to see the gate with all the people and turberi-drawn carriages in the way, but it didn’t look like the sentries were performing detailed inspections. They only stopped one in every few dozen travelers, and rarely ever hassled them for more than a few seconds. Listening in on their conversations, the half-moose quickly formulated a plan of action and a number of relatively consistent half lies, just in case they decided to annoy her.
“Pretend you don’t exist if they talk to us,” she said, to the person most likely to mess up her plans.
“That sounds like too much work. I’m just gonna take a nap,” said Sylvia. “All this traveling is tiring me out.”
“You barely walked. I carried you whenever we weren’t messing around.”
“Oh, shush! I’m a fox, and foxes are supposed to nap a lot!” cried the indignant vixen. “Wake me up when we go looking for maids!”
Acknowledging the request with a silent nod, Claire put her poker face on and approached the gates.
To her dismay, she immediately spotted a familiar guard with a swollen jaw. She would have been in for a world of trouble if he recognized her, but evidently, she had successfully deprived him of his memory. He admitted her with a nonchalant, wordless glance, the same thing he had done for just about everyone else in line in front of her.
Claire found herself staring down a bustling street as she stepped through the gate and into the settlement. She had seen it from outside the chain-linked barrier, but being a part of the scene made for a whole new experience. She started paying more attention to the people around her, to the various Ryllian species that made up the busy city.
Despite its lackluster size, Vel’rulm’s population density was high enough for her to think it some sort of major hub. There were man-sized crabs buying items from tiny stalls on the side of the road, sentient jellyfish hovering through the air, and eels with human-like limbs sprinting through the streets. There were even a few grugs out and about; many of the cat-eared frogs were manning the city’s various shops.
The absurdly dense population was second only to the amount of signage. Anywhere from ten to one hundred wooden boards could be seen on every single building. Most of the markings, she understood at a glance—the masks clearly denoted the theatre, the mortar and pestle the apothecary, and the anvil the smithy—but there were also those whose meanings were less apparent. She was unable to identify the shop marked with an array of hearts, nor could she interpret the sign sporting a goblin queen with an arrow stuck in its disproportionate posterior.
Her mind was paralyzed by the sheer number of choices; she was so curious and overwhelmed that she forgot she was standing in the way of the people behind her. It wasn’t until an impatient elf grunted a complaint that she realised she had been frozen in place.
“Sorry,” she said, as she kicked her feet back into motion.
Unsure of where to go, she began walking down the main street and casually blending in with the crowd. There were options everywhere. The words dungeon and maid floated around in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t find any taverns or pubs, at least not by looking at the signs. There weren’t even any restaurants, as far as she could tell. The lack of indoor venues was one that stemmed from the difference between Cadrian and Vel’khanese food culture. The maritime nation’s food and drink vendors did most of their business outdoors. The aromatic spices they put in their goods served to advertise their shops. It was certainly an effective strategy. There were large crowds gathered around nearly every stall, their hungry stomachs attracted by the wonderful scents.
Unlike the locals, Claire knew better than to fall for the vendors’ tricks. She had been fooled by them before, when she snuck out of the manor and wandered Valencia’s streets, and she had no intention of being fooled again. She knew that, despite the wonderful smell, their products had the tendency to be rather subpar. Their taste profiles were simple and rarely ever had enough flavour to do the raw ingredients justice.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if the local quality was any better than what was served back home. The Ryllian Sea was known for its chefs. Amereth, the manor’s resident professional, had learned her culinary techniques from her motherland, and it was possible that Vel’khanese standards would be higher, given the shark-faced cook’s lack of confidence.
Shaking her head clear of temptation, Claire continued walking around until she escaped the commercial district. The residential area was much less crowded. There were only a handful of people on each street, most of which appeared to be members of the upper class. They were dressed in high quality fabrics, and many even had guards either accompanying them or following from a distance.
The security detail didn’t exactly appreciate the presence of a suspicious hooded figure, but she ignored their stares and continued on her way, despite knowing that she was unlikely to find a tavern without first turning around.
It wasn’t until she reached the fortress located in the middle of the city that she finally stopped in her tracks and voiced a long overdue suspicion.
“I think I might be lost.”
Chapter 142 - A Day in Vel’khan II
Tal’ihir was a massive rainforest, a boundless woodland spanning a third of the continent. But because it housed so many inhabitants, its tree coverage was far from uniform. There were many paths carved into the forest, and whole cities as well. Not all of the jungle’s beneficiaries cared for its retention or conservation, with many races developing architectural styles completely at odds with their native woodlands. The halflings were a prime example. They dug their single-story houses into the undergrowth, regardless of how many roots they destroyed. To them, short-term privacy was of a far greater importance than the maintenance of the vegetation that upheld it.
The well-trodden path that Claire and Sylvia followed came with arguably less destruction. It was crafted by kelpfins, semi-aquatic shark people with no trouble spending entire lifetimes above the surface. Being among the tallest of the fish folk, the paths they made had little in the way of looming branches. Everything that approached the highway was reduced to lumber, such that pedestrians and other travelers would not have to be concerned with evading stray branches. They had bulldozed their way through the rainforest with such efficiency that their roads were clear, even from high up in the sky.
So well maintained was the highway that they expected it to see frequent use, but the only groups that traversed it were heavily guarded convoys. Many of the knights, mercenaries, and adventurers shot looks in the pair’s direction as they passed them by, but not all were wary or hostile. Some of the self-proclaimed good samaritans had appeared concerned, and one particularly nosy group, led by an old elf, had even tried to call out to them, but Claire had silenced him with a cold, paralyzing glare before he could relay his message.
Each fleet of wagons came with its own beasts of burden. Some had horses, some had large cats, and some even deigned to power their carriages with other people, but the most common was undoubtedly the turberi, the work turtles employed in most parts of the world. While Sylvia was caught off guard by the three-headed reptiles, Claire found them an ordinary, everyday sight; even Cadria saw them as the standard pack animal of choice. The semi-aquatic shell bearers were quiet, quick on their feet, and durable. They were also incredibly strong for their size. Even a young turberus could pull five times the weight of the average adult centaur. And yet, the farm animals remained perfectly docile. Only those with extreme temperaments, such as survivors of long-term abuse, would ever attack; most of them would instead withdraw into their shells when threatened, an instinct bred into them through thousands of years of domestication.
The gentle draught animals suffered from only a few minor weaknesses, the most often cited of which was that they made for poor mounts. They stood at only half a meter tall, and their shells were arched at an uncomfortably steep angle. Smaller riders could learn to straddle them with enough time and practice , but most believed it wasn’t worth the effort. Another common complaint was their lack of stamina. They could sustain a respectable speed for only a few hours at a time, after which they would inevitably need to sleep or graze. Most drivers got around the problem by exploiting the convenience factor that was their small stature. The dog-sized reptiles were light enough to lift, and most travelers would bring two to three times the number needed to pull their carriages. One group would be deployed, while the others were allowed to board and rest until it was their turn.
Vel’rulm didn’t appear on the horizon until the sun was directly overhead. The halfbreeds very well could have reached their destination in an instant, had Sylvia worked her magic, but they had decided to go about their lives without the almost extraneous convenience. There was no rush, no reason to skip the journey whilst they still appreciated the fresh sights. Even though there wasn’t always something to see. When they did eventually get bored, they passed the time by chasing each other down the highway, with each abusing her magic as best as she could. Sylvia would twist the roads with her spellsongs and completely befuddle her pet moose, while Claire would call various objects to her aid and ensnare the magical catdog in a series of overengineered fox traps.
Like most notabe settlements, the city was a castle town, built around a large fortress governed by a local aristocrat. Claire couldn’t quite recall the intricacies of Vel’khanese culture, but in Cadria, it was not uncommon for the aforementioned governor to be a merchant, craftsman, or philosopher. Anyone with enough wealth would be allowed to possess a domain in their name, so long as they were willing to abide by the government’s regulations.
Vel’rulm was certainly on the smaller side, but it bore a close resemblance to many a merchant-run Cadrian city regardless. Its castle was the biggest giveaway, with the structure constructed for show and not defense. The poorly planned stone fortress lacked the battlements, moats, and towers that she was used to seeing. It was made instead of large columns with enough space between them for troops to pass through, and no clear way to close off all the entrances. The entablature that sat atop the pillars was large and heavy, a surefire sign that it was weak to destruction by catapult.
The city’s outermost defenses were also lackluster. It was surrounded not by walls, but rather thick wooden pillars with hefty chains running between them. Claire suspected that the poor defenses were derived from circumstance. Wolves aside, the creatures living in the surrounding area were almost entirely harmless. Goblins were the worst she found.
“I think we should pick another gate this time,” said Sylvia.
“And change how we look,” agreed Claire.
The entrance they had attempted to use during their first visit was located on the city’s west side. It lay at the end of the path they had followed and was closest to the abandoned building they later made their home. As far as Claire could tell, it was only one of the four gates available. The dense rainforest prevented her from making out any of the other paths with her eyes, but she could hear the rattling of carriages coming from a trio of different directions.
“Actually… do you think the guards would notice if we just got in a bubble?” asked Sylvia. She raised her paws overhead and moved them in a large circular arc.
The lyrkress placed a hand on her chin and paused briefly before shaking her head. “Most likely not.”
Some cities had magical barriers that would alert their protectors to any unwanted intruders, but Vel’rulm was clearly not one of them. It simply wasn’t of the right size or scale to afford such an expensive piece of technology.
“Wait! Then why didn’t we just sneak in last time!?” asked Sylvia.
“Because I punched the guard. They must’ve been looking for us in town. They might still be.”
“Oh… right. Then I guess I should probably do something about how fuzzy I am.”
There was a flash of white light as the vixen turned into a fairy and donned her fae dress. The tiny foxgirl flew right up to Claire’s head and hid in her hair, as she often did when they were in public.
After stepping into the rainforest and checking for any potential observers, the lyrkress mirrored her companion’s actions and went through a drastic change of her own. Her body shrank to two thirds its previous height as her half-equine, half-serpentine lower half was replaced with a pair of humanoid legs. Her blouse and cloak were adjusted accordingly. Though her insistence on remaining incognito had gotten her in trouble during her last visit, she kept her hood pulled over her head. The tiny risk of recognition was not one she wished to run.
“Uhm… Claire?”
“What?”
“Can you do something about your ears?” Sylvia grabbed one of the fluffy appendages and lifted it above the other girl’s head. “They kinda make it really obvious that you’re the same person.”
“No. They’re pretty.”
“Oh come on! At least hide them! And your true ice shard! That thing’s a dead giveaway!”
“But it’s also pretty.”
“It doesn’t matter how pretty it is if it gets us caught!” shouted the half-elf, as she lightly tapped one of her feet against the top of her mount’s head.
“Then get rid of your tail.”
"No way! I love my tail!” The fairy pouted as she started fiddling with her hair. The long, messy strands shared the same colours as her vulpine form. It was mostly made of orange, with shades of black and white at the roots and ends.
“Exactly. Now leave my ears and my shard alone,” said the lyrkress.
Sylvia breathed a sigh. “Ugh… fine! But it’s your fault if we get caught!”
“We won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I hit them hard enough for them to forget me.” Claire flashed a smug grin as she put her hands on her hips and puffed up her pitifully flat chest.
“If that was how that worked, then we never would’ve had to run away in the first place!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She navigated the forest with her ears as she spoke. The road wasn’t exactly close, but the distant rattling of wagons was distinct enough for her to trace its source with ease.
“Wait! What happened to using the bubble!?” asked Sylvia.
“I want to go through the gate. It seems more fun.” Claire said, as she waded through the undergrowth. “We can use the bubble if this doesn’t work.”
“I swear, Claire! What the heck! You’re gonna get us caught!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The lyrkress stuck her head out from behind a tree as she arrived at the next highway over. Even without looking, she could tell that it was far more populated. While the other path had only larger groups accompanied by armed guards, the freshly discovered trail was bustling with almost neither. Most of the passersby were unarmed pedestrians, walking either by themselves or with a small group of companions. Some were carrying goods, but the majority were empty handed. They reminded Claire of the students and workers she often saw in Valencia, commuting to and from their regular destinations.
“Woah… that’s a lot of people!” shouted Sylvia, in a whisper. “I’m pretty sure I already see more than there were in Darkwood Hollow!”
“Those weren’t people. They were foxes.”
“Foxes are people too!”
“Foxes are foxes. People are people.”
“Rude!”
Though they got a few strange looks, the pair was able to join the procession without any difficulty.
“You think the guards are going to be jerks again?” asked Sylvia.
“I doubt it,” said Claire. “They look too busy to harass us.”
It was fairly difficult for the halfbreed to see the gate with all the people and turberi-drawn carriages in the way, but it didn’t look like the sentries were performing detailed inspections. They only stopped one in every few dozen travelers, and rarely ever hassled them for more than a few seconds. Listening in on their conversations, the half-moose quickly formulated a plan of action and a number of relatively consistent half lies, just in case they decided to annoy her.
“Pretend you don’t exist if they talk to us,” she said, to the person most likely to mess up her plans.
“That sounds like too much work. I’m just gonna take a nap,” said Sylvia. “All this traveling is tiring me out.”
“You barely walked. I carried you whenever we weren’t messing around.”
“Oh, shush! I’m a fox, and foxes are supposed to nap a lot!” cried the indignant vixen. “Wake me up when we go looking for maids!”
Acknowledging the request with a silent nod, Claire put her poker face on and approached the gates.
To her dismay, she immediately spotted a familiar guard with a swollen jaw. She would have been in for a world of trouble if he recognized her, but evidently, she had successfully deprived him of his memory. He admitted her with a nonchalant, wordless glance, the same thing he had done for just about everyone else in line in front of her.
Claire found herself staring down a bustling street as she stepped through the gate and into the settlement. She had seen it from outside the chain-linked barrier, but being a part of the scene made for a whole new experience. She started paying more attention to the people around her, to the various Ryllian species that made up the busy city.
Despite its lackluster size, Vel’rulm’s population density was high enough for her to think it some sort of major hub. There were man-sized crabs buying items from tiny stalls on the side of the road, sentient jellyfish hovering through the air, and eels with human-like limbs sprinting through the streets. There were even a few grugs out and about; many of the cat-eared frogs were manning the city’s various shops.
The absurdly dense population was second only to the amount of signage. Anywhere from ten to one hundred wooden boards could be seen on every single building. Most of the markings, she understood at a glance—the masks clearly denoted the theatre, the mortar and pestle the apothecary, and the anvil the smithy—but there were also those whose meanings were less apparent. She was unable to identify the shop marked with an array of hearts, nor could she interpret the sign sporting a goblin queen with an arrow stuck in its disproportionate posterior.
Her mind was paralyzed by the sheer number of choices; she was so curious and overwhelmed that she forgot she was standing in the way of the people behind her. It wasn’t until an impatient elf grunted a complaint that she realised she had been frozen in place.
“Sorry,” she said, as she kicked her feet back into motion.
Unsure of where to go, she began walking down the main street and casually blending in with the crowd. There were options everywhere. The words dungeon and maid floated around in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t find any taverns or pubs, at least not by looking at the signs. There weren’t even any restaurants, as far as she could tell. The lack of indoor venues was one that stemmed from the difference between Cadrian and Vel’khanese food culture. The maritime nation’s food and drink vendors did most of their business outdoors. The aromatic spices they put in their goods served to advertise their shops. It was certainly an effective strategy. There were large crowds gathered around nearly every stall, their hungry stomachs attracted by the wonderful scents.
Unlike the locals, Claire knew better than to fall for the vendors’ tricks. She had been fooled by them before, when she snuck out of the manor and wandered Valencia’s streets, and she had no intention of being fooled again. She knew that, despite the wonderful smell, their products had the tendency to be rather subpar. Their taste profiles were simple and rarely ever had enough flavour to do the raw ingredients justice.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if the local quality was any better than what was served back home. The Ryllian Sea was known for its chefs. Amereth, the manor’s resident professional, had learned her culinary techniques from her motherland, and it was possible that Vel’khanese standards would be higher, given the shark-faced cook’s lack of confidence.
Shaking her head clear of temptation, Claire continued walking around until she escaped the commercial district. The residential area was much less crowded. There were only a handful of people on each street, most of which appeared to be members of the upper class. They were dressed in high quality fabrics, and many even had guards either accompanying them or following from a distance.
The security detail didn’t exactly appreciate the presence of a suspicious hooded figure, but she ignored their stares and continued on her way, despite knowing that she was unlikely to find a tavern without first turning around.
It wasn’t until she reached the fortress located in the middle of the city that she finally stopped in her tracks and voiced a long overdue suspicion.
“I think I might be lost.”
