Book 3: Chapter 23 - A Place of Rest (RAW)

With just a small touch of inspiration, the wings of the imagination unfold. Each thought, a feather on these wings, carries the mind higher, soaring over landscapes of wonder and possibility.

- Attributed to the playwright Vlan di Panoli.

The guards at the gate were not quite as physically imposing as I thought they were when I had first looked upon them from a distance, at least when compared to the giant man of the north. They were all, however, well-armed with tall halberds being their armaments and long curved knives at their waists. Under the flowing robes of their clothes, the glint of metal could be seen, riveted chain mail if I was not mistaken.

One of their number, a slack-jawed and mean-eyed creature with a dirty black beard was the first to greet us. A superior smirk on his face he looked at us as if we were common filth.

“May the eyes of the hallowed gods lay lightly upon you, traveler,” he greeted, his words impeccably polite but their manner anything but so. “What brings… such a fine-looking group to the greatest of cities, Al-Lazar,” he inquired giving the women of the group a thorough scan with his eyes. I noticed that his gaze lingered on Larynda more than was proper.

“Adventurers come to lend their blades to the defense of the city, and to test their might at the tournament of the drawn festival,” Elwin answered in our stead, showing his badge for the gate guard’s inspection his feigned manner weaselly and servile.

“Festival of the Undrawn, foreigner. Do they teach nothing of the culture of Al-Lazar in the far lands? Pffft, you seem to be who you say you are… go through!” he corrected with a smirk, before ordering us in as he began the inspection of the next group of arrivals with a few terse barks.

Well, that was easier than I thought. I gave Elwin a nod of appreciation as we made our way through the bustle of the gates. Passing underneath the stone arch, I could not help a strange feeling come over me, like a sucking pop, as if I was passing into a bubble. Odd, to say the least.

When I asked if my companions felt a similar sensation they all, with the exception of Cordelia, just looked at me strangely as if I was touched in the head. Was this the sensation of area transition or something different? An odd detail for this game.

A few moments later I was gifted with a sweltering rush of new power. I felt gifted and fulfilled. Satisfied.

Quest Complete: Escort Larynda to Al-Lazar

About time that damn quest finished. A part of me had been wondering just exactly what the world considered Al-Lazar. For instance, was it the local area, the political borders, or the sphere of influence? Turned out it was within the actual city limits itself. More importantly, however, completing the quest gave me a thousand points of experience that easily took me over to the next level.

Quickly, almost as if by automatic reflex, I assigned the given attribute points into Constitution. With the timer ticking away I hurriedly assigned the bonus skill point into the Drain spell.

Then it happened. My sight dimmed, swiftly eclipsed by myriad pinpricks of light. A multi-hued current, akin to a vibrant stream, unfurled before my eyes. Along its fringes, minuscule entities nibbled at its luminous sheen, morphing resplendent beauty into a lackluster, static existence. Was this the essence of magic, revealed in its purest form? Had my gaze pierced the veil into a realm beyond comprehension, a world enshrouded in mystery and ineffable wonder?

You have learned Greater Drain

“ ‘Ello, there, Gil. You alright or you having another one of your moments?” asked Elwin, his voice piercing through the shroud.

The mysteries of the universe were about to be laid bare, and this, this common Rogue had interrupted my epiphany. My hands were gripped in fists, heavy with the weight of my frustration. So easy would it be to smash his face in, but taking a deep breath, I mastered myself.

“Fine… fine. Just glad that we made it here,” I answered him with a forced half-smile. I could see that for some reason or other Cordelia was mumbling a prayer.

“So, like, the big man was wondering where we would be staying I for one would suggest somewhere a little easier on the coffers at least until we get our bearings,” he mused before looking pointedly in Zariyah’s direction but failing to draw a reaction.

Seeing the gist of his intent, I turned to Zariyah and prepared my magic. “You, where would you suggest we go?”

Uncharacteristically the proud woman looked down before she hesitantly signed her a response.

I know of a place, not far from here. If by the grace of the one god, it is still there, I would suggest that we stay at the Begonia’s Shade.

It was a good suggestion as any and I looked to my companions for their response. Theirs was a blank mask, with only Larynda childishly trying to curiously ape Zariyah's movements. Only Cordelia’s face showed disagreement, a slight barely perceptible elevation of her nose, the only sign that spoke of her disapproval.

“Then we go to this Begonia’s Shade. Lead on,” I commanded. The Hunter and the Rogue gave me a quizzical look but did not question the exchange.

“The lady can not speak. She can only speak with her hands,” I explained to them, seeing their looks. “The language of the unspoken words,” I decided to add, remembering Cordelia’s words from before.

So we followed the mute woman through the main thoroughfare. Elwin walked alongside her throwing her the occasional question to which she just nodded or shook her head. This close to the gates, the city was bustling with activity. The press of traffic was heavy but was flowing in an orderly fashion.

However, just as I was thinking this, the gods decided to be contrary. An overturned cart, its goods spilling out like freshly cut innards, stopped traffic coming from the opposite direction. However, the guards quickly set up a small cordon, redirecting the traffic in a calm and professional manner.

Just a little further into the city, I could already see the stark contrast with Ansan. People generally wore clothes of a higher cut and quality, and their speech, what little I heard anyway, seemed a little freer and less guarded.

The guards within the city itself, rather than those on the walls, were equipped in a more ornate fashion, their equipment more a badge of their office than the savage tools of war. Their armor, resplendent in bronze gilding, at least visible where their robes parted to reveal the uniform craftsmanship, was adorned with motifs of running vines and blossoming flowers of the Dust. They wore no helms, instead, keffiyehs of black and white checks shielded them from the relentless overhead sun. At their side hung not swords, but small truncheons, their tips capped in gold, a symbol of authority rather than aggression.

Along the road there were no beggars crying out for alms and the streets were for the most part clean of detritus and manure common to primitive civilizations.

More importantly, I saw none of the trappings of slavery. No collars of iron did I see nor did I hear the crack of the slaver’s whip. It seemed that Al-Lazar was indeed a free city.

This was a truly prosperous place and there was a spark here that energized me. Too long had I been under the open skies and endless horizons of the desert and the plains that I felt cramped. It was only for a moment, though, for I had always preferred the close confines of the city and the trappings of civilization, meager as they were in this world.

A small child bumped into me, almost innocently, but I knew not to take this world lightly anymore. My hand whipped out like a snake, catching the small thing’s wrist with a snap of breaking bone. Panicked the urchin tried to struggle away, but my grip was iron, my mercy was in short supply.

Al-Lazar was a prosperous place, but not it seemed, free of crime, that parasite and cancer that ate away at the core of a real society. It was time to correct that. It was time to be the good that you wanted to see in the world.

With Elwin’s help, I shook the child down, the passing guards uncaring of the small one’s plight. As the child cried a river, no doubt just an act. A few pieces of cheap jewelry, a few copper coins, and most importantly one of my expensive potions fell from the little tree. Elwin dispatched the would-be thief with a harsh kick to its rump, a smirk on his face. The child disappeared into an alley, a lesson harshly, but fairly, imparted.

Larynda looked at the urchin with no small amount of sympathy but did not voice a complaint about my actions. Just a shake of her head was her only real response. She knew, as well as I did, that this was the simple truth of this world.

Proceeding down the road after that little introduction to city life, we veered away from the main thoroughfare. Turning a corner, we were greeted by the sight of a fountain, its central figure a mermaid sculpted from the same yellow stone that formed the city's walls. Perched elegantly atop a smooth rock, her hair, intertwined with kelp strands, bestowed upon her an ethereal, almost mystical charm. From a pot nestled at her side flowed a cascade of water, its cheerful gurgle an almost melodic tune. Around the fountain, the city folk gathered, their actions reverent and measured as they filled their large jugs and amphorae with the life-giving water, participating in what seemed less like a daily chore and more a solemn rite.

Our new Hazagadami guide upon seeing the landmark picked up her pace, breaking almost into a run. We quickened our pace as we chased after her, and Larynda unable to keep up with her heavy pack and short legs, was scooped up by Kidu.

A minute later we caught up to the panting woman who stood breathless in the middle of the street, the passerbys giving her a wide berth and the occasional odd look. Zariyah was looking as if entranced at a humble building, no different from the others save for the multitude of potted plants of various shades that adorned the flat roof and hung over the wall. It was a riot of colors with garish yellows clashing with light pinks and deep reds. Such a palette might have been considered garish on a person, but here, amidst the lush greenery, it bestowed upon the building a unique splendor. Rising above the green was a towering chimney, enshrouded in creeping vines. A Barajeel, or wind tower, I surmised.

Hanging from a wooden sign was Begonia’s bloom, the picture a little faded from the constant kiss of the sun’s touch. Beneath the sign were brass chimes that tinkled and danced with the gentle breeze.

Humming an unknown melody, a woman with dark skin emerged from the doorway, cradling a watering can in her arms. There was something strikingly familiar about her features, which, despite bearing the gentle marks of time, were still vaguely attractive. The woman began tending to the plants near the entrance, her movements graceful and practiced.

Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of Zariyah, standing solitary amidst the bustling street. A mixture of surprise and delight transformed her expression. She brought a hand to her mouth, muffling a shriek of joy that escaped her lips, her watering can tumbling to the ground with a forgotten clang.

I watched the unfolding scene with a sense of resigned anticipation. "Great," I mused internally, for I noticed that this woman too had red eyes, "more drama."