Zi’da 7, Arc 717
The sun was just about to set and painted the sky in different shades of orange, red and pink as the Mortalborn arrived in the town of Foster’s Landing. For a moment the buildings around him seemed to be more than they really were and shimmered in an almost otherworldly light before they became what they had really been all along once more: miserable heaps of wood and stones where those of mortal blood spent the better part of their existence, unaware of what was really going on in the world and that there was a war being waged that would change the face of Idalos inevitably and irrevocably.
It was the first time since Ashan – since his arrival in Central Idalos, after a flight that had taken him across half the known world, from the frozen planes of Oscillus to the home of the Naerikk – that he had come there. The journey had been relatively uneventful – the Army of the Etzori had kept the river road that he had been travelling on in prime condition – and the weather that seemed to get worse with every passing trial and that his travelling companions – a couple of merchants in search of better trade opportunities - had frequently complained about had bothered him little. As far as he was concerned, wind, rain or snow were minor annoyances at the best of times, especially when compared to some of the other things that he had had or would still have to face.
He would be meeting a fellow alchemist whose ship had arrived in the city earlier that trial, if everything had gone according to plan. The man would be delivering a few valuable and potentially dangerous reagents – too valuable for him to simply send a servant to pick them up. Besides, he was interested in the stories that the alchemist had to tell and in the news that he would bring. If he wanted to reach his goals and succeed, he needed to be aware of what was going on in the world, and at the moment he could not travel the world of Idalos as freely as he wished due to what had happened in Oscillus and due to his obligations to Vuda, the Chief Adviser and quite possibly true ruler of Etzos.
Having bidden his travelling companions farewell and wished them a pleasant journey, he walked through the city at a relatively swift pace, only occasionally stopping to check his surroundings and see if somebody was following him, a necessity when countless people wanted you dead because you had dared to attack the being that they worshipped. When he had last contacted the alchemist, the man had told him to meet with him in a tavern near the harbor. It did not take him long to find said tavern – he had studied the layout of the city beforehand and memorized it.
When he pushed the door open and took a look around the common room, he noticed that his contact was already there, sitting at a corner table, wearing the clothes he had written that he would be wearing in order to be easily recognizable, a dark blue cloak and had hat with a single feather of the same color. A glass with what was likely some sort of alcoholic beverage was standing on the table in front of him, still almost full, a sign that he probably had not been waiting for long.
He approached him immediately, although he did keep one hand near the hilt of his sword so that he would be able to draw it immediately in case something was wrong and the man turned out not to be who he claimed to be after all. Such things had happened to him before.
The sun was just about to set and painted the sky in different shades of orange, red and pink as the Mortalborn arrived in the town of Foster’s Landing. For a moment the buildings around him seemed to be more than they really were and shimmered in an almost otherworldly light before they became what they had really been all along once more: miserable heaps of wood and stones where those of mortal blood spent the better part of their existence, unaware of what was really going on in the world and that there was a war being waged that would change the face of Idalos inevitably and irrevocably.
It was the first time since Ashan – since his arrival in Central Idalos, after a flight that had taken him across half the known world, from the frozen planes of Oscillus to the home of the Naerikk – that he had come there. The journey had been relatively uneventful – the Army of the Etzori had kept the river road that he had been travelling on in prime condition – and the weather that seemed to get worse with every passing trial and that his travelling companions – a couple of merchants in search of better trade opportunities - had frequently complained about had bothered him little. As far as he was concerned, wind, rain or snow were minor annoyances at the best of times, especially when compared to some of the other things that he had had or would still have to face.
He would be meeting a fellow alchemist whose ship had arrived in the city earlier that trial, if everything had gone according to plan. The man would be delivering a few valuable and potentially dangerous reagents – too valuable for him to simply send a servant to pick them up. Besides, he was interested in the stories that the alchemist had to tell and in the news that he would bring. If he wanted to reach his goals and succeed, he needed to be aware of what was going on in the world, and at the moment he could not travel the world of Idalos as freely as he wished due to what had happened in Oscillus and due to his obligations to Vuda, the Chief Adviser and quite possibly true ruler of Etzos.
Having bidden his travelling companions farewell and wished them a pleasant journey, he walked through the city at a relatively swift pace, only occasionally stopping to check his surroundings and see if somebody was following him, a necessity when countless people wanted you dead because you had dared to attack the being that they worshipped. When he had last contacted the alchemist, the man had told him to meet with him in a tavern near the harbor. It did not take him long to find said tavern – he had studied the layout of the city beforehand and memorized it.
When he pushed the door open and took a look around the common room, he noticed that his contact was already there, sitting at a corner table, wearing the clothes he had written that he would be wearing in order to be easily recognizable, a dark blue cloak and had hat with a single feather of the same color. A glass with what was likely some sort of alcoholic beverage was standing on the table in front of him, still almost full, a sign that he probably had not been waiting for long.
He approached him immediately, although he did keep one hand near the hilt of his sword so that he would be able to draw it immediately in case something was wrong and the man turned out not to be who he claimed to be after all. Such things had happened to him before.
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