Fortify your mind. The mortalborn thought to himself. He knew something of Yvithia’s capabilities, having dealt with at least one of her marked, and lived in the city for a time. He used his penchant for saying one thing and meaning another to apply them to his thoughts. Perhaps it would work. If so, Yvithia wouldn’t have any of his actual meaning in thought or intention. Although she was the Immortal of Communication and Intelligence, she was not omniscient. The man walked down the gangplank, as he beheld the fortress for once in the summer daylight, which shone brightly and glistened in icy rivulets down the stone edifice of the city, carved into a mountainside.
Whatever happened to you, Llewellyn? Was it Yvithia? Some chance slip in Emea, and losing your tether? The cowled figure mused to himself, remembering the other mortalborn that had drawn him here once upon a time. There were other acquaintances that had crossed his path that belonged to this city. Sybil Malach, and then the Augustins, who were now either dead or missing. It was well known enough that Padraig had been the Champion of Yvithia. While Woe didn’t imagine he condoned what Yvithia had facilitated on Scalvoris, was he not sharing some of that blame by dint of giving Yvithia comfort?
Questions best not dwelt on, lest his cloak of lies melt while the freezing winds billowed across his face. He wore the totem of Bill, as a man named Swill, blended with Anima's features. That was part of his disguise, so that he would not be recognized. Not that physical appearance was ever simply enough. Wrinkles and crows feet marked his eyes, making him appear more aged than usual. As for his clothing, he wore the simple garb of a traveler who was not accustomed to leisurely life.
He declined to pay a carriage to take him to the city, but shivered as his back bent to conserve the warmth in his core. This was all for appearances, as the mortalborn was more or less immune to cold weather. Thus the disguised son of Sintra walked down the way, unaided by any conveyance.
Eventually he came to the one gate that led into Viden. He was questioned, and gave answers that suited his self-appointed task, his mission. He was a simple brewer and trader out of Winter’s Reach, looking to make business ties with the Merchant Guild in Viden. No he did not possess any magic that he was aware of, unless one counted the ability to whip up a mean lemon hot toddy.
So having assured the guards, given his answers and established his lies, he ventured into the city itself, following the stone courtyard’s walk to the entrance of the lower prisms.
