A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 3: Chapter 24: A Place of Rest

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 not when compared to the giant man of the north. They were all, however, well-armed, with tall halberds being their armaments, as well as 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, their manner anything but. 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 our blades to the defense of the city, and to test their skill at the tournament of the drawn festival, Elwin answered for us. Showing his badge for the gate guards inspection, his feigned manner was 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, ordering us in even as he began the inspection of the next group of arrivals.

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 but to notice 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 to be 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 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 away at its luminous sheen, a process that felt both random and inevitable. Was this the essence of magic, revealed in its purest form? Had my gaze pierced the veil into a realm beyond comprehension, a world shrouded 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 Zariyahs 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?

The proud woman looked down before she hesitantly signed her 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 Begonias Shade.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It was as good a suggestion as any, and I looked to my companions for their response. Kidu and Elwins faces were blank masks of confusion. Larynda, childishly curious, tried to ape Zariyah's movements. Only Cordelias face showed understanding disagreement, a slight and barely perceptible elevation of her nose, the only sign that spoke of her disapproval.

Then we go to this Begonias 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 Cordelias words from before.

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. A cart overturned, its goods spilling out like the innards of a disemboweled monster, and 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 like a badge of their office, rather than their 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 they wore keffiyehs of black and white checks, which 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 slavers 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. So long had I been under the open skies and endless horizons that it felt cramped to now be rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi of Al-Lazar. The feeling lasted only for a moment, though, for I had always preferred the close confines of the city, with all of its trappings of civilization.

A small child bumped into me, an innocent mistake by all appearances, but I knew not to take this world lightly anymore. My hand, guided by the harsh lessons of this world, whipped out like a snake, catching the small things wrist, with the snap of breaking bone.

His mouth gaped wide in a silent scream, unable to voice the pain he felt. As the horror of his situation dawned on him, all he could do was helplessly open and close his mouth. Was he another mute? No, that didn't seem right. A quick glance around, and my eyes caught Zariyah. She was making unusual hand gestures. When our eyes met, she offered me a small, enigmatic smile.

Already useful, I thought to myself. I would have to remember that she had some mastery over the wind and air itself.

Panicked, the urchin desperately tried to struggle away, but my grip was iron and my mercy was in short supply.

Al-Lazar was a prosperous place but not, it seemed, free of crime, the 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, we started to shake the child down, the passing guards remaining indifferent to the little one's plight, as he was invisible to them. Together, we relieved the would-be pickpocket of a meager haul, which included some cheap jewelry, a handful of copper coins, and most importantly, one of my precious potions, which fell from the disheveled thief's clothing.

The young scamp cried silently, tears flowing, but I harbored no sympathy for someone who had attempted to steal from me. In my mind, I believed I was merely seeking fair compensation for the inconvenience they had caused. Elwin, sure that the thief had nothing left on his person, delivered a swift kick to the thief's rear end, a smirk playing on his lips. The child swiftly vanished into a nearby alley, having received a lesson that, while harsh, was undeniably just.

The penalty for theft is a hand, signed Zariyah, her expression grim.

Larynda, who had observed the urchin with no small amount of sympathy, had refrained from voicing any objections about my handling of the cretin. Instead, she just shook her head, a small sigh escaping her lips and acknowledging the harsh reality of our world. We both understood that this was the unvarnished truth of our existence.

Proceeding down the road after that little introduction to city life in Al-Lazar, we veered away from the main thoroughfare. Turning right at another 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 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 Zariyah with an annoyed Patches in tow. She stood breathless, in the middle of the street, as the passersby gave her a wide berth and an occasional odd look. The exotic woman 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 bright 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 above the entrance was a wooden sign depicting begonias in full bloom, the paint a little faded from the sun. Beneath the sign were brass chimes that tinkled and danced in 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, and her watering can tumbled to the ground with a clang.

I watched the unfolding scene with a sense of resigned anticipation. Was this to be another story event?

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