For a second, Karn thought the guards would lower their spears. However, much to his surprise, the men displayed indifference towards them. The guards didn’t care about their reasoning for entry. It turned out that many vagrants had been arriving at Branside for months. They had wondered through the many entrances of the town after a long journey.
Karn wondered what was so troubling for those people as to abandon their homes.
Curiously, the guards had a peculiar demand—they insisted on examining the eyes of all the travellers. It seemed to be the sole condition of entry. They paid little attention to the villagers’ striking hair and instead focused their scrutiny on Karn’s face. His captivating grey eyes drew suspicion initially, but after a brief scrutiny, the guards relented and granted them entry.
“What are they after?” asked Karn. As they left the guards at their post.
Roven’s eyes dashed back to the forest and nodded in its direction.
“Ah,” said Karn as his mind fell on the falling feather they had found.
As soon as they stepped inside the gates, a putrid odour assaulted them. The town, if one could even call it that, resembled more of a sprawling city with thousands of dilapidated clay houses enveloping a comparatively prosperous stone settlement. The streets buzzed with life as a sea of soiled faces and tattered garments, meandering aimlessly.
Roven’s face turned grim, and a look of revulsion was painted on the others.
“Disgusting. I can smell the stench of corruption from here,” Roven spat as he eyed the tall stone buildings ahead.
Karn couldn’t help but nod in agreement. The surroundings they found themselves in were nothing short of a destitute slum, a stark contrast to the thriving prosperity that seemed to emanate from the heart of the town.
Dilapidated buildings with crumbling foundations lined the narrow streets, their windows boarded up or shattered. Filthy alleys overflowed with refuse and cast-off belongings. It was a place where desperation and hardship clung to every corner, painting a vivid portrait of the underbelly that sustained the illusion of affluence in the town beyond.
Hardly had they taken a few steps when beggars descended upon them, their eyes fixated on the white-haired men as if they were prized nobility from a distant land. Sensing the weight of the attention on them, Roven approached a cluster of men huddled around a smouldering campfire.
Their eyes, filled with desolation and sorrow, they looked up hopefully. Roven reached into a concealed satchel tucked beneath his shirt and offered the men a handful of coins for their spare worn-out brown cloaks. Grateful for the unexpected generosity, they eagerly accepted, their faces lighting up with newfound hope.
As Karn draped the cloak around himself, its noxious stench threatened to overwhelm him, matching the smell of the muddy streets. Covered in layers of grime and filth from the cloaks, their forms blended seamlessly into the sea of desperation before them, allowing the four companions to blend in with the locals without drawing attention.
Once they veered off the muddy path and onto the paved cobblestone alleyways, the stench seemed to lift as if they had passed through a thin veil. Roven once again delved into his hidden cache, retrieving another precious item. In his outstretched hand gleamed a slender, brilliant shell radiating shades of blue.
Perplexed, Karn tilted his head, staring at the shell. Roven quickly explained that Farlen had enchanted it to guide them towards the book responsible for the events.
That explains why it’s glowing blue, thought Karn, recognising the light.
Karn regarded the shell as Roven placed a hand on his shoulder while focusing on the magical artifact. The shell quivered and rotated in his open palm, aligning itself in a particular direction—toward the bustling harbour. With a swift bob of his head, Roven set them on the path, leading them down a well-worn paved road.
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It was obvious that Roven was eager to complete the mission as fast as possible. A sentiment Karn found himself agreeing with. The sooner they could leave this city of misery, the better.
As they approached the bustling harbour, a new stench of fish and stale ale enveloped their senses. Even during the tense moment, Karn couldn’t help but be captivated by the impressive sight of many ships resting gracefully against the docks. The freshly hewn timber and pristine craftsmanship of the vessels were impressive.
Curios he asked Roven about the origins of them, to which Roven provided a single word as a response: “Stolen.”
Karn peered over at the ships and quickly spotted rough sigils painted over their original crests.
Roven extended his hand, signalling for the group to take cover behind a weathered shack. The structure teemed with an assortment of peculiar tools, ropes, and maritime equipment, hinting at its purpose as the storage shed for local harbour labourers.
“Look,” Roven pointed.
As they discreetly surveyed the area from behind the shack, Karn spotted what Roven was pointed at. To their right, two imposing ships loomed, adorned with sturdy masts and intricate rigging. What caught his attention were the enormous iron cages secured on their decks.
“Are those the cages for the beasts?” asked Karn.
Roven nodded. His face was grim as he eyed the sheer size of them. The shell in his hand twitched.
“It’s pointing towards the furthest ship,” he said and glance around the corner to get a better view.
“Shall we wait for them to disembark?” Karn asked.
Roven shook his head.
“Best trap em in place. So, they can’t run.”
“Trap em?” Karn wondered, then realising the sinister ramifications. “I thought all we’re going to do was get in eye contact to break the event lines?”
Roven eyed him dangerously. “You think that would be enough? You saw what those books can do. And now your touch can get rid of them.”
Karn’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t argue.
“We need to destroy them.”
“The books?” Karn asked.
Roven’s expression didn’t falter as he turned back towards the ship.
The four slowly made their way to the furthest side of the harbour as workers bustled around, busily organising the supplies ready for the next voyage. Most of the cargo seemed to be food, making the journey look like a round trip somewhere in a far land.
A few workers were atop of the first ship and were shovelling an enormous pile of dung straight into the sea. The workers were far too busy with the putrid task to pay them any attention.
“C’mon this way,” Roven urged in forceful whispers. “The event link is up ahead.”
With their hearts pounding in anticipation, the group stealthily made their way around the bustling dock, taking advantage of the workers’ obliviousness with boxing goods for the ship. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
As Karn stepped onto the gangplank, a rush of dizziness washed over him as he glanced down at the distant water below. The ship loomed above him, a massive structure that seemed to defy logic, its masts reaching towards the sky.
The wooden deck groaned under their weight as they followed the subtle movements of the shell, leading them deeper into the bowels of the ship. Every footstep creaked and shifted as the ship’s timbers echoing through the corridors.
Roven glanced at the shell, then pointed towards a closed door. The villagers exchanged knowing nods, their once lifeless green handles transforming into long, slender needles, ready for action. They pressed themselves against the door, straining to catch the faint sound of muffled voices from within.
“I’m sick of the laziness of the damn sailors,” barked a deep, commanding voice that echoed through the wooden door. “When is the shipment of Nahm tonic arriving?”
Another voice shriller than the previous laughed. “That’s a bit of overkill don’t you think?”
“Bah! Rockford’s already done it to HIS crew!”
“AH? Has he now?” he mused. “Bet that went down well with the locals.”
The man chuckled dangerously. His low voice seemed to reverberate through the wood around them. “He did in the whole town, too.”
Suddenly, a shrill burst of laughter filled the air. Roven stiffened. He turned silently; his jaw clenched tightly. Making eye contact with his fellow villagers, Roven nodded, a silent signal to prepare for action. Stepping back a step, he removed his cloak and held it aloft in his spare hand, readying himself just outside the door. Karn gripped the handle tightly, exchanging a sharp nod before forcefully yanking the door open.
As the door swung, Roven lunged inside, hurling his cloak directly into the face of a portly man who held a blue book in his grasp. Time seemed to stand still for a moment before the long, green blade found its mark, plunging deep into the folds of the man’s neck. Blood erupted, splattering across the man's front as he choked and gagged, horror etched on his face.
“What?” the shrill, skinny man yelped, leaping back in surprise as another burst into the room, brandishing a green dagger.
The two locked eyes and snarled at each other.
The wiry man twisted, reaching for a book at his side and flipped through its pages. Before they could react, his hand disappeared into the folds of the book.
“Get him!” shouted Roven.
But it was too late.
With a single word, the man vanished.