Miremount

Jonathan eventually found the opportunity to enter the city’s center, acting as a delivery boy for the barkeep of the tavern. He rarely interacted with the outside world, and when he did, it was usually through a proxy. In this case, Jonathan was charged with delivering a case of elementally enhanced whiskey to the house of one of the city’s lords. It was odd that the man had such an expensive drink in his stocks, as Jonathan had never seen anything on offer to the public save for beer that looked and tasted like piss.

It was a job for him alone, and the others stayed behind, keeping up the facade of being a group of itinerant workers. They wished him luck as he departed, and he gave them a terse nod in reply. This mission was one that he would have to draw upon more than his overwhelming strength to complete.

He strode out into the road, confidently carrying the wooden box under one arm. It was quite large, and would hopefully distract anyone who saw him away from his face.

He wore a wide brimmed hat low over his features, and a nondescript shirt and pants. His armor was still in his storage device, so he could withdraw it at any time if needed.

He walked down the road for a few minutes, limiting his speed to divert any suspicion. The city was divided into a grid of streets, each of which intersected with the others at right angles. There was a network of alleyways as well, which connected the larger streets through the blocks of housing.

Eventually, he stood before the secondary wall that guarded the center of the city from outsiders. It towered above him, easily fifty feet tall. He knew that he could simply jump over it if he truly wanted to, but the turrets mounted on the wall as well as the groups of powerful mages dissuaded him from doing so.

Instead, he joined the long queue of workers seeking entry into the prestigious inner circle of Miremount. They all looked just like him, professional, plainly dressed and slightly bored. In no time at all, he was standing at the front of the line, before a pair of finely armored guards. The armor looked to be both ceremonial and practical at the same time, at least going by the power coursing through it.

“What is your business in the Inner City?” One of them asked.

“Delivery,” Jonathan replied simply. “A case of whiskey to the Alkord family.”

“Ah, you’re the new employee of that sour old bastard from the Haunted Mule,” the guard answered, checking a piece of paper.“Good luck.”

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Jonathan had the distinct feeling that the woman wasn’t talking about his delivery mission.

The small door set into the main gate swung open, and he walked through, still clutching his case of spirits. A few more guards lined the way, but they paid little attention to him. Instead, Jonathan walked forwards like he belonged, and accessed the mental map that he had made of the Inner City. He had to deliver the goods first, or his cover story would be blown, but then he could pursue his other goals.

The Alkord family lived a few blocks down the main road, closer to the city hall than most others. Jonathan had found that people in the Hells tended to prefer a modicum of democracy, or at least a pretense at one, instead of having a dictator ruling over cities. Perhaps that was a subtle rebellion against the presence of the circle lords.

By the time he had reached the house, he was starting to get a bit tired of being a delivery boy. The eyes of those around him glanced off like he wasn’t even there, and those who did notice him simply sneered.

There was little he could do though, in his guise as a simple worker. Instead, he simply gritted his teeth and completed his delivery.

There was a butler waiting at the door to the house, or rather mansion when he approached. A supercilious look rested on his face and he gave Jonathan a slight grin.

“Ah, the delivery boy comes. Tell me, are you a new hire? I have never seen you before in my life. Rutherford must be accepting whatever trash comes off the street into that filthy hole he calls a tavern.”

“For the Alkord family?” Jonathan asked, holding the case of whiskey forwards and studiously ignoring the butler’s words.

“Like you should even speak their name-” In a sudden blur of movement, the case of whiskey was on the step next to the door, the butler was lying on the ground, dazed. Jonathan stood there, a look of confusion on his face. To the butler, it seemed that he had not moved. He had been getting a bit tired of dealing with the man. Before the butler could react, Jonathan simply nodded, and walked away.

A few blocks away, he changed his clothes to a set that would better fit this part of the city, at least if he was pretending to be someone who belonged. Then he continued on his way, making it out of the housing district and into the upper class business district.

Smithies, tailors and other businesses besides abounded, all of which looked in great repair. Clean, professional looking people worked at them, serving the wealthy patrons who went by. Jonathan even saw a few families walking about with young children. However, there was a subtle aura of discontent among everyone, as if this was all a facade that could be torn away at any moment. Still, it was a sight better than life in the Ash Heaps.

Eventually, Jonathan found a mapmaker’s shop, with a series of detailed maps displayed in the window. One of them was the one he was looking for, a map of the entirety of Mire. He walked into the mostly empty shop, spotting an elderly woman sitting behind a desk, poring over one of the maps.

He made his way over, but she did not look up. She seemed to be in the process of drawing a map of the city they were in, perhaps for practice, as there were already dozens of similar maps around the room.