…..:::::|. Aoustueilless: North .|:::::…..

Situated on a long reach of pearl white beach Aoustueilless was a shining example of both modern and ancient Gaennish architecture. Tall intricately etched arches, gateways into and through the city, lead in to, not cobbled, but paved streets littered with fine smelling gardens, city folk, and sailors.

Dramatically tall buildings made of alabaster stone, metal, and greenish glass with sensually winding gold trim up their edges, drew themselves upward like an uneven forest canopy of white. In some of their crevices grew ivies and climbing florals.

Etched into their walls, dramatic pink, purple, and orange gems sat in the old insignia of the first Gaennish Kings. On each of the establishments across the open courts of the main entrance, lay the beast-shaped mark of Tiigra; the clan who hundreds of years ago claimed all of Gaen a Nce as their own.

White trams on wires and vertical rails ran like fireflies upward and overhead, carriages laden with goods were pulled by large hairy-hooved steedborne, and important looking city-rovers were hurriedly carted about in two-seated vehicles run by young boys earning a day’s pay.

Plinth upon plinth upon plinth stood important Tiigran figures, cast in stone and bronze and curled Ashwoods, tall as stark reminders of Gaen a Nce’s yester-age.

Percival let out an audible sigh as he looked to the hundred foot high alabaster walls. He seemed to be remembering, nay longing for something. None but Veygornne caught his memory and nodded a comfort to his comrade. They both, then, turn to peer at Siin who took in nothing of the city’s wonders; he only stared forward...toward the sea.

The two of them understood his absence of care. Veygornne nodded to Percival and he acknowledged that they should hurry on through this port city agenda.

The city had once been the citadel of Busahir's Southern Forces—known then as the Seat of the White. It was a hub where most of the joint Zhuer and Valtaega Jemedh trade routes set sail from. When the Tiigrans took over all of the Great Island, Aoustueilless became a hotbed of slanderous rackets and pirating efforts, whose seamen all sailed aboard engine powered ships known around the world as 'Kicked' ships.

Neither Percival nor Veygornne wanted to make much conversation about the Great Island’s past in front of the young mage, to spare him the constant reminder of fouled history. But that history surrounded them in the beautiful architecture of his people, so it was all hard to ignore. Their ancient influence still gleamed in the immense walls that curtained the whole of the city and coursed the innards of her streets. The laurels of their ancient regime still loomed so long over Aoustueilless, one would swear the kingdom of the Zhuer had never fallen.

“Let’s charter a boat as quickly as possible.” Percival ordered.

Veygornne hummed a disapproving tone. “You know she’ll be--”

“I don’t care, wolf. We’ve got to get to Cloudsfall.”

Percival didn’t care for conversation any more than the young mage did.

Despite the magnificence of the city there were no highborn in Aoustueilless. No highborn save the Margrave of Ladi Gru Has's twin sister, Margravess Ednna Iella. She ruled over the immensity of the port city with a very long iron rod. Only the King Regent Gauriasse had her ear in the ways of law and order and he was all the way up in Vollilandre far to the north of Gaen a Nce. What she said here was the ruling word.

And Percival knew her well.

Their Exemplariat turned a head over piles of cloaks to catch the swollen face of a young Halycind.

“Lets get your face fixed...and your gear.”

“How'd you know--” She tried to speak over a bulbous lip.

“You're wearing actual sod.” He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right.” She looked down at herself and stuffed her shortness into the center of their walking party.

The Gaennish tended to be taller than most walkers on Dureyr; these folk here in the port city were even taller than the Gruhavians on average but they were fine looking enough folk. Hair of red clay framed mapley brown faces that hung long down their backs. Much straighter than the black curls and waves of either Ashok or Buraamira.

The Gaennish here in Aoustueilless were also much more forward and rowdier than the Gruhavians, if that could have been imagined. Veygornne had mentioned to Percival the advancements these ruffians made on his charge but even now, with the young one’s being surrounded by their formers, they were still waved at and blown kisses to. Some even mimicked wolf howls to the girls and wagged their tail-less behinds in Siin’s direction.

It did not help they were also passing a brothel with a gaggle of patrons loitering about the front veranda. Siin positioned himself on the side of Halycind as to block any view of her. His size wasn't as imposing as his gait was and he often knew when to use it. Halycind tried to smile up to him but he shook his head at her. She looked like a pretty loaf of unkneaded bread, poor thing.

Siin did catch a curious sight on one of the porticoes at the second floor of the brothel. A very young girl no more than fourteen cycles stood staring at passersby with head hanging and hands clasped in front of her. She wore about her waist a sign in signal to activities far beyond her young cycles. Green-Sashers were teachers and instructors to courtesans, this girl neither had the age nor demeanor of those proud women. To satisfy the strangeness of his curiosity he waited until she caught his gaze and passed her a sly gesture of the hands. The young girl’s eyes and head darted about as if she been found, frantic for answers. Near fleeing, a male, wearing a violet sash, swept her from the balustrade and signaled that she was being cared for.

Siin was immediately taken to worry. No one growing up in a brothel was without the secret knowledge of Kith-Cante. It was an old speak born in the Blue Era; hearkening back to days when the underbelly between Kingdoms was just getting its foot. Every cutpurse, every thief, every lop-sided merchant knew the language of the Isam refugees; rife with gestures, sounds, and garbley gook indecipherable.

As they walked passed the infamous borderguard clad in ridiculously sharp-looking black armour, Siin searched the lay of the land for more oddities that would quell his queries.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Percival stopped.

He brushed back the hood of his cowl as he looked up to sight a gem-encrusted scrawl on the wall. It had always been a terrible quandary why the gems here were not considered as precious as they gleamed but he figured the country was so prosperous in its pirated trades and infamy that they just didn't need to snatch garish signs off the walls.

The armoursmith's door was yellow. The railings cording off his entrance were yellow. The flowers in the barrels and vases and old wooden wheelbarrows on the exterior of his establishment were yellow. He titled an unamused head to the gaudy sign again above the door that read “Yellow-Bellied Bash & Haberdash”.

Before he could lead them through the armourer's yellow door, a young man's hand tapped him on the forearm. Percival looked down. The boy was hard in the face, like he'd just been beaten.

“Hey, sire. I was told to give this to the first tall fair-hair I saw enter the city.”

Percival squinted his eyes at the sometimes unwelcome ethnic descriptor and turned his head down to view the lad through his eyebrows. The child reeled in immediate fear and scurried from the man shoving the note into his large hands. Percival watched him run, attempting to eye from whence he'd come. A stone in the base of the city bulwark, choked with ivies, slid open and he huddled inside it. Some commander's page boy, he summed.

He unfurled the hastily drafted note.

Halycind stared off into the piazza with its five gushing fountains and finely crafted mosaics. Clearly the money was being better spent here in the port city than in the Ladi. Her memory kicked-to as she eyed a familiar statue and plinth being spat on by fountain waters. She'd seen that man here when she and Veygornne first arrived; the dark one who pulled bones from the ground.

“Yeah, he was right here..." She couldn't help but leak out thoughts.

“Who was what?” Veygornne asked her.

“Oh, nevermind. I'm losing it.” She waved it all off as the remembrance of what that cut girl screamed pulled to her mind.

“What's it say, Exemplariat?” Veygornne turned back to Percival.

He rolled his eyes upon finishing the note. Then took a long sigh. “...She's giving me her ship.”

Veygornne burst a smile. “Gotta love a woman with extra ships to toss about.”

“Veygornne.”

“You know she's just doing this to get at Deirdre--”

“I know, but it is faster than chartering one on the Kadif's behalf. And it’s not like any of us truly want to settle a home here, anyhow.” Sarcasm rang thick in his tone, he seemed so put out with the whole notion of business dealings at current.

“What? Wait, I don't get it.” Halycind garbled out.

He thumbed the frustration from his brow, “Don't try...we just have a ship now.”

He pushed open the yellow door of the armoursmith's shop.

In true form it was a haberdashery; figurines, vases, cloth, sewing utensils, all arranged next to food stuffs and armour. Siin’s eyes kept innately finding all the pieces of his history in this place. Lace fans, gem geodes set in wood, gilded snakes eggs, items made of naga’s hide, statues that had once surely belonged in the home of some high Zhuer advisor to kings. Then he saw something too intriguing to let sit in a dusty shop of forgotten goods. He wrapped his hands around the multi-stoned statue of a winged naga and joined the rest assisting Halycind explaining to the smith about her broken armours.

The young male attendant, beside the older armoursmith there, caught Siin’s eye as he approached the lot and Siin uttered a simple sentence. The young man melted into an uncanny fondness for the mage and Siin slipped him two silver coins. Siin’s eyebrows flicked upward and he stashed his newly acquired figurine into his satchel.

“Like using that, do you?” Percival said squeezing passed him on his right toward the armoursmith’s workbenches.

“Oh, he was doing that even before the sauce. Rotten kid.” Halycind teased, following and unhooking all her gear.

“But effective, Cash.” Siin assured even as the young attendant still smiled flirtatiously toward him.

“Why you buying random snake-people statutes?” Kodlaa said making another face to him.

“This is old. It will go well in my Villa quarters.” Siin grinned brightly, patting the satchel.

Both Percival and Veygornne knew that statuette.

“A man should always keep a piece of home with him when he's abroad.” Veygornne schooled.

“But just a naga though?” Halycind queried.

“Zhuer is the Buraam word for Naga. And this happens to be the first Naga ruler of Gaen a Nce. Saxa Kad’j Badhr al Diin ahl-Busahir. Who doesn’t belong in a junk store.”

“Oh.” Halycind had never seen her friend so dry in his tone before.

“Contrary to popular belief, the Jemedh did not build or settle Busahir. The Zhuer did. Saxa did.” Siin ended with more of a sneer on his words than he intended.

“Bad blood there?”

“Their pacifism allowed an ally-less Busahir to be ransacked and deposed by the Tiigrans.” Veygornne informed.

“Pacifism? More like cowardice.”

“Siin.” Veygornne cooled. He lightened the darkening mood with a perk toward even newer gear as he pat Siin on the arm. They all piled over to view new wildergear items.

Among the haberdashery, sat many a fine rig for wildergear and Halycind scooped up a brand new camouflager for her suit. It had to be fitted so she was taken to the rear of the establishment as they all waited. Halycind was of a shorter than average height so her wildergear had to always be adjusted. Though the heftier curves of her sex always seemed to stress the gear's seams anyway. Satisfied with the fix and fit as she emerged, Percival laid ten rosemetal and thirteen gold coins out for the smith.

“Generous of you, Ser.”

“It’s more so for the statue.” Percival nodded away and turned to his travelling companions. The armoursmith questioned his words even as his love-stricken attendant shook his head clear of clouds.

"Let's get you lot cleaned up." Percival smiled handing Halycind a collection of salves for her bruises and swells.

"Why? Were going a special place?" Kodlaa seemed to ask honestly.

"Not on holiday at all, actually, Prospect." Percival cut.

Her own words were smacked back to her memory. "But I cleaned up, Exemplariat."

“Once doesn’t count, Eberhavven.”

Kodlaa huffed hard.

Upon stepping down to the city’s paved way, Halycind caught a familiar scent as they passed an eatery. Many diners sat about the gardens and round Ashwood tables.

She squinted.

She supposed the flowers, there, had sparked a memory of roses or something for she saw none in the vases set along the walk.

"Oh, but--"

"Hmm, pup?" Siin said having sighed away his annoyances.

"Oh, oh nothing. I just thought roses were here."

Siin smiled down at her, looked about them and noticed none himself. "No but food is. And I’m starving. I want a roast."

"Oh, now I'm starving."

"Never worry. We'll likely be feasted, as well." Percival said rolling his eyes.

“Food and a boat?” Kodlaa said surprised.

Halycind scoffed a smirk. “Who did you impress, Percival?”

The lot walked on, now detouring toward the docks to collect on an impromptu gift.