A twinge in her spiritual senses had Laurel turning to the right just in time to get tackled as something leapt out of gulch. She rolled with the movement and threw the beast away before it could get enough purchase for a bite. When she jumped back to her feet, she found herself across from a slightly dazed tree stalker. Like its mortal cousins, it was small and quadrupedal. But where those animals had thick pelts to protect from the elements, this had a layer of bark and thorny vines growing from its back. It stared Laurel down and started a low growl. Laurel growled back. She could kick this beast into oblivion, vent some of the wild rage that still howled inside. A sliver of good judgment, that sounded remarkably like Imelda’s voice, held her back. Indiscriminate slaughter was the first step down a path she wouldn’t return from. The stalker pulled back, recognizing Laurel was no easy prey. It hissed and batted a paw in Laurel’s direction. Growing tired of the distraction, Laurel let her aura leak out and made a quick step towards the beast. It whimpered and fled back through the trees. Laurel watched it go with her spiritual senses and went back to running. If only all her problems were so easy to deal with..

*******

The roads were both better constructed and more crowded the closer Laurel got to the capital city of the Laskar Empire. Wonders of mortal engineering she had never dreamed of in her own time were commonplace. Laurel wished she could appreciate it the way it deserved, but every speck of wealth or progress made her resent the whole country even more. These people didn’t kill Borin but that didn’t matter to her grief. Just running down the road she saw innovations that would beggar a small sect. She had even noticed some flying vessels. They moved slowly, leaking trails of smoke and steam, wooden ships suspended below canvas bubbles somehow allowing them to float. If not for the desire to stay unseen she might have attempted to fly up and take a closer look. As it was, she resolved to see what she could find in the next city she passed through.

As towns became more common, she ignored her embarrassment and began picking up more money. She would need it for passage on a ship if nothing else. Stealing from mortals was still shameful, but none of these people were worthy of a sect treasure that could end up being useful later. The larger towns at least meant wealthier families. What she suspected were the Empire’s noble equivalents were easy to spot from their clothes and the amount of modern inventions in the homes. Slipping inside to pick up a handful of coins before moving on was even easier.

By the time she was approaching the capital the ambient mana density had increased enough to support movement techniques, at least the slow ones. Of course, she was still stuck walking in order to avoid violent confrontations with confused mortals, or more of the local cultivators. The slow speed grated against Laurel’s nerves. The temptation to try something outrageous was always there, but the roads were patrolled by local soldiers, and she was doing her best to avoid any altercations. Imelda would be proud of her for actually employing some subtlety, rather than her more comfortable strategies of smashing her way into wherever she needed to be and trusting herself and her team to handle whatever came next. In the brief periods she stopped to sleep, nightmares of watching the sect being destroyed morphed into Borin’s accusing stare while he burned alive. They would have her waking in a cold sweat and moving on well before sunrise. She let the frustration and sorrow push her towards her new goal. Get out of Laskar and start a sect her way.

******

Laskar City was … big. Massive industrial furnaces belched fumes into the air, causing a haze to obscure whole swaths of the city. The architecture was all hard lines and large, imposing blocks, looming over citizens as they went about their business. It would have been downright depressing if not for the riot of colors splashed across the walls, in murals depicting the purpose of the buildings, scenes of everyday life, or histories of conquering heroes. Laurel could see a tall spire being used as a sort of dock for the airships, which was admittedly clever.

The stench was vile. The filth and detritus of at least a million people living in close confines mixed with the industrial fumes to create something uniquely unpleasant. On a central hill, a castle stood over the entire city. Made from the same drab brown stone that was the building material of choice, it prioritized defense over aesthetics. High walls with narrow windows cloaked the edifice. The placement on the hill created an illusion of the castle hovering above the rest of the city, as though the emperor was sitting in judgment, looking down over his subjects. In the distance she could see sunlight glinting off the ocean, and had no problem filling in the details of a busy port in her image of the city.

The long trek south from Pevin had taught Laurel more about mortal traveling than the rest of her life combined. It was common for the nicer inns to be in the more central districts, which had been surprising. She thought the outskirts, with the fresher air and distance from the never-ending clanking and grinding sounds of factories should have been more popular. Several nights with beds she was unwilling to lie down on had disabused her of this notion, so she trudged towards the city center to find lodging for the next few days. After securing a room at an acceptable inn, she wandered off in the vague direction of the harbor. Also hoping to pick up more information on the political climate, she allowed her route to meander rather than taking the shortest path.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“...fresh from the islands, two for the price of one…”

“...Meristan bastards. Those planes ain’t natural…”

“...she would be lucky to have you…”

Laurel arrived at the harbor finishing the last of the fried dumpling parcels she had purchased from a street vendor for a late lunch. A clash between the world as she knew it and the new technology of this era met her. The ships soared above her head like a gently swaying mountain range, with large cylinders of brass and iron attached like barnacles, venting steam into a clear sky. Most ships had large wheels on the sides or rear, and a few even appeared to be made entirely of metal. Sails were still in abundance however, and she felt heartened by that small piece of familiarity. Sunny days exploring on Martin’s ship were a joyful memory to cling to amidst the uncertain swamp her life had become.

Dodging stevedores that were yelling in at least 4 different languages, she found a building that looked official. “Port Authority” was stamped proudly on a sign above the door. A small bell went off as she pushed her way in. Laurel smiled at the small sign of mortal ingenuity and caught herself. Had she smiled since leaving Pevin? She closed and opened the door a few times to bask in the moment, ignoring some pointed looks from other patrons. A short line had formed in front of a desk and Laurel joined the queue, shamelessly eavesdropping as the people in front of her asked various scheduling questions, registered cargo, and filled out an unending selection of forms while arguing with the assistants.

“Next!” The harried young man at the counter shouted as the sailor in front of Laurel shuffled away. Mutters of “useless” floated back as Laurel stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. I’m looking for a passenger berth on a ship - “

“List of ships accepting passengers, fees are negotiated directly. Next!” The man slammed a piece of paper onto the desk and stared at the person behind her. She narrowed her eyes as a spike of anger threatened to upset her fragile equanimity. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the line. The mortal had been dismissive, but also provided the information she required. The contrast was confusing. She tried valiantly to remember that she was now a sectmaster – even if it was a sect of one – and should be embracing the dignity inherent in such a position. She failed. A gust of wind conveniently blew all the papers off the clerk’s desk as she exited the cramped building.

The list was helpfully divided by the originating nation and port-city, many of which she had at least heard of thanks to her stolen atlas and general lurking. It was detailed enough that she felt a bit guilty about ruining the man’s organization system. Though if he was more respectful to everyone then she wouldn’t have needed to teach him a lesson.The amount of propaganda being spread around made it difficult to get a good feel for any of the options, but Laurel decided any country the Empire was denouncing was probably a good bet as a starting point. Gauging the general attitude of these countries towards magic was another thing entirely, but she’d heard more than one person grumbling in taverns about how Merista was consorting with magic and demons, which meant it was exactly where she would be heading.

The international shipping docks took up the south end of the port. Laurel edged around a pair of stern-faced guards manning a customs inspection booth with a polite murmur. Local geography and deep water meant the ships themselves were able to be berthed directly on the quay, rather than anchoring further out. Three large wooden vessels and one of the interesting metal constructions were lined up, two on either side. Men were loading and unloading wooden crates, all stamped with different symbols that she had no way to decipher.

“Hello!” she called up to the first ship.

A bald man leaned over the rail and shouted something incomprehensible back.

“I’m here to inquire about passage aboard your ship” she persevered, while flashing back to the last time someone spoke a foreign language to her. The man disappeared from view. Laurel looked around, nonplussed. Was there something about her today that made people just dismiss her out of hand? She waited another minute and decided to try on the next ship. As she began to walk away, a new head appeared above the railing.

“Oy, Lass! You’re looking for passage?” The man’s response was heavily accented but she could at least understand this one.

“That’s correct. The port authority has this ship listed as willing to take on passengers.” The man was nodding along with her while she spoke.

“You’re right there, the captain is willing to pick up passengers, but we’re still on the outward leg of this trip. We’re going down the coast and to the nomad city after this before heading home. If you’re looking to see Merista in the next six months, your best bet is the Lion’s Tooth at the end of the dock.”

“Thank you for the help!” Laurel waved at the man as she started towards the indicated ship.

“Good luck, lass” he called after her retreating back.

The Lion’s Tooth was much the same as the first ship, except when she shouted about passage someone actually came down to talk to her, introducing himself as the boatswain.

“Aye, we’re bound for our home port after this stop, we leave in a week.”

“Any chance you’re taking passengers?” Laurel asked.

“Sure, we’ve got a couple of berths for sale. No private cabins mind you, so you’ll be sharing.” The officer seemed affable, and they haggled a bit to settle on the price.

“Alright lass, we’ll leave at high tide next Fifthday morning. If you’re late we won’t be waiting for you.” The boatswain finished the transaction with a smile and a handshake.

“I’ll be here,” Laurel assured him. She was taken aback at how smoothly the whole process had been. The mortals running things were not respectful as she was used to, but the efficiency was commendable nonetheless. She still needed to pick up a few more coins for the passage and incidentals in her new home before it was time to leave, but luckily enough the countries in question appeared to have a semi-standardized currency system so it should be easy enough to pilfer the rest before her deadline.