So as it turns out, having a local celebrity show up in a public place on horseback and surrounded by strangely dressed figures attracts attention. More and more curious heads turned towards them with every passing second. It was only a matter of time before the first joyful shouts could be heard echoing through the crowd like ripples on a pond. As the first individuals began taking nervous but hopeful steps towards the group, Lucille recomposed her face into a warm smile and dismounted the horse. She stepped forward to meet the townsfolk with all the smooth motions and polite speech of a practised politician. She knew the spokesman’s game and she played it well. With a subtle hand gesture she beckoned the others to follow her as she manoeuvred from local to local in a graceful conversational dance. Constantly making slow progress through the mounting crowd without them realising her desire for an end to their greetings. Calls of ‘Young Lady Auserre‘ were the most frequent but Alter saw more than one individual offer a deeper bow and refer to her as a ‘Priestess of the Flow’. Curious, she had made no mention of being a ranked clergyman, though she had been quick to praise one of the four local deities on multiple occasions. He wanted to know more but it probably wasn’t the best idea to be heard asking what that meant in public. As they ambled through the growing throng of well-wishers Riptide murmured to Alter and Oliver.

“I’m actually surprised how well looked after these people appear. They look healthy, there seems to be plenty of food available, even their clothes are made to a pretty decent level. When you called this place a border town I wasn’t expecting such a high apparent quality of life.” He sounded genuinely impressed.

“That’s the work of Lucille’s family, their reputation is tied to the treatment of their people. There’s a reason these lands are not under the control of a duke, the Counts of Auserre have throughout the ages been able to maintain this high standard. In return, the people work hard and produce goods that are shipped all across Rillestia. It is a matter of great pride for all parties involved.” Oliver’s voice swelled with admiration.

“I hear you.” Riptide smiled as his eyes roved the competing market stalls.

“There must be a lot of people clamouring to move here then?” Alter asked.

“True.” Oliver conceded. “However the movement of people into these lands is highly controlled. This lifestyle has produced a strong local identity, and no small amount of wariness. These days you need to be related to someone already living out here or a highly skilled craftsman in order to be allowed residence. Plus there will always be some scepticism about life in the outer territories from those living in Rillestia’s heartlands.”

“What would’ve happened at the gate if Lucille wasn’t with us?”

“Well we would’ve been questioned certainly, anyone coming out of the Badlands is going to be met with suspicion. But my reputation is high enough to avoid any real unpleasantness.” Oliver answered with slow care.

Alter turned his attention back to his surroundings, it seemed that this rural ideal had some troublesome rumblings under the surface. Isolationism shall always be an unfortunate byproduct of success, no matter your position on the world or in its social strata. Eventually they managed to make their way through the market and into the relative calm of the town’s main street. A well maintained cobblestone thoroughfare wide enough for three horse drawn vehicles to pass each other simultaneously. Rudimentary lampposts were dotted along either side, metal poles topped with wood burning braziers, each loaded with enough fresh kindling to provide plenty of light through the approaching evening hours. As they walked Oliver pointed out a slightly larger, more grand and established property poking out over the rooftops toward the town’s centre.

“We’re making our way to the Marshal’s estate, the de facto ruler of this place. He’s a retired knight the Count trusted enough to give him the reins of this area. He’s a grumpy old goat who's going to act annoyed to see us but he’ll drop the facade once we tell him what happened. The man was Countess Auserre’s guardian knight for many years, a little guilt will set him straight.” He explained.

Alter frowned, he found the sudden leap from fighting off adoring locals to the emotional manipulation of a retiree to be slightly unnerving.

“The problem, however, will be you and your men. The marshal is quite dismissive of mercenaries and their like. Years of fighting bandits and other vagabonds has given him a skewed view of outsiders. You might not receive the warmest of welcomes.” Oliver warned.

“Are we in any danger?” Alter queried, hand subconsciously reaching for the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Not at all. Just … don’t expect him to prepare rooms for you. Or feed you.”

Alter relaxed, grumpy old men he could manage. A flurry of movement from the marshal’s home signified their arrival. Two smartly dressed men smoothly opened a set of dark wood double doors with practised ease. From the shaded entryway stepped a tall and immaculately uniformed man. Alter would put him in his mid sixties, his hair was short and greying, his face wrinkled and sun weathered. His mouth hidden behind a moustache that could only be described as ‘powerful’. His uniform married the intricacy of Olivers minus the armoured pieces with the gentle green of Lucille’s dress. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back as he walked with precise and measured strides. He was the absolute picture of a gentleman, all he needed was a top hat and a jaunty musical number. His eye lit up upon spotting Lucille.

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

“I am honoured to see you again, Lady Lucille.” His voice was prim, proper, and possessing enough rich layers to make a cake buffet shake in envy.

The man bowed with a flourish. The high collar of his shirt had been hiding his neck, but from this angle Alter could see a long, ugly scar running across the left side of his neck. This man’s life had been spared by a fortuitous glancing blow. It was no small wonder he had retired from active service.

“Hello Uncle Vaulter!” Lucille called out, her tone sweetening to match.

“What has brought you all the way to Crestvigil?” Vaulter asked, eyes turning to the rest of the individuals assembled before his door.

“Actually, we’re returning. Oliver and I had business to attend to in Breakdune.”

“Unescorted?” Vaulter’s eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead at a speed worthy of any space mission.

There was a moment of silence as Lucille took a deep intake of breath.

“We had escorts, Uncle. They died protecting us. Raiders attacked our carriage as we made our way back through the Adderbites.” She told him, allowing a hint of fear to crack her calm demeanour.

Alter had no doubt that any fear she had held was long defeated by her relentless nature. Nevertheless, this sudden bombshell was enough to cause Vaulter to freeze in place as he processed the heavy sentence.

“Hhh … How did you escape?” His voice wavered in shock.

“Fate. Luck. Mystery. Call it whatever you will.” Lucille turned and indicated the squad. “Were it not for Captain Alterfate and his men here, we would’ve been hunted down and slain with the rest of the knights.”

“Mercenaries?” He asked, turning his attention to them.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Vaulter murmured softly.

The Marshal’s eyes moved across them slowly. Glacially. Cold ice-like calculations mixed with sparkling distrust and topped off with a dash of arrogance. A nice little cocktail of paranoia, Alter would’ve offered him a tiny umbrella but everyone knows umbrellas are a conspiracy. It was clear that the man didn’t like the look of them, though Alter did have to admit they looked unconventional enough to warrant such scrutiny.

“Well my dear, you and Sir Oliver must come inside, I’ll send word to your father immediately. As for your men, well. I’ll see what I can do.” His clipped tone had regained its footing as he spun on his heel and strode back into the property.

Lucille and Oliver shared a knowing look as she moved to follow him inside, beckoning Chloe to follow. Oliver turned to the unit, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Well how about that, he doesn’t hate you. You might even be invited inside at some point!” He beamed.

“Do we just hang about in the street until then?” Boozehound asked.

Oliver opened his mouth to answer but one of the doormen interrupted by appearing behind him and whispering a few words in his ear before retreating. Oliver’s smile expanded.

“No need, you’ve been allowed inside already. Come on, mind your muddy boots now.” He laughed as he moved into the building.

The men looked at each other and shrugged before walking in. Soon they were surrounded by fine wooden furniture and plush carpets of deep, wine red. Pictures and tapestries dotted the walls with scenes of hunting and fishing, portraits and landscapes with subjects ranging from doll-like children to windswept crags. The voices of Lucille and Vaulter could be heard emanating from a partially closed door but Alter was unable to determine the words spoken as they were led past. The corridor they were guided down took a couple of turns before they were ushered through an open door and into a spacious room at the back of the house. The rear wall was nearly completely given over to large windows that allowed the evening light to stream across the room. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the room made from dark polished wood similar to that of the front door. Its sides were thick with cupboards, drawers and cubby holes with not a chair in sight. The side walls were given over to heavy bookcases filled with thick, titleless tomes bound in dark green leather. The near wall was once again covered by portraits with titles detailing them as former marshals of the town. Alter paused as he studied the text, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that the written language was readable.

“Perfect.” Oliver clapped his hands together and started rummaging through the table’s many storage compartments.

“Are you looking for something specific?” Whim asked.

Oliver made a non committal noise as he continued his search before cackling triumphantly and placing a collection of rolled up parchments on the table. The squad gathered around as he slowly unfurled the largest roll. Borders and contours, names and coats of arms, cities and nations. A proper map, now this was something Alter could get behind. For now only two maps were revealed. One detailed the Kingdom of Rillestia, the other the continent at large. Meios. The map titled itself as the world, so this was for all intents and purposes a pangea situation. The continent itself could be split into two main landmasses of equal size, connected to each other but seeming to seek separation like a cell undergoing mitosis with a northwest - southeast pinch point. Leaning down again Oliver retrieved a narrow stick and used it to indicate a section of the map on the northeast section of Meios.

“Right then. You are here.” Oliver began.