My first impression of the city is that it smells like shit. Literally. This is one aspect that I’d known about, but couldn’t properly appreciate until I actually set foot in one. I never quite expected to smell it for the first time when I could barely see where I’m going though, and I’m nervously placing my feet, wondering if I’ll suddenly step in something. That's a thing I hadn’t considered when coming into the city on my bare feet.

The next thing I notice is that the city is dark. There’s not a lantern in sight, so the only light I have is the light of the moon, and whatever light spills out of windows that are still lighted, of which there aren’t many. There’s a large road that seems to run the entire length of the city, surrounded by dark and locked up buildings.

The street is almost empty, and of the few folks who do wander through the gate in front of me, half of them quickly head towards a big building illuminated by a lone torch. The torch casts a glow over the entrance and highlights a sign hanging above the door, which brings to mind the inn I entered in the village earlier.

Choosing between the dark street and the inn is an easy call, so I quickly stick with the crowd. I’ve got absolutely no experience in a city like this, and wandering through it alone at night is just begging for trouble.

Even though I have a general idea of what’s coming, I’m still taken aback by the overwhelming noise that hits me as soon as I walk in. It’s not just the ruckus of tipsy folks that catches me off guard; it’s the fact that all four tables in this common room are packed. Everyone seems to be listening intently and clapping along with a guy in the corner playing a flute.

Along one of the long sides of the room is a massive hearth, and in it blazes a merry fire that throws shadows all over the room. The inside smells smoky from the fire.

Aside from the ones at the tables, there’s a small crowd around the bar, more or less doing the same thing as those sitting, but while consuming more alcohol. I don’t see anyone serving, so I guess this place is self service.

Since there is no place to sit unless I want to force myself between some others, something I do not nearly have enough confidence for, I make my way to the bar.

There’s three men behind the bar, all in their late middle age and looking strikingly similar, with round, rosy faces and a tuft of red hair atop their heads. Thankfully, they've made an effort to add a bit of variety to their appearance with their clothing. Each is dressed in a linen shirt and pants, but they've opted for aprons in different colors.

As I walk in, one of them gives me a thorough once-over, but I’m too tired to let it bother me. All I want is some sleep, and not even the cheerful buzz of the common room can lift my mood. Try spending an entire day on your feet only to stand in line for hours—it's enough to crush anyone's spirit. The idea of figuring out exactly how much the coin from my pouch is worth by trying to pay for a room seems like a fantastic idea at the moment.

The man seems to pick up on this, and given the way he looks, I’m guessing that’s by virtue of many years of experience. "Leabaidh? Biadh? Deoch?” “Bed? Food? Drink?” well, nobody can blame the man for not being succinct, and even I can understand it. I glance at what they have behind the bar, and note two large casks. I’m suddenly in dire need of a drink, and glancing down the bar, note that everyone gets theirs served in clay mugs.

I’m going to look like a moron again, but whatever. I point at one of the drinks that someone else is drinking, and rummage in my bag for those copper squares, then show those and look questioningly at the man behind the bar. He takes it in stride in a way that tells me he’s seen things, and holds up three fingers.

I gladly slap those down, and follow him with my eyes as he goes to one of the barrels with a new mug, and taps a full one for me. A moment later, there's a mug of sweet liquid sitting in front of me. Not what I was expecting at all. Wasn’t this supposed to be ale? Oh well. I take a sip and frown in surprise. I don’t think I've ever had this before; it's some sort of honey wine, right? It definitely makes me want to drink more, and before I realize it, my mug is empty.

Come to think of it, who serves wine in a mug? That’s a lot of wine. I can already feel it going straight to my head. I ate while waiting in line, so I should be fine, but I probably shouldn’t have finished the whole mug in 10 minutes regardless.

I look over at the man that helped me earlier, and he looks back at me with a smirk. I just wave him over, and say “leabaidh?” His grin widens, and he nods: "Dà leagha airson roinnte, deich airson prìobhaideach.” “…” I have no clue. He very nearly rolls his eyes, but recovers quickly. Instead holding up two, then ten fingers in succession. I guess two is fine? I don’t need more than a bed, and ten is more than a third of what I have.

I hesitatingly hand him two coins, and he nods in approval. Then he gestures at a doorway beside the bar, and motions at the stairs to the left. "Fàg an staidhre, tagh leabaidh sam bith a tha thu ag iarraidh.” “Go… somewhere, and pick" I go there, and find another set of stairs going to the right. Wonder what is up there. Maybe different more expensive rooms? I thread my way up to the second floor up the left-hand stairs, and open the single door I find there.

Oh. I guess I should have expected this. The dim light from a flickering candle barely illuminates the cramped space, casting nearly invisible shadows that dance across the floor. The smell of sweat and unwashed bodies hits me like a wall, and I grimace as I step further inside. Each cot is occupied by a sleeping figure, some wrapped tightly in tattered blankets while others lie sprawled, oblivious to the world around them.

With no other option, I pick an empty cot near the far wall. I carefully drop my bag next to it, pull out my sword, and tuck it under my cushion, silently wishing that sleep will find me easily despite the cacophony echoing from below.

Naturally, it doesn't happen like that, and I lay awake for the next few hours, a few more folks come tripping in to occupy the last few open beds, while the hustle and bustle below slowly dies down.

At some point the candle went out, and nobody has bothered to replace it. Each breath I take mingles with the stale air of the room, heavy with the mingled scents of sweat and old blankets, and it only serves to remind me how far removed I am from the comforts of home. I turn onto my side, trying to block out the snoring figure next to me, when finally sleep takes me.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

My body is sore all over the next morning. The sack I slept on was lumpy in all the worst spots, and I have a hard time believing people would willingly choose this over sleeping outside. Except maybe when it rains. That sucked.

I’m honestly surprised by the sheer audacity some folks have when they roll out of bed and start getting dressed. But I guess when you’re sharing a space, there’s only so much you can manage. On the bright side, everyone seems pretty skilled at just pretending they don’t see what’s happening around them.

Honestly, it doesn’t bother me much since I’ve just thrown myself down in my clothes. I don’t have anything else to change into since this is all I’ve got, and I certainly wasn’t about to take the scarf off. It hits me that maybe crashing here wasn’t the smartest move, but then I remember I’m not the only woman in the room, which gives me a bit of comfort. I must have picked up on that yesterday when I walked in, right? It must have registered without me even realizing it, and somehow made me feel okay about it.

Not that I’ve never slept in shared accommodations before, but the clientele there was decidedly less rough around the edges. Then I realize what I’m wearing, that it was shortly ago covered in blood, and that I have a sword stashed under my pillow within easy reach, and figure that maybe if it came to a contest I’d be the roughest of them all. Huh.

I gather my things and head back downstairs. It’s amusing to see everyone tripping down the stairs and plopping down at the tables, looking half-asleep. It takes me back to some conferences I attended where the nights were filled with way too much drinking. I mean, networking, right? All on someone else's dime. I think I can still recall at least one person I met during those times. I’m fairly certain he was a janitor.

One of the men from yesterday, a different one than the one I spoke to—unless they switch aprons to mess with people—comes and doles out a generous slop of gruel to everyone downstairs that doesn’t have it yet. I say gruel, because I think it’s technically supposed to be porridge, but if the one I ate earlier was much better than I expected, then this is the exact opposite. There’s no request for extra payment, so I suppose this is included with the stay? Kinda makes me feel like they’re trying to skimp somewhere.

I'm not brave enough to take a bite until I see some of the others digging into the hot mess and not immediately gagging or collapsing in a fit. When I finally manage to take a bite, I’m disappointed to find that the food lives up to my expectations. It’s bland and gross, but hey, it’s free, so I polish off the whole bowl. Even if I hadn’t learned to finish my plate before my arrival in this world I surely would have by now.

Then it’s time to finally see what this city holds for me.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

I step outside and find myself on the inn's doorstep, bathed in the gentle light of the rising sun. It's just inside the city gate, the first building on the right. The gates are still shut at this early hour, and I can't help but wonder when they'll swing open. But honestly, it doesn't really concern me at this moment.

Beyond the gate stretches what seems to be a major thoroughfare of the city, and I can see all the way to the harbor from here. The original main street is made out of roughly cut tiles, and several meters wide. The original road has been extended using two-meter-wide strips of cobblestones on either side, slightly different in color, suggesting that someone figured out that today’s massive wagons wouldn’t fare well on a narrower road.

I take in the city, and find myself completely blown away. Have you ever been to a renaissance fair where they tried to create a version of what they thought a medieval street looked like? It always falls flat, right? You visit an open-air museum where real experts put things together, and it’s so much better. This… this makes it clear that those folks were just winging it too.

I’d be hesitant to say that the smell of manure adds something, but the combination of all the smells and activity is just something you’d never see anywhere in a reconstruction. There’s hundreds of people visible to me now, and that adds such a deal of life to the scene that nothing I’ve ever seen before compares.

From one moment to the next, I’ll be smelling shit, a passing horse, the bucket of offal that someone just dumped out of their window—seriously wtf, the basket of fresh bread on the windowsill of what I presume is an inn catering to people that just entered the city. It’s utter chaos, in both sight and smell, and it’s glorious.

The only thing that really puts a damper on my excitement is how I can’t move around without stepping in something gross. There are others here walking around barefoot, and they seem to totally ignore the feeling. I guess I’m going to need some footwear if I want to stay here without constantly worrying about where I’m stepping..

I find myself just walking along the main street for a time, lost to the experience of being, well, an ecstatic medieval tourist. On one hand I know that this is real, that I can’t just leave the theme park and go back to my home, but for a while, I can let go of that knowledge, and just enjoy myself.

I pass by a blacksmith, and I know I’ve seen much the same before in the large town I passed through, but at the time I was very on edge about potentially being discovered. Now, the scarf has proven itself to be a perfect remedy to all my problems, and I’m not nearly so worried. I end up standing there for almost half an hour, just watching the guy hammer away at his work, trying to puzzle out how everything he does works. Eventually, he shouts at me in exasperation and gestures for me to move along. That's when I notice a bunch of people nearby chuckling at the sight of a woman staring at the sweaty, bare-chested blacksmith.

I feel briefly embarrassed, but am much too distracted by everything visible to dwell on it too much. It’s a good thing too because some variant of the same issue happens four more times as I make my way down the entirety of the street to arrive at the harbor. I’m not sure why I’m so fascinated by professions that have no place in our society any more, but something about the simplicity of it attracts me. Sure, carpentry isn’t simple, but there’s only so many ways to join a piece of wood. Seeing someone construct a chair in front of your eyes, well. I suppose it attracts me because my own work was never visible. You’d spend days tearing through some insanely difficult problem, only to find the issue in some deeply hidden sub-dependency, and nobody would ever be the wiser about how much work that took.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Meanwhile, that carpenter fixes the leg of your broken chair, and you can immediately see what the difference between broken and fixed looks like. Whether the chair is intricately joined or exquisitely detailed and inlaid with gold leaf makes no difference. A broken leg is a broken leg is a broken leg. I long for that simplicity. At the same time, I don’t think I could actually work on something so simple, since I also like solving those complex problems. I just detest that the amount of effort involved isn’t easily visible.

The harbor is makes it easy to forget about what came before though. There are so. many. ships! I mean, I guess there’s many ships in a marina back home too, but motorboats and sailing ships are incomparable. Then there’s those galleys. It's tempting to think of the holes as emplacements for cannon, but they’re just way too small for that. I imagine that’s where the oars go, though for obvious reasons there’s no oars now. All the galleys are docked to a specific pier, that connects to a stone fortress on one side of the docks. The harbor itself is surrounded by large blocks of stone that have been very deliberately stacked in a rough semicircle around it.

This reeks of more magic to me. Even those blocky concrete tetrapods you see next to a modern seawall aren’t as massive as these cubic monstrosities, measuring nearly 4 meters to a side, and I can only imagine how many you need to block off a harbor this size. Most of them must be underwater.

The ships are distracting, but eventually I focus on the people, and eventually I see what I’m looking for. There’s a man, wearing a rough tunic, carrying some load across the quay, and his hair is black! Nobody seems to be attacking him, or even paying especially much attention, though there’s some people that give him dirty looks behind his back.

As I follow him with my gaze, he arrives at a ship, and to my embarrassingly great surprise, as I should have kind of expected that, the whole ship is filled with people like him. Not like they all look the same, but between some blonde, brown and red, there’s a majority of black haired guys. The ship doesn’t appear any different from any of the others, so I guess it’s not under quarantine or something.

It’s interesting to note that it’s such an exception though. After I walk the length of the quay, it seems to be the only ship with black haired people. In that time, I’ve come across several more making their way through the harbor and not apparently attached to the ship though. Which doesn’t do anything for the sometimes dirty looks they’re getting, but they’re not being attacked, and they feel no reason to hide their hair.

At some point, I happen to overhear a crotchety old man talking to his friend. He’s got a dirty gray beard, and balding head, and I instantly dislike him. He’s pointing at one of the rare black haired females I see walking around "Chan eil mi a’ tuigsinn carson a leigeas sinn leotha coiseachd mun cuairt gu saor?” “Why… walking?” He seems incredulous. His friend, who seems a bit younger, and has brown hair, just sighs, which gives me the impression he’s heard the same thing many times before.

"Cha do rinn iad dad ceàrr. Dè tha thu ag iarraidh a dhèanamh, an dùin thu iad uile suas?” “Something something wrong... What... All...” I have too little vocabulary to have any idea of what exactly they’re saying, but the mans friend does not seem to agree with the notion the first man had.

I’m really curious to learn more since this is the first time I’ve had a chance to figure out what’s actually wrong with black hair. But it would look pretty odd if I just halted in the middle of the street next to them. A quick look around doesn’t give me any good reason to stop. They’re just standing there on the quay, right in front of me. There’s nothing stopping me from pausing, but...

I decide to just be suspicious, and park my ass in place, while ostensibly being captivated by a ship that’s just decided to leave the harbor the harbor, but really just observing their conversation. For what it’s worth, the men do not seem to notice or care.

Balding guy shakes his fist in the direction of his friend "Tha! Chan eil ach cùis ùine mus tèid iad air a’ bhuaidh an-dràsta.” “Yes! … time… attack…” Huh? Something the black haired people attack? I involuntarily glance at the ship that I’d seen before. It doesn’t look particularly battle worthy.

Unfortunately, the old man is staring at me when I turn back to them. He steps towards me, ranting on "Thusa! A' freagairt rium, nach eil? Chunnaic mi do fhìn. Tha iad eagallach, nach eil thu a' smaoineachadh?” “You! …do you? …look…” I back away from him, he’s clearly saying something about me looking at the ship, and the expression in his eyes is feverish, though not hostile towards me I think. It’s just that spittle is flying from his mouth, so I want nothing to do with him.

A second later, his friend drags him to a halt, and berates the older man "Dè tha thu a' dèanamh? Nach urrainn dhut fhaicinn gu bheil thu a' cur an duilgheadas air a' bhean?” “What… doing? … lady” Well, a gallant—I squint my eyes— middle aged gentleman to the rescue. The older man looks kind of sheepish when he realizes what he was doing, and how I’ve backed away from him. That improves my opinion of him a notch. True maniacs wouldn’t notice or care.

He bows awkwardly "Mo leòr, cha robh mi a' ciallachadh dad le sin. Fhuair mo dhùilean air falbh rium.” “Sorry… something” then he straightens up and spits in the direction of the ship, completely ruining the effect. I raise an eyebrow, but his friend drags him away before he can say another word, berating him until they disappear into the crowd.

I guess there’s good people too. Whatever the reason, the middle aged man didn’t seem to agree with whatever the older man was saying, though he might just have been annoyed by the other man’s behavior instead of the message. For whatever reason, and kind of in line with my experiences, people seem to think that black haired people attack for no reason. I guess in that context it’d sort of make sense that people either run away or attack first.

It’s still not a perfect explanation, but I did learn something.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

Having passed through the whole of main street, and now seen the harbor, I’m wondering what to do. Even though I’ve passed through its entire length, I’ve really only seen a very small part of the city. I resolve to explore it in its entirety, after all I have all the time in the world. But what I’m really curious about is that fortress at the end of the docks.

The fortress sits on one side of the harbor, attached to the inner city wall, bordering the sea. I’m not sure why it was built there, instead of in the middle of the city, but I presume it has something to do with access to the sea.

It has walls on every side, including the side facing the sea. Though that’s mostly a fact I remember from when I was looking out over the city, as I can’t see anything but the massive wall facing the harbor right now. I inspect it as I make my way over to it.

Soon, I’m standing on front of said wall. There’s a gatehouse in the middle of it, but the gate is closed. Even so there’s two heavily armed guards outside. I’m not really sure what I expected. That I could waltz up to it and satisfy my curiosity by taking a stroll through this military installation? Oh well, it’s nice to have seen it from up close. The guards at the gate are giving me strange looks though, so I think it’s time to leave.

Just as I'm about to turn away, I realize what made me walk here. There’s a very, very faint feeling that I need to be inside this fortress. And I’ve felt something similar before. Now that I realize that’s what it is it’s easy to distinguish, but what a bizarre feeling.

I somehow have only vague memories of that tree with the shimmering blue fruits, but that’s what it is. The feeling is very faint though, orders of magnitude weaker than the last time I felt it. I wonder what that means.

Regardless of the faint feeling, I’m nearly a hundred percent certain what I’d find if I were to pass through the gate. There must be more of those fruit trees, and given what I’ve noted about what happened with the fruit last time, I guess eating one would refill my steadily depleting juice reservoir. Which, extrapolating, means that the reason the feeling is now so faint is likely that I’m still pretty full. I can’t exactly break into the fortress to get more juice though.

I wonder if that means that if I run low the feeling that tells me where the nearest tree is would grow steadily stronger? I haven’t gotten that feeling again after the last time I found the tree, but then maybe that was because I was completely full most of the time.

Huh. A built in compass that tells me where to refill the bullet-time reservoir. That’s pretty convenient. I’m really starting to wonder if everyone has this. The mages I’ve seen, I can say with near certainty do have it, but how about the rest of the people?

I stop my walk away from the fortress to glance back at the guards. I can totally imagine that people that can do this would become fighters as well. How easy would it be to fight if you had three times as much time to plan your moves than your opponent? I’m wondering if it would have a lot of effect on archery, but you could certainly take a much longer time to aim.

If only they had something like library in this era, I could see if there was any information about, well, anything. Even if I can’t read it there must be some pictures right? But, that would be too much to hope for... right?

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

It is too much to hope for. I went through nearly the entire city over the course of the day, and found nothing like it.

On the plus side, I now know the city is essentially divided into five parts. I’m not sure if they’re official or not, but due to their characteristics that’s how I mentally categorize them.

There’s the docks, which I visited this morning, and basically consists of a whole bunch of warehouses, a few rough taverns, and the fortress. I think some people live there, but I have a hard time understanding why.

Then there’s the outer city, which is everything contained within, surprise, the outer wall. I get the impression that’s where the common people live. There’s shops there, but they all seem to be aimed at residents, not visitors to the city.

There’s what I term the inner city, this doesn’t really have a defined boundary, but seems to originate from one specific bridge that crosses the river that cuts through the city. The houses there are fancier, partially made out of stone, and just generally scream ‘rich people’ to me. Though ‘rich' is relative to the surroundings here. My apartment was a lot nicer.

Then, like any proper medieval city should have, there are the slums. Although they're not exactly slums, the buildings next to the wall definitely look worse for wear compared to the nicer ones in the city center. These structures haven't seen any renovations or repairs in ages, and they’re in pretty rough shape. The people living there… well, they resemble beggars, but I can't believe such a big chunk of the population is actually destitute. Their clothes are of much poorer quality than mine and often in even worse condition. I stole mine from a little village in the woods, and fought a literal battle them—how long have these folks been stuck in theirs?

The last part of the city is what I’ll call the shopping street. It’s the main thoroughfare that I walked through when I initially entered the city, it’s mostly just a whole bunch of various shops that cater to any need someone visiting the city could have. Most of them seem to have a warehouse built somewhere off the main street, so you often spot those huge wagons navigating through the street to reach their destination, whether it’s the docks or a warehouse off the main road.

Anyhow, there’s definitely zero libraries. Then again, that was always kind of a fools dream. It did give me a perfect excuse to explore the city though. I think the only thing I ever heard of containing books in this era is the mansions of nobility, or a monastery, but somehow both of these are suspiciously absent from this city. I have seen zero indications of religion or something like nobility.

The houses in the heart of the city are spacious, but they’re still just houses—not the grand mansions I picture when I think of nobility. Perhaps they reside in the fortress by the sea, but honestly, that place looks pretty bleak, more like a military barracks than a cozy home.

And then there’s a lack of detectable religion. I’m confident I could spot the telltale spires of a church or the domed roof of a mosque if there were one. Maybe a circle of rocks stacked together in impossible ways, given how the countryside vaguely reminds me of the UK. But there’s nothing. It’s like these people have no gods at all. I shrug; being an atheist myself, it doesn’t faze me much. Still, it strikes me as bizarre for this era—like a piece of history has gone missing.

Mildly disappointed in my inability to locate any books, but happy with my accomplishments for today, I wonder if I should try to find a different place to sleep today. I try to enter one other inn, that looks in slightly better repair than the one from last night. But the plump woman with stunning brown hair behind the bar tells me it’ll set me back 7 square copper coins. There’s no way I'm spending almost half of what I've got left on just one night’s stay!

I try a few other inns, as it’s slowly getting darker I stick to the center of the city, and that seems to affect the prices significantly.

One really fancy one that I found actually dared to charge me a silver. This place was purely a sleeping establishment, not an inn with a common room and everything. It had a separate counter like a reception desk. At first they were exceedingly polite, even considering my lacking language skills. It must not be very comfortable to have someone come up to you and ask you “Bed?”. I was very skeptical when they indicated I needed only a single coin. Like, that’s definitely one of those things that’s too good to be true, so of course when I got out my copper the man behind the counter lost his composure and started ranting at me until somewhere in there he randomly grabbed one of those small silver coins from somewhere and attempted to beat me over the head with it.

That wasn’t actually what happened of course, he was just very rude about telling me to take my plebeian ass out the place and not come back until I could pay. I didn’t catch a single word he said, and honestly, I’m not sure I would have understood it even if I spoke the language. The message was crystal clear, though.

The good part of that is that I can estimate that a single one of those small silver coins represents at least 12 of the small copper ones, as the highest copper rate that I was quoted was 12 coins. That nearly triples the value of the coins I have! It also makes me feel like I should do something about carrying the big silver ones around. I don’t really have a safer place to stash them though.

My initial idea that that guy I took them off was dropping a ‘throwaway’ pouch went firmly out the window. If the rate is the same between small and big silver, then every big one is more than 144 square copper ones. Well, I guess I’m getting into ‘too good to be true’ territory here again, but still.

Anyway, I just walk back to main street, to spend another night in the inn right next to the gate. I’d be better off sleeping outside, and save the money entirely, but somehow being back in civilization and having the money to pay for a bed makes that feel uncivilized. Sometimes I apparently get stuck between that student frugality that never went away, and some desire to appear proper. Oh well, whatever, another night of lumpy lumps and some tasteless gruel it is. Like IKEA.