The journey north to Krora stood to be a long and dangerous one. Thoz had no idea if the border between the country of Vesmar where they currently were and Daskaora where they needed to be was even an open border. He assumed it would be impossible for the entire thing to be guarded, but even still, dodging checkpoints would add more work to their efforts. Not to mention the definite difficulty of sneaking an entire troll out of a populated city without being noticed and hunted down. Honestly, his growing army was very clearly not suited for stealth or infiltration and that frustration was starting to grow on Thoz. That was a problem for later in the day though, right now he needed to focus on buying the much-needed supplies his party required.
The first steps felt obvious in that regard. Thoz himself, as well as Prisaela and Kaggant, all needed new clothes. Kaggant less so since he wasn’t often dealing with humanoids, but keeping the giant warm would help as well. Prisaela and Thoz already had some stolen clothes, sure, but especially after the latest evolutions, they did not fit properly in most places. It would take a small fee to get them properly adjusted and mended, but in doing so they would save money compared to purchasing new sets for each of them. Though having more than one set of clothes is necessary as well. For exactly three gold pieces out of his newfound fortune, Thoz was able to purchase and repair clothes for him and Prisaela, giving them each three sets.
It was also thankfully simple to get the armor he’d looted the previous day properly adjusted. It was all slightly worn and gently scuffed, but functional all the same. The only actual problem with it was that none of it fit the proper proportions for his new form, and that was simple enough to pay a blacksmith to fix. However, the more he wandered the city, the more Thoz began to notice how utterly run down it was. Actual businesses were just barely scraping by, with all of the money and power in the city being concentrated amongst thieves and smugglers. It was surely unfortunate to most people with standard morality, but best Thoz could reckon it also wasn’t an efficient way to run a city long term. It would almost definitely lead to an eventual collapse of all non-criminal industries. That quite simply wasn’t his problem, so he paid the blacksmith and made his way out of the dusty shop.
Next on his list of priorities was combat strength. Sure, metal armor was outrageously expensive, but if he could find a decent leatherworker and a skilled bladesmith, he finally had the funds to upgrade his capabilities rather significantly. By trading in the cheap short spear, as well as the sword now blunted to little more than a metal stick, Thoz was able to purchase Prisaela a well-crafted rapier. More suited to her speed and agility, and light enough to compensate for her low strength. Similarly, with Kaggant’s massive strength any poleaxe would be magnificently deadly with [Axe Wielder] skill, though at the size required to even be moderately normal in his hands it was likely to be expensive.
So, nearly sixty gold of their travel budget was consumed by purchasing weapons, and with far less money than Thoz would have liked, they made their way to a nearby leather craftsman. The shop was crowded and cluttered with all manner of minor workings, even occasionally things hung from the ceiling. A strong, foul smell permeated the place from the tannery out back, and dim light filtered in through foggy windows. The proprietor that came to meet them, shuffling through a small divider curtain, was an extremely elderly elven woman. The agelessness of her people was seemingly not enough for her many years. The wrinkles on her face were now prevalent, her messy bundle of hair long ago faded to a light silver.
Her conversation with Thoz was brief, and she was amenable to his requests, but the devil got the feeling that she knew far more than she was letting on through their simple exchange. He was glad to be out of there as soon as possible. The purchases made this time were quite basic, if not a bit absurd. Thoz purchased a set of various padded leathers to serve as Prisaela’s armor, all of it adjustable and fitting to her form quite well. The other two items were the odd requests though. A sheet of leather far larger than anyone had a right to need, made from stitching two entire hides together. This would serve as a sort of wrapping garment for Kaggant. Crude, and expensive, but hopefully large enough that it could be transitioned into a basic kilt of the giant got any larger. His other request was as large of a sack as the woman could make, preferably burlap with some kind of sealant on the inside to keep it sturdy and waterproof.
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“Now what could you need all that for?” The elder asked, clearly confused and posing the obvious question to an unprepared devil.
“Fish. I am going to be fishing and need a sack for carrying the fish” Thoz replied stiffly, clearly unprepared for lying off the cuff. Prisaela merely sighed at this and stepped in to rescue him.
“We’re trying to head north, we’d like the waterproof sack to protect any food we find, hopefully, fresh fish, from rain and outside elements while we carry them. The sheet is to help the tent stay warm and comfortable” The newly evolved succubus began explaining, her effortless deception only stumbling when she had to skirt around Thoz’s own blunder.
The only response the duo was provided was a knowing nod from the old woman, and she went off to fetch what they needed, though the custom requests would be a few hours more.
The rest of their shopping trip consisted of loading up the backpack previously used for carrying a compressed Zildoxoxi. They quite simply couldn’t carry enough food for both them and the giant without making a massive investment they couldn’t afford. Prisaela did negotiate a bulk discount, but the backpack could really only hold enough food and water for seven days, presuming only her and Thoz were partaking. The current hope was that Kaggant would be able to do some kind of hunting, and Zildoxoxi would absorb plants and scraps as usual.
Strangely enough, Uzdaax did seem to eat something, maybe ambient magic or residual life force, but never food. The ghost mainly just floated around invisible doing nothing or complaining about work once asked to do something.
That is of course neither here nor there. Thoz’s tendency to let his mind aimlessly wander was perhaps a holdover from the centuries of mindless tedium as an imp, but it would not serve him well here in the material. Especially with his soul on the line.
Thankfully he had all he would need (read: could afford) for the trip north, his only lead on getting any answers about this terrible place and the accursed portal that spat him out here. It had already been months since his arrival, and while the evolution and rampant leveling were nice, Thoz was not nearly naive enough to believe it would last indefinitely. At least, he wasn’t that naive anymore.
Now all he needed was a way to get Kaggant out of the city without being hunted down in the streets like a rat.
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Sardan hated being in Rovale. It was like walking through a swamp of literal shit. The city embodied everything he stood against. His family had been in the service to Iuris, god of law, for generations. Their original dwarven ancestors were responsible for Sardan’s mighty orange beard despite holding more human blood than anything else these days. His strict adherence to the teachings of his church and his god led to the utter lawlessness of Rovale grating on him as if the air itself was cloaked in poison. Baseline anger only worsened by the rumors of a loose devil skulking in the shadows.
Sardan knew good and well how dangerous unchecked monsters could be, and the unholy creatures spat out from the depths of the lower realms were not an exception, they were in fact worse. It was his job, theoretically, as a paladin of Law to uphold the safety and security of the populace, regardless of where danger struck from.
In practice, that sort of thing was usually left to the paladins of a god of war, or battle, or justice, any number of people more suited to fighting the forces of evil. Sardan was basically a judge, he handled court cases all day. He felt awkward and heavy in his armor, and while it was well fitted to his admittedly stocky build, he could have sworn something was chafing.
Sardan received all manner of strange looks as he aimlessly wandered the streets of Rovale, and a noticeably large number of people were avoiding him. He’d been here three days already and he’d seen neither hide nor hair of any devil, and the citizenry wasn’t exactly receptive enough for him to gather information. He was nearly ready to give up on his hunt for the day when a presence settled around him. Thick in the air like a putrid fog, vile enough he could almost smell it.
“Devil.” He growled, glancing around wildly in an attempt to register the source of that unholy stink.