A cool sea breeze rushed to greet the party as the wagon rolled lazily along the road, following near the ongoing line of trade caravans. The wall of polished obsidian towered above them, as black as raven feathers and glistening in the morning light. It almost seemed to drink in the sun, creating a night of its own within the shadow of the city behind it.

It came time for the group’s cart to meet the gates and the elven guardians who buttressed them. Two male elves, one with long chestnut hair and the other with a multitude of black braids falling stiffly beneath his helmet, approached the vehicle with their elaborately crafted swords drawn. They were wearing impeccably shiny silver plates of armor, the edges embroidered with the same gleaming emerald as the rooftops in the city. Their ears peered out far beyond the ends of their helmets with metal guards lining the cartilage. Down their backs were shimmering green capes that featured a design of a seven-pointed star that looked to be sewn in pure silver thread.

“Good morning, travelers,” the one with the braids said. “What business have you coming into the city today?”

Frank leaned beyond Circe in the front to meet the man’s gaze, “Just visiting a friend. Nothing too official.”

The elf smiled professionally, nodding. He straightened his posture and spoke kindly, “Suppose you won’t mind if we inspect your cart before you enter?”

Frank gave permission and the pair quickly began encircling the group. The one with straight hair stepped onto the bed of the thing and surveyed its passengers. A coldness washed over his face as he gazed down at Gostor, who was puffing his chest out at the seven-foot-tall knight that stood before him. The guard’s expression transitioned to disgust as he noticed Flynn’s only slightly pointed ears. The boy smiled and waved, before remembering how sore his arm was and wincing.

The two guards met back at the front of the cart, whispering to one another. With a slow, open-mouthed inhale, the braided elf’s smile dropped briefly, but he regained composure.

“All clear,” he called out, swiveling on his heel and marching out of the way. The other joined him in sync and the gates began to rise. One by one, three sets of metal bars elevated out of the way for the travelers to pass through, each guarded by another pair of emerald elven soldiers.

As the wheels of the cart rolled onto a tapestry of cobblestones interspersed with shimmering aquamarine tiles, the city of Hirondale revealed itself in full splendor. The stones of the path beneath them caught the rising sunlight, casting ripples of blue light. It was as if the ground itself were made of liquid sapphire.

Marble buildings lined the streets, the facades pristine and unblemished. Now in the city, the group could see each roof was not simply made of emerald tile, but intentionally inlaid jewels that created images of elvenkind when light refracted off of them at certain angles. Each building held a striking uniformity without a pebble out of place.

Above all the architecture loomed a massive castle, its white spires piercing the sky like the maw of an ancient, primordial beast. No matter where the roads led them, the castle seemed to be always watching them with an imperial gaze. Green banners with the same silver star symbol, as was on the guards, hung from every window and were flown from every flagpole.

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As their cart rolled bumpily along the pathway leading into the center of the city, they passed by droves of elven citizens tending to their morning business. They all moved with an otherworldly grace, their silhouettes like visions of opulence. Each of them was draped in similar silks and mooncloths, with high collars framing their sharp, elven features. The women wore exotic hats and eye-catching jewels that segmented each portion of their garments. The men wore well-embroidered suits with rib-like corsets that elongated their already impressive stature. It seemed as though the wealthier one was, the more elaborate their costume became.

The group caught the hesitant eyes of the people on the streets. Some would sneer, others would laugh, but it was quite clear that their presence was not going unnoticed. Each elf had the customary pointed ears and dour faces but beneath the exquisite presentation, a menagerie of sub-bloods gathered throughout the city.

The most common type of elf was the Regium. They were the tallest of the lot, with eternally fair complexions and hair like spider silk. Second to those were the Lucus, who had much deeper toned skin and darker hair, too. Though not as tall, they tended to have more natural muscle, which made them excellent laborers.

Not nearly as common, but still present enough to be noticed, were the Impes. These elves had fire in their blood, and as such found many physical and biological similarities with demons. They had unique sets of horns that grew out of the tops of their heads and their skin could be any kind of color. A warm-toned Impe was most usual among their bloodlines, but a cool-toned elf was not unheard of.

Before long, the group found themselves in the city square, a massively open area that expanded like a marble blossom. It was a wide, circular plaza that was impossibly symmetrical. A great fountain rested in the very center, crystal blue water cascading over carved statues of elves holding ornate, emerald bowls and into the basin. The road continued on in four directions out of the plaza, golden signs with elvish language indicating the various districts throughout the city.

To the west was the castle, north led to the historic district, eastward was the military ward, and south was the mercantile. Acadian passed Arsa some gold pieces to pay for cart-docking as they each dismounted the vehicle.

Flynn was wide-eyed and amazed, trying his hardest to look at everything all at once. “Where do we start? This place is amazing!” he beamed.

Frank gripped the hems of the navy coat he was wearing and sighed, “I need to find this Zander character. You all can do whatever you like.”

At once, Gostor ran skipping off down the western road leading toward the castle. Flynn excitedly skipped after him, narrowly avoiding bumping into groggy passersby in the process. Circe wordlessly began walking south, her arms crossed and expression severe.

Acadian grumbled, “Where you off to?”

“I need to take care of something,” she said, barely turning her head. “I’ll meet you back here this evening.”

Frank stepped forward, “Do you need us to come with you? What if something-”

“I don’t need an escort,” she snapped, her fists clenched by her sides. As Frank drew back, she continued on, ignoring the horrified stares of the elves around her.

Frank watched her, stunned. He hadn’t meant to offend her, but he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at apparently doing so. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. Arsa was behind him, offering a gentle reassurance.

“We’ll come with you,” he said.

Frank nodded without any apparent emotion and began for the northern road. Finding one elf in a city full of them would be tricky, so they had better get started.