Daylight broke upon the town of Fieri as he entered its gates. Though he did suppose his appearance to be rather suspicious, the guard said nothing and allowed him to pass through, apparently uncaring. It was true then, he supposed, about Fieri being a town open to all, without bias or discrimination. Not surprising all in all, considering that its location was situated on the borderlines of three countries.
Though these three countries were currently at peace, with no apparent signs of war brewing, their citizens clearly had different ideas. As he walked past the pubs and taverns that had closed with the first approaching signs of the morn, he saw the remnants of the previous nights’ brawls being tossed discourteously out into the street, nursing cuts and bruises that they would be sporting for the next few days before they ventured forth into such places again. A few were too drunk to even walk, and simply collapsed unconscious on the street.
The town was not prosperous, having no trade that it could prosper on. The lands it claimed were dry and barren, mountainous, unsuitable for crops. Of livestock they had barely any to boast of, for no livestock would be able to live long without even fresh grass to feed on. Even trade was not a viable option, as the crowd that passed through more likely than not did not care to spend their gold on anything more than a bed for the night and a frothy pint or two.
The town simply existed as a resting stop for weary travelers, with a multitude of taverns and inns scattered in it. The few residences that still remained there contained mostly weathered old folk, tired and uncaring. The younger ones had long left the town to seek their fortunes elsewhere.
Though it was morning, the town still seemed quiet, devoid of the bustling noises usually heard in a town as the townsfolk rose for the business of the day. He continued his way along the streets, wondering amusedly what the place was like during the night, as he listened to the muffled sound of his own footsteps treading the dusty ground.
Feeling somewhat vulnerable, being in an area devoid of people in broad daylight, he hastened his steps until he reached an old house near the center of the town. The place looked abandoned and dilapidated, one of the many older buildings in town that were uncared for and falling to ruin.
It did not seem likely that there was anyone to be found within its decaying walls, yet he swung himself over the rotten wooden fence and walked up the moss-covered stone pathway to the building.
A frayed and tattered rag that may once have been a lace curtain fluttered gently in the only window not boarded up, moved by a breeze that was not there. He smiled a little to himself as he went up to a small door set into the side of the structure, and tapped its dust-coated surface lightly with one knuckle.
The door opened a fraction of an inch, a long, hooked nose poking out from the darkness within. A pair of small, glittering, beady eyes peered up at him.
“Kraeven,” he said, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal his face.
“Morohtar,” the gravelly voice of the goblin greeted him, and the door swung open more fully to let him in.
Though these three countries were currently at peace, with no apparent signs of war brewing, their citizens clearly had different ideas. As he walked past the pubs and taverns that had closed with the first approaching signs of the morn, he saw the remnants of the previous nights’ brawls being tossed discourteously out into the street, nursing cuts and bruises that they would be sporting for the next few days before they ventured forth into such places again. A few were too drunk to even walk, and simply collapsed unconscious on the street.
The town was not prosperous, having no trade that it could prosper on. The lands it claimed were dry and barren, mountainous, unsuitable for crops. Of livestock they had barely any to boast of, for no livestock would be able to live long without even fresh grass to feed on. Even trade was not a viable option, as the crowd that passed through more likely than not did not care to spend their gold on anything more than a bed for the night and a frothy pint or two.
The town simply existed as a resting stop for weary travelers, with a multitude of taverns and inns scattered in it. The few residences that still remained there contained mostly weathered old folk, tired and uncaring. The younger ones had long left the town to seek their fortunes elsewhere.
Though it was morning, the town still seemed quiet, devoid of the bustling noises usually heard in a town as the townsfolk rose for the business of the day. He continued his way along the streets, wondering amusedly what the place was like during the night, as he listened to the muffled sound of his own footsteps treading the dusty ground.
Feeling somewhat vulnerable, being in an area devoid of people in broad daylight, he hastened his steps until he reached an old house near the center of the town. The place looked abandoned and dilapidated, one of the many older buildings in town that were uncared for and falling to ruin.
It did not seem likely that there was anyone to be found within its decaying walls, yet he swung himself over the rotten wooden fence and walked up the moss-covered stone pathway to the building.
A frayed and tattered rag that may once have been a lace curtain fluttered gently in the only window not boarded up, moved by a breeze that was not there. He smiled a little to himself as he went up to a small door set into the side of the structure, and tapped its dust-coated surface lightly with one knuckle.
The door opened a fraction of an inch, a long, hooked nose poking out from the darkness within. A pair of small, glittering, beady eyes peered up at him.
“Kraeven,” he said, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal his face.
“Morohtar,” the gravelly voice of the goblin greeted him, and the door swung open more fully to let him in.
1 comment:
Hmm..I wonder who the goblin was..should have said there was a cow.. "Azhan..", haha..two words shira .."Freaking COOL.."
Thnnks ~Don
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