dilapidated row house.
CHAPTER 4: OLD HAUNTS
Cale, Magadon, and Jak materialized on a deserted side street in Selgaunt’s Foreign District. The bustle of a thriving city hit their ears. Cale pulled up his hood and the three companions walked out of the alley to find themselves on Rauncel’s Ride, one of the main thoroughfares of Selgaunt.
Selgaunt’s plenty contrasted starkly with the ruin and deprivation of Skullport.
Shop after shop lined the broad, paved avenue, their doors thrown open, their proprietors offering seller’s smiles at the passersby. The typical mix of travelers, traders, merchants, mercenaries, adventurers, pickpockets, laborers, and beggars populated the walkways. Horse drawn carts, noble coaches, and humble farmers’ wagons loaded with grain and other foodstuffs rolled along the cobblestone streets. Livestock lowed and grunted from roadside pens. A squad of Scepters, Selgaunt’s city watchmen, walked amongst the milling crowd, eyes alert for thieves. Each wore black leather armor and a silver-hilted blade, with a green weather-cloak thrown over the whole. Out of habit, Cale avoided eye contact.
Children darted between the pedestrians. The call of street vendors filled the air, rising above the general rush of the crowd to hawk everything from dried flowers to three-day-old bread.
The afternoon sunshine did not quite offset the coolness of the brisk autumn wind. The air carried the faint tang of Inner Sea salt, horse manure, and the aroma of cooking meat. Everything looked, sounded, and smelled exactly as it always had, but Cale could not quite shake the feeling that Selgaunt was different.
Walking beside Cale, Jak said, “Not a slave in sight. Nice to be home, eh?”
It struck Cale then.
Selgaunt was not different; Cale was different. Worse, he was not sure the city was his home anymore.
“Cale?” Jak prodded.
Cale kept his brooding to himself and said to Jak only, “It is good to be back, little man.”
Though he knew it would sting his skin, he decided to pull back his hood and endure the sunlight. He could not spend the rest of his life hiding from the sun or he would end up like the majority of Skullport’s skulkerspale shadows slinking furtively through the darkness. He wondered how Varra had maintained her dignity while living in such a sunless pit; he wondered, too, what she would think of Selgaunt, gleaming in the sunshine. Thinking of her reminded him of their kiss. He could still taste her lips. It took real effort to put thoughts of her out of his mind. He tucked the stump of his wrist into his cloak pocket and walked along.
“This is a different city than Starmantle,” Magadon observed, eyeing the people, high fashions, and elaborately architectured buildings of Selgaunt. “Quite different.”
Cale nodded.
In Starmantle, still more or less a frontier town, buildings and fashion were designed to be functional. In Selgaunt, one of the most sophisticated cities in the Heartlands, buildings and fashion were styled to be stunning. Wooden buildings with simple architecture predominated in Starmantle, while in Selgaunt, fully half the buildings were made of stone or brick, and almost all of them had one kind of architectural flourish or another. In fact, an architecturally ordinary home or shop in Selgaunt was a sign of tastelessness at best, financial distress at worst.
“Bit different from Skullport, too,” Jak said, and there was no mirth in his voice.
“Truth,” Magadon said somberly.
Cale said nothing, merely looked out on the sea of pale faces around him. He had little in common with them anymore, if he ever had. They were human; he was a shade. He wondered if he would happen upon anyone from the Uskevren household: Tamlin, Shamnr, or… Tazi. The thought summoned a pit in his stomach. He could imagine how they would look upon him now that he was… transformed. Nine Hells, even Jak sometimes looked at him with fear in his eyes. Only Varra and Magadon looked
CHAPTER 4: OLD HAUNTS
Cale, Magadon, and Jak materialized on a deserted side street in Selgaunt’s Foreign District. The bustle of a thriving city hit their ears. Cale pulled up his hood and the three companions walked out of the alley to find themselves on Rauncel’s Ride, one of the main thoroughfares of Selgaunt.
Selgaunt’s plenty contrasted starkly with the ruin and deprivation of Skullport.
Shop after shop lined the broad, paved avenue, their doors thrown open, their proprietors offering seller’s smiles at the passersby. The typical mix of travelers, traders, merchants, mercenaries, adventurers, pickpockets, laborers, and beggars populated the walkways. Horse drawn carts, noble coaches, and humble farmers’ wagons loaded with grain and other foodstuffs rolled along the cobblestone streets. Livestock lowed and grunted from roadside pens. A squad of Scepters, Selgaunt’s city watchmen, walked amongst the milling crowd, eyes alert for thieves. Each wore black leather armor and a silver-hilted blade, with a green weather-cloak thrown over the whole. Out of habit, Cale avoided eye contact.
Children darted between the pedestrians. The call of street vendors filled the air, rising above the general rush of the crowd to hawk everything from dried flowers to three-day-old bread.
The afternoon sunshine did not quite offset the coolness of the brisk autumn wind. The air carried the faint tang of Inner Sea salt, horse manure, and the aroma of cooking meat. Everything looked, sounded, and smelled exactly as it always had, but Cale could not quite shake the feeling that Selgaunt was different.
Walking beside Cale, Jak said, “Not a slave in sight. Nice to be home, eh?”
It struck Cale then.
Selgaunt was not different; Cale was different. Worse, he was not sure the city was his home anymore.
“Cale?” Jak prodded.
Cale kept his brooding to himself and said to Jak only, “It is good to be back, little man.”
Though he knew it would sting his skin, he decided to pull back his hood and endure the sunlight. He could not spend the rest of his life hiding from the sun or he would end up like the majority of Skullport’s skulkerspale shadows slinking furtively through the darkness. He wondered how Varra had maintained her dignity while living in such a sunless pit; he wondered, too, what she would think of Selgaunt, gleaming in the sunshine. Thinking of her reminded him of their kiss. He could still taste her lips. It took real effort to put thoughts of her out of his mind. He tucked the stump of his wrist into his cloak pocket and walked along.
“This is a different city than Starmantle,” Magadon observed, eyeing the people, high fashions, and elaborately architectured buildings of Selgaunt. “Quite different.”
Cale nodded.
In Starmantle, still more or less a frontier town, buildings and fashion were designed to be functional. In Selgaunt, one of the most sophisticated cities in the Heartlands, buildings and fashion were styled to be stunning. Wooden buildings with simple architecture predominated in Starmantle, while in Selgaunt, fully half the buildings were made of stone or brick, and almost all of them had one kind of architectural flourish or another. In fact, an architecturally ordinary home or shop in Selgaunt was a sign of tastelessness at best, financial distress at worst.
“Bit different from Skullport, too,” Jak said, and there was no mirth in his voice.
“Truth,” Magadon said somberly.
Cale said nothing, merely looked out on the sea of pale faces around him. He had little in common with them anymore, if he ever had. They were human; he was a shade. He wondered if he would happen upon anyone from the Uskevren household: Tamlin, Shamnr, or… Tazi. The thought summoned a pit in his stomach. He could imagine how they would look upon him now that he was… transformed. Nine Hells, even Jak sometimes looked at him with fear in his eyes. Only Varra and Magadon looked
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