Ryn of Avonside

From the Perspective of Rynadria

Another new town lay in the distance, slate roof tiles catching the light of the afternoon sun. This one was a little different to those we'd visited so far, however — it was the first town we were visiting that was considered part of the Empire's core. You could see it, too. It had proper stone walls, for one thing, which had been expanded twice as far as I could tell from this distance.

Nestled within a sheltered valley, and huddled against the massive Zhaferistra river, the town was host to a dozen or more ships in its harbour. Apart from the architecture, it was identical to a dozen or more towns from fantasy fiction. In fact, it was so similar, that it was giving me a sense of… vertigo? I'm not sure the emotion I was feeling had a name — not yet, anyway. To put it into a longer, more cumbersome string of words, it was deeply jarring to see a town like this in reality, instead of on a screen.

“That's a pretty town,” said Jenna, who had healed nicely in the two weeks since the attack.

“It definitely looks like it's more well-off than the towns we've seen so far,” Dr. Ross agreed as he scanned everything with a curious, critical eye.

“Do we go in disguised or…?” I asked, looking at the older man.

He nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

Without another word, Eilian and I cast our illusion spells. Of course, Eilian being Eilian, she was still a very flashy person, with brown fur that might not be gold anymore, but was definitely still pretty damn shiny.

“Back to walking, then,” I said, feeling the aching in my legs pulse with a dull fire. My thighs and calves were exceptional right now, due to the journey, but that didn't stop the burn.

Approaching the city, it quickly became apparent that these people did not fear raids from the steppe tribes. In fact, near the gate, a neighbourhood had burst beyond the walls like a sliced pie oozing its filling. The buildings were sturdy and mostly stone or a grey clay brick, with a finish of plaster painted over. To break up the monotone materials, many buildings had bright and colourful painted wooden accenting.

Something that surprised me was that almost every house had some form of second or even third story — none of which were larger than the first. Combined with the colours, it made the whole place look like a field of square tiered cakes.

Gosh, and the people. So much of the clothing was gorgeous. Especially popular were these odd robes that reminded me of a toga, but with a lot more fastening and belting and pinned sections. A lot of people were wearing these huge wide-brimmed hats too, most of which were made of a thick felt.

It wasn't until I got a look down a side street that I felt like I was stepping back out of a disney movie and into reality. Beyond this main street, the houses grew shabbier, the street was filthier, and the clothing, while still colourful, was less elaborate. The hats remained, however.

I made a point of looking for less… idyllic things after that, and it didn't take long to find them. For example, there were guards posted at major intersections that seemed to be… well, the fashion police. Anyone who was too dirty or poor looking was told to go away, and they weren't gentle about the evictions either.

Being obvious foreigners, the guards at the gate stopped and questioned us, but they didn't seem to be all that enthusiastic about their jobs, so we were let in without any awkwardness. Which, thank goodness, because if they'd really looked at our gear, they'd have seen how much magitech was just… there on us.

Directly inside the gates, we found ourselves in a large, chaotic market. I was instantly forced to re-evaluate what the word ‘colourful’ meant, because holy crap. The stalls, the tents, the people, and even the merchandise — it was all a riot of saturated hues. The sun didn't help either. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the midday heat was baking the whole city, market very much included.

“Wow,” Grace murmured to me. “It feels like we've been fucking around in this world's equivalent of rural Ohio until now. Look at those fruit. Ryn, even the produce is colourful.”

She wasn't wrong. There was a pile of apple looking fruit that were so red it was almost offensive to the eye. Blinking, I looked away and saw another stall with more bright, pretty goods.

“Look at those metal pots and pans,” I said, pointing them out to my girlfriend. “Have they coloured the sides with like, enamel?”

“If they have, they're more advanced than we assumed,” said Tom, Dr. Ross' assistant, who stepped forward to inspect them more closely.

Tilting my head, I asked, “Why?”

“To get enamel of that quality, you need like, very good control over the heat in your kiln, and it has to be able to reach pretty high temperatures,” he explained with a self conscious shrug. “I'm not an expert or anything — I was just a hobbyist before everything.”

Nodding, I looked back at the pots and considered them. They were pretty nice, and actually, one frying pan had this really pretty purple and orange colour. On an impulse, I stepped forward and bought the pan from the vendor, who took my coin happily. To be honest, I probably overpaid, but it's not like I'd struggle to make more later.

When I turned to leave with my prize, my attention was snatched by another flash of bright colour. This time, it wasn't a pot, but a person.

She wore a shifting robe of loose, draped silk that emulated the colour of the sky at dusk. Deep navy blues, vague purples, and greying azure shimmered with each movement, until there was a flash of bare skin in a random spot. The woman under the clothing was gorgeous. I couldn't have hoped to take my eyes off her if I'd wanted to, but the way she moved, and the titillating hints of skin kept my gaze firmly on her regardless of my will.

Sensing my stare, she looked over and met it with a smile that crinkled the crows feet at the corners of her eyes. She was a mature woman — older than me by at least fifteen, maybe twenty years, and it gave her an air of coy confidence that helped to wrap her appearance up with a metaphorical little bow.

Veering off her previous path, she beelined towards me while her vibrant blue eyes scanned me, then the rest of our party. When she was within conversational distance, she looked me up and down, swiping a lock of dark hair out of her face as she did so.

“Ring maidens, you're beautiful,” she said after a second of intense scrutiny. “The things I could do with that body…”

Beside me, Grace choked and had to lean on me while she coughed and coughed. I reacted only marginally more gracefully — I stared at her with a look of unblinking shock.

With a laugh, she held up a hand. “Apologies, apologies. I’m not interested in other women like that, I was merely speaking from a place of style, thread, and fabric. Your figure is exquisite and if you were so inclined, I would love the opportunity to create art with it.”

Trying desperately to regain control of my furiously blushing cheeks, I said, “That still sounded like a very suave attempt to get me out of my clothing, ma’am.”

Her lips twitched into a subtle smirk. “I wouldn't have caught the insinuation without you highlighting it, but I see how it might be taken that way.”

Everything about this woman, despite her warmth and kind words, felt incredibly deliberate. It was like looking at a diorama of nature inspired renaissance artwork. It was all perfectly crafted and coordinated to draw the attention through the experience in just the right way. The worst part was that even as I recognised the patterns, I fell for them.

Clearing my throat of the odd burr that had lodged itself there, I asked, “So… you're what, offering to make clothing for me? What's the cost?”

“Normally, I'd settle for simple coin…” she said, with a sly, knowing look. Had she just clocked my recognition of her vibe, or was she gloating about how I hadn't noticed a deeper layer?

“Okay… I mean, I have money,” I said warily. “I don't think I need clothing, though.”

“Please, at the very least, allow me to show you some of my work,” she said, and for a split second, her expression hardened. The look was gone in a flash, but I was pretty sure she'd intended for me to see the flicker. “I'm positive that a beautiful flower such as yourself would find my work intriguing.”

Narrowing my eyes, I really really looked at her, and my mage-sight flared. Her natural anima arcentia was completely different to that of your average person. Rather than being a smooth translucent surface, it was a weave of incredible complexity that covered her like a tightly wrapped shroud. She was a mage, but not from the Nameless Garden, and she apparently wanted to talk.

Glancing at Grace, then the others, I silently waited for them to voice an opinion on all of this. Adam and Duncan both had their helmets on so it was difficult to gauge their thoughts until the latter made a vague go on gesture with one hand.

The Non-Order members of our party looked a little intimidated, which like, mood. Still, I saw no obvious opposition to the idea of following this lady. As for Eilian and Grace, the obrec was openly appreciating the woman, while Grace was in full bodyguard mode — staying close and keeping an eye out for mischief.

With a shrug, I motioned for the mage woman to lead us onward. “Okay. Show us your… shop?”

“Excellent,” she said with a bright smile. “You will not be disappointed, I assure you. This way.”

With a sway of hips, a flash of soft olive skin between draped fabric, and a smile that had been rounded to the nearest multiple of ten, she led us further into the city.