WoV, Book 1, Chapter 2: End of the road(trip)

Chapter 2:

“–BRASS BLADE INSPECTION!” Three more men rode up, making five of them. The first two, the ones that had thundered up, parked themselves at the front. That handily cut off the wagon’s advance, while the other three did the same at the back blocking any escape.

Each of them wore the same set of clothing. Red, airy robes with a once-white, turned sandy yellow by the elements, trim. Layered over them was a sturdy steel chainmail, itself kept in place by red leather straps holding brassy pauldrons. Their hands and legs were similarly armored, only switching the robes with leather.

This left their heads as the least defended part of their bodies for some arcane reason. A simple blue and red turban, and a metallic visor more meant for keeping dust and sand out of the eyes than any sort of actual protection. A bit of lightning and they’d be down and out before they knew what was going on.

“W-what’s this about!?” From the front, Neil could hear the driver’s voice trembling in fear.

‘Extortion?’ The mage mouthed at Brendt, having something of a hunch where this was going.

The peddler gave her a minute nod, before putting a finger in front of his mouth and wiggl– Don’t do anything. I’ll handle it.

…Was that Qestir sign language?

“Inspection!” One of the men at the front shouted at the same time as the sound of a blade being unsheathed could be heard, handily jarring him out of his thoughts before he could aggravate his migraine by trying to figure out who the fuck the Qestir were, “Men, search the carriage!”

One of the men at the back hopped off his bird, letting the wizard see a large scimitar hanging at his hip and a shield at his back. Looked like standard issue fare.

With a smirk, the man swaggered towards the large trunk at the back of the wagon. Everything about him screamed that he thought himself above all rules, mortal and divine.

“I’m just an honest peddler, friend,” Brendt tried with a voice as friendly and genuine as the owner of the small bar next door. Seemingly unalarmed by a man roughly shoving his wares around his trunk, “So– er. Don’t be too disappointed if–”

“Mind your tongue!” The man spat at him, glaring from beyond the lip of the trunk’s cover, “Lest I cut it old man!”

With how old and well traveled Brendt was, on top of admitting to being a rich man… They have no idea what they’re getting into, do they? Neil signed, foreign muscle memory carrying him through. The merchant merely shrugged at his question, but the amused glint in his eyes said it all.

“Well, well~,” Turning his attention back to the ‘inspector’, Neil saw that he was fumbling around for something… But his hands weren’t lining up with the trunk, “Sir! Look! Somnus!” Lifting his arm high, he held a small white pouch in his hands. One far too clean to be part of a wandering merchant’s wares.

The mage didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. Shoddy fucking work. Was it really so hard to take three extra seconds putting it in the trunk and rolling it in some of the dust?

Brendt’s smile turned a bit more strained, but didn’t break, “And what’s an ‘honest peddler’ doin’ with prohibited herbs? By order of the Sultana no less?” One of the men at the front had his bird circle around. Unsurprisingly, he carried himself in the same manner as the so called inspector had, “You’re in a lot of trouble old man–”

“Is he?” The boy asked, raising an eyebrow, “I hope you’ll forgive me my good sir. But this pouch seems rather unweathered. Somnus hails from Lomninsan trade, no? Surely a pouch traveling from so far away would not be so pristine?”

“That’s right,” His twin sister added, “How do you explain that?”

“Watch your tongues, brats!” The leader barked at them, clearly unmoved by the appeal to facts and logic the first of the two had tried. Glaring, he didn’t hesitate to put a hand on his weapon– but at least he had enough sense not to escalate by unsheathing. “We’re the Brass Blades! The whole of resplendent Ul’dah depends on us for its safety and peace! And you’ve got the gall to claim we’d do somethin’ as base as plantin’ evidence?!”

He looked ready to say more, but Brendt rose from his seat, “Peace friend!” Lifting a hand to try and placate the soldier, his second one was already reaching for his purse, “They’re not from around here,” He stage whispered conspiringly, “I’ll be sure to pay my fine. With a bit on t–.”

“WATCH OUT!” The cat, who’d been silently looking at the scene hunched on herself, suddenly jolted. She all but ripped the sorriest excuse for a shield Neil had ever seen out of her pack before kicking the peddler’s feet from under him and shoving the shield she’d grabbed in front of the mage’s face.

The damn thing was barely more than four planks of wood, roughly hammered together with nails sticking out of it at odd angles. But even with it being junk barely fit to feed a fire, it did its job and blocked a volley of three arrows that thunked into its frame. 

Neil wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed his staff, much less aimed it around the shield, but the rattling of his arm and the thunderclap of a lightning bolt thicker than his arm didn’t lie. 

“SEVEN BLOODY HELLS!” Someone shouted close by, one of the Brass Blade probably. He was a bit too busy whooping at the faraway explosion to bother figuring out who.

It was immediately followed by a roar. Not of pain, but of challenge. “Beastmen!” Someone screamed from outside the carriage. 

As the cat lowered the shield, Neil saw six hulking figures cresting a dune. They were giant lizardmen, easily thrice his size, with arms and legs thick as tree trunks. In their hands they each held crude looking weapons, but with bodies like five hundred pound gorillas, these brutal tools of murder didn’t need to do much more than not break.

“Shite!” Pulling his shield from his back, the inspector carelessly threw the bag into the wagon, “What do we do sir!?”

Turning to look at his subordinate, the leader opened his mouth to shout his orders. But had to reconsider when he saw Neil was charging up another Zeus clapback, filling the air with the scent of wood smoke and ozone. Now that he wasn’t knee jerking through it, he could pack a fuck of a lot more power.

“Thal’s–,” Swearing under his breath, the Blade in charge shouted, “BRACE!”

That was forewarning enough in the mage’s book! He was grinning like a loon as he retorted the warcry with a blinding flash of light and deafening roll of thunder. Having been warned, the Brass Blades barely even twitched.

The Alma’jaa on the other hand? One of them, long feathers from some sort of bird adorning its head, gave its own wave of a staff. A wall of flames burst to life in front of the charging raiders, intercepting the thunder with it and causing a deafening explosion that snuffed out both spells, leaving only a patch of black glass that one of the lizards hopped past.

“SEER!” One of the soldiers shouted, pointing at the spell lizard.

All Neil really heard was ‘good fight’.

While the others prepared themselves for the incoming raiders, the Brass Blade’s leader glared at him with an intensity that was only one step below murderous, “Bloody lizards on all sides–! Get the hells out of here before I put you in irons for this you gods damn menace!”

It may not have been meant for them, but that’s all the driver needed to hear to crack the whip, “Move! Move you brainless birds!” Neil politely pretended he hadn’t heard the whimpered prayers that followed after.

Thankfully, the horse-birds didn’t need to be told twice either and thundered forward, warking and kewing in panic as they pulled the wagon out of danger. Just in time for more arrows to hit its sides.

“Form up! Kill these sons of whores!” Waving his scimitar around, the leader and the rest of the mounted Brass Blades crashed into the lizardmen, pulling their attention. The fight quickly slipped out of view, but not quickly enough that Neil missed the sight of one of the soldiers getting punched off of his damn mount…

[hr] [/hr]

“Well, that was a good time except for almost needing to buy an eyepatch.” The mage hummed after a swig of wine. Nowhere near enough to get so much as buzzed, but the burn helped clear the head a bit. The migraine was subsiding, even! “And now we have some free Somnus for our trouble. Whatever it is. Some sort of opiate?”

“Opiate?” The boy asked, before chuckling as he opened the bag, “I doubt it. At least unless these products are nothing more than common white flour.”

“Really strong sedatives and painkillers that send you into a drugged haze.” Neil explained even as he shook his head at the shoddy fucking job. “I guess that keeps them from someone turning the scam around, but really?”

The cat looked up from her attempts at getting rid of the arrows stuck in her shield and shrugged, “From what I’ve heard, any Somnus they get they wouldn’t risk on a fake search– they’d rather smoke the stuff.”

“Sell it, more like,” Brendt sighed, seemingly aging by several decades in the blink of an eye, “But aye. That does sound somewhat like Somnus. It’s been named after the allagan word fer sleep. In small, proper doses, it can aid in makin’ the one takin’ it forget about pain and lulls the mind into a near-sleep. But someone, somewhere, figured a way to make the stuff far more potent. Nowadays, Somnus’ little more than a drug that’ll leave you itching for yer next fix, ‘til ye either die tryin’ to get it, or you fall into a never endin’ sleep because of it.”

“Tale as old as cavemen finding some herbs that made them feel funny.” Neil said with a sigh as he reclined back, idly blowing out a ring of black smoke. Huh, cool. “So, how much should we worry about screaming piles of meat and scales popping out of nowhere to perform some absolutely free weight loss surgeries?”

“Unlikely… or so I’d like to claim,” Turning in his seat, the peddler looked back to where the Brass Blades and beastmen had been fighting, “We’re less than three bells away from the city itself. It’s why the Blades tried their little toll. They might be bastards and whoresons, more likely to be shakin’ hands with the criminals they’re meant to protect the people from, than doin’ their gods damned jobs. But they wouldn’t risk somethin’ in a place they didn’t feel in control of.”

“We’ve heard that the beastmen were becoming especially daring from associates of our late grandfather,” The twink ventured, the look on his face seemingly warring between genuine concern and the need to be a smarmy know it all. He had a sense of humor hidden in there, at least, “Mayhaps this is related?”

“That goes beyond ‘daring’, and might as well be an invasion,” The cat groused as she relaxed back in her seat after finally removing the arrows, “Six Amal’ja? Three bells from the city? They have a raiding camp set up nearby, mark my words.”

“Can the big honchos of Ul’dah be trusted to pull their noses out of the snuff powder long enough to look at a map and muster up some forces?” Neil asked with an arched eyebrow, because they sure weren’t covering themselves in glory if this was SOP for the Brass Blades.

“Hard to say… Now that I think about it, that brings me back to yer question lass,” Stroking his beard, the merchant nodded to the cat, “About other things to keep in mind in Ul’dah. I was goin’ to tell ye about the Blades, but I reckon ye got a good idea of their lot now. Common bandits are more honest than they, but since they do serve by putin’ their life on the line against the things that threaten the city, noone says a word. But there was a second thing I’d hope to talk of, do any of ye know of the political system in Ul’dah?”

“Unless they’ve changed anything in five years, I know the broad strokes,” Neil’s neighbor  answered, “Ul’dah’s a sultanate, with the current ruler being a Sultana. But her rule is in name only, the true power’s in the hands of… Six? Six, people. I think they’re called the Cartel?” Hearing this, the elf boy snorted. Then he got elbowed on the side as was right and just in all sibling relationships, “Okay. So not the Cartel.”

“They’re called the Syndicate lass,” Brendt helpfully provided, “And aye. The Sultana, bless her heart, is all but ceremonial in her role. Tradition dictates that they are all to listen to her wishes and do their best to align their decisions to match. But in practice, the Syndicate’s separated into two camps. The Monetarists and the Royalists.”

“Such divisions must make sweeping decisions such as deploying en-masse difficult, then. I can only imagine that both sides do all in their power to deny the other any sort of political victory.” This time, it was the peddler’s turn to snort, earning him a glare from the brother.

“As if. The Royalists might be a faction, but out of the six sitting at the Syndicate’s table, only one’s backing her ladyship. Raubahn Aldynn, the Bull of Alamigo.”

“Oh, I heard about him,” The cat exclaimed with a snap of her fingers, “He was a gladiator slave, and after earning his freedom through strength of arm, he bought out the whole of the Blood Sand arena with his winnings.”

“Wait, you people still practice slavery?” Did Neil have to worry about someone wanting a pet mage and slapping a collar on him? Even the worst of the steppes didn’t do anything more than assimilate a defeated tribe into their own.

“Of a sort, aye. But not the sort yer thinking of, I’d wager,” Brendt hurriedly began to explain,”Most of Ul’dah practices a type of debt based slavery. If ye can’t pay yer debts, then yer debtors are within their rights to declare you an indentured servant ‘til ye’ve finished paying yer debt. Meals and a place to live are provided on yer debtor’s dime, and at least seventy of every hundred gill ye’ll be makin’ workin’ the work they’ll have you do must go towards payin’ off yer debt.”

“It is allowed to ‘sell’ yer next of kin into it to help pay off yer debt.” The peddler grunted, face screwing up before he sighed with a shake of his head, “But let's just say that anyone doin’ so is going to be a social pariah unless they have a damn good reason. The whole of the ‘trade’ as it were is overseen by the priests of Nald’thal to ensure there’s no foul play, those in charge of it tend to be quite overzealous in makin’ sure no one’s playin’ any games.”

“The other kind is Gladiatorial Slavery, it’s in a bit of an odd spot at this time,” Pausing for a moment, the man tried to figure out how best to explain, “Fact was, when the Sands were created, criminals found guilty of serious crimes, like spyin’, grand larceny, desertion and so on were given a choice. 

“Either accept yer judgment, be it the jail, or the axe. Or ye could become a fighter in the Blood Sand and fight for yer freedom. Those that chose to fight became slaves of the state, forced to fight for the entertainment of the masses. Over time, the whole thing slowly became somethin’ wholly different, gladiatorial combat shed its old barbarous origin as a way to get poor bastards to tear each other apparts and became a codified sport. While prisoners were still allowed to take part, they were armed and taught how to fight. At the same time, sellswords became allowed to take part as well,” He told his audience, quickly pointing at the cat’s shield to illustrate his point, “but on the condition of findin’ a sponsor. I don’t exactly recall the precise wordin’ but it boiled down to them putin’ themselves into a ‘slave contract’ with the sponsor so they could participate since by law, only slaves were allowed to participate in gladiatorial combat.”

“Ser Aldynn was put in the sands on account of bein’ suspected to be spyin’ for the Garleans. He used his skills at the blade to win it all, and ever since he’s become the owner of the Sands, he’s been pushin’ for reforms of the system. One step at a time,” Rubbing at his beard, he furrowed his brow as he tried to recall the exact information, “Last I heard, I believe he’s abolished the clause regarding the fact that only slaves are allowed to fight into the sands. But kept the one regardin’ criminals.”

“Slavery that falls outside these bounds is illegal all over Eorzea. And even these two aren’t practiced anywhere but here. Plenty of people at risk of becoming debt slaves run away to the territory of other city states to avoid that fate, But that has a fair number of issues too. While they stay free, debtors might move on to a next of kin if they can find one. A spouse, a child, a brother…” Turning his head, Brendt spat into the desert. Distaste as clear on his face as the cloudless sky beating over them, “Don’t matter, they’ll get their pound of flesh somehow. On top of that, in spite of being what it is, Ul’dah remains the best place to make a gil since the Calamity. So while they are free, more often than not, they are free to starve to death. Or to turn to common banditry.”

“Not great, but not much worse than getting your tribe subjugated I guess.” Neil sighed. Fuckin’ Jhungid… ah fer– whatever. It was whatever. His migraine was starting to clear up so hopefully he could untangle this pile of knowledge hanging out in his brain like an unflushed turd soon. “So just treat loans and debts like an illness, as usual. Always a shit deal, usually better than dying outright.”

“Aye. But speakin’ of that does tie back into the Syndicate. Please contain yer surprise, if ye can,” The peddler said with the flattest delivery that he could muster, “They all make use of it to some extent. It’s cheaper than payin’ a proper wage to yer employes after all, but the one that makes the most of it is Gygeiss Loetkilbsyn– huh. I’m surprised I managed to get it right in one go. Back on track, the man’s the chief foreman of Amajina and Son. A minin’ consortium. As ye can expect they deal with everythin' the earth is willing to spit out, and if it doesn't want to? They'll go pry it out of its guts. He’s a secretive man, not much’s known about him. But he’s infamous for how many people he ‘hires’ as debt slave by buyin’ off their whole debts, and just how anti-refugee he is. Not that he hates them, mind you. But how any sort of deal that would help them would cut into his profit margin, I’m sure ye can guess why.”

“A mining magnate using slave labor? Say it ain’t so.” The mage mock-gasped in the most flaccid deadpan known to man. “And yeah, less desperate people, less debt slaves.”

“And the other four?” The female twin asked, looking none-too-happy about what she was hearing, “Is this ‘Syndicate’ nothing but connards that exploits others for their own gains?”

“Well… at least one of them is.” Brendt sighed, looking like he had bitten a lemon, “That’d be Teledji Adeledji. In my humble and respectful opinion, the man’s a worm the gods gave legs and arms to as a prank. One that has gone frightfully wrong. If yer willing to look, most monetarists have redeemin’ values,” Lifting a hand to stall the quickly turning red elf, he gave her an Elder’s Stern Look™ and continued, not hiding his own distaste, “Aye, Gygeiss is a bastard for exploitin’ the refugees’ situation, make no mistake. But, he’s also one of the few willin’ to even employ them. And while they may do back breakin’ work, they get a roof and food in their bellies as part of their lot– which is unfortunately more than some can say. But even if they didn’t, it’d still be that they aren’t Teledji. He’s the head of the Mirage Trust.”

“Ostensibly, they’re a bank. The foremost of all of Ul’dah, with many of the smaller ones being simply front for it after they were bought out. They make gil through things such as gamblin’. They own every legal house that deals in luck and cards, and I’d wager half of the illegal ones to boot. They also deal in taverns, inns– and some say some of the baser pleasures of the flesh, if you catch my meanin’.” His face wrinkled in clear disgust. Neil had never gotten that, so long as it was well managed, sex work was work. Then again, given who was in charge… “But the biggest money scheme of theirs is money lendin’. They’ll give most people a loan, even knowing that they can’t repay it– often so that they people can waste it in one of their gamblin’ dens to boot, and then use the resultin’ debt slavery to either put them to work in his holdings, or have them sent off to the mines, or some other back breakin’ labor by selling the debt to any interested party.”

“And since money speaks louder than anythin’ in the city, he’s used his funds to gain sway over thin’s he’s got no right to. I heard he’s managed to get the Pugilist Guild under his thumb in spite of the fact they’re Aldynn’s people as coliseum fighters.”

Well, at least they had no shortage of bloodsports here. Still, the wizard would rather have a palate cleanser now, “So who’s got the most redeeming qualities?”

“That’d be Godbert Mandervile and his wife– they’re the newest members of the Syndicate. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the man, talks of his rather pious adherence to the tenets of Nald’thal, general kindness and business sense… But I’ve also been hearin’ mad tales as well. Some say he’s never worn pants in his life, that he’s able to smash a manticore’s head in with nothing but a goldsmiths’ hammer– Twelves, some lads I know even swore up and down that he could run so fast that he became invisible to the eye,” This time, Brendt looked ready to burst into a laugh as he recounted the various rumors he’d heard, “I’m of the opinion that it’s just people putin’ him on a pedestal as the newest Syndicate member. What I do know is that he’s been workin’ on something in the deep desert, lots of materials and people– refugees amongst them, movin’ that way. But his grip on information’s as good as the pay he gives his employees, no one’s heard a word of what the project actually is.”

“So keep an eye on them and keep an open mind.” Neil surmised with a nod. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt, but only an idiot would ignore a hush hush project in the middle of nowheria.

“That seems like a wise choice, aye. That leaves only two, I believe,” Leaning back onto his seat, Brendt closed his eyes, “I might as well start with the second worst of all the Syndicates then. Prioress Dewlala Dewla. She's the leader of the church of Nald'thal, the merchant god of the Twelves in case our steppes friend is unaware.” 

“As ye can imagine this means she’s got quite a lot in terms of power, influence and finances. And she uses it to be the truly most repugnant,” He all but spat the words out, lowering his head in his fists as he continued to describe the woman, “most horrible thing that has ever walked the land. A creature so loathed across the realms that not a single man I’ve met wishes to even hear of somethin’ like it existing… a moderate.”

As soon as he finished, the peddler couldn’t resist anymore and threw his head back in a roaring laughter, busting his gut over his own joke. The twins, who had been listening intently, and looking either more confused, for the brother. Or more incensed, for sister, respectively, edged away from Brendt. An awkward, barely polite laugh on their lips. The cat only gave one single snort, clearly expecting the punchline.

“Pfft. Let me guess, she’s about the only thing keeping the Royalists vaguely relevant without even being on their team.” Neil chortled, shaking his head. Ah, man, between this and those explosions he was even starting to feel human again. 

“She’d be, aye. She sides with the scriptures’ words, and as a result she sides with the Royalists and Monetarists often enough that neither side can claim her as an ally, or declare her a political opponent,” Searching his tunic, he eventually pulled out a small pendant. It was a piece of polished, non-precious red stone, with a golden symbol carved into it. A sort of oval shape, with a line that had three little downward prongs going through it. Looked like a closed eye, pretty much, “Before I forget, this is the symbol of the twin gods Nald and Thal. As the head of their religion, she’s the director of Milvaneth Sacrarium– main place of worship of the first brother. But I heard rumors that she’s a fearsome thaumaturge all the same.”

Right, didn’t Gankma say something about a ‘Thal’ in between teaching… him… 

This was really starting to wear thin.

“The thaumaturges are with the church, right? Something about being the militant branch?” Alas, all his brain was providing was images of a scraggly man in robes teaching him how not to blow up on accident. But there were some snippets hanging around.

“Hm?” Brendt looked at her just as he was stuffing his amulet back, “Ye knew that already? Can’t say I expected it. They aren’t a common sight outside of Eorzea.”

“A Bangaa dropkicking a fireball into a legionary in the middle of Corvos isn’t a common sight, period.” Neil chuckled, THAT foreign memory came nice and easy, at least. “Helped me make the staff to stop discharging magic around me whenever I spat out some lightning.”

“Bangaa?” The brother twin asked as Brendt rubbed at his bread pensively.

“Short and stocky dog people. You can spot them from a mile away, big sharp muzzle and huge droopy ears.” The mage explained, all too happy that this was purely coming from him instead of whatever was crawling inside his skull. “A lot of people mistake them for lizards since they get these scale-like calluses on their skin on top of hissing out all their words. Consequently, a lot of people get their teeth embedded in the back of their throats.”

“Sounds about right. They’re a rarity outside their home of Dasmalca– or were. With the Empire,” Once again, the peddler’s voice was filled with barely contained venom, “takin’ over their home, refugee’s been spreadin’ around. There’s a thrivin’ community of them in Ul’dah. Most of them are miners or gladiators. In any case, to cloture this impromptu lesson we have the actual second least terrible of the monetarists…. Dependin’ on who you ask at least…”

“I s’pose we’ll have to ask you then,” The cheeky cat said as she leaned forwards.

“I s’pose you do, aye!” Brendt replied, shaking his head with a half-smile, “Fer my part. I can’t quite make my mind about Lolorito Nanarito. Word is, before the Empire strangled the trade, that he started as a pack mule for a variety of overland caravans that made the journey across the world on foot. He was a canny business man even as a youth and managed to squirrel away plenty of funds by accompanyin’ ones goin’ on dangerous routes. From there he birthed his company, the East Aldernard Tradin’ Company.”

“He’s made an incredible amount of wealth by slowly takin’ over the whole trade with the eastern lands– Even my own time in Kugane was financed by his coin and influence, rumors have it that he had connections with the nobles of the Garlean Empire at a time, and tried to sue for peace usin’ them,” The man scoffed as he said this, “Can’t say I believe a word of that– Him suin’ for peace I mean. The connections were real enough far as I could tell, but it struck me as two vipers tryin’ to eat the other.”

“He’s greedy, far more than even Teledji I reckon and twice as ruthless. Don’t even hides that he hires criminals to do his biddin’ beyond the obvious,” Both of the twins looked profoundly confused on how in the world this man was considered preferable to the other members or the Monetarists, “But, thing is? He’s smart, he goes after companies. Oh, sure he’ll have bandits rob yer caravan and sell yer goods himself, but he’s not going to go ruin yer personal life. It’ll seem less that the people are incompetent, and more that it’s the whole business that stinks worse than a Morbol’s breath. He’ll also squeeze every bit of money from everythin’ he does, and doesn’t see any issue with debt slavery, but unlike other Syndicate members, he actually provides a livin’ standard that’s above that of the usual workin’ man in Ul’dah.”

“He’s also very free with his coin. When the Empire came knockin’ he gifted half his money, with receipts to match, towards the reformation of the Immortal Flames– they’re Ul’dah’s military arm. They were all but part of the city’s ancient history, a pet project of the Royalists at best… At least ‘til Lolorito made his donation, with not one string attached. Even now, the Flames are free of his influence and fully under The Bull’s control,” Groaning, Brendt rubbed his face as he let the information settle, “An’ then? Not two bloody years after? Right as Ul’dah’s refugee crisis was reaching its peak and none could figure out what to do and the land was about to erupt into a bloodbath? He spends half his fortune to cut the burgeonin’ civil war at its roots… It was an even larger sum than the previous one.”

Lifting his head, he looked each person in the wagon straight in the eyes before putting a final nail in the conversation, “He’s that rich a bastard.”

“The magnificent bastard type.” Neil hummed with a bob of his head, understanding instantly, “Let me guess, runs the tightest ship in Ul’dah and invests like he has a direct line to the Twins?”

“With how much he gifts to the church, I’d bet he gets to dine with them every Darksday– eighth day of the week,” Brendt quickly added after a derisive snort, “We’re on the fourth, Windsday.”

A silence fell on the wagon. The twins visibly digesting the newfound information, the cat looking somewhat bored, and the impromptu ‘professor’ of the hour seemingly losing himself to his thoughts.

“Anything I should look out for when I join the thaumaturges?” The mage asked after a moment, quietly setting the huge pile of data to the back of his head in favor of focusing on the most immediately relevant. He had magic and if the memories his brain got tossed into the slushy machine with were to be believed, it wasn’t the most stable thing in the world.

“Prepare anti-burn cream,” His seatmate said without missing a beat, “And earplugs.”

“Unless someone’s actually trying to turn my smoldering skull into a mantlepiece, I’ll sleep it off.” Neil replied with a huff. He’d blown himself up plenty enough times that nowadays all he got was a bad sunburn at the worst. 

He couldn’t even muster up annoyance for the flashes of foreign memory anymore. Just roll with the punches and untangle it later.

“Fair enough…” Silence filled the air once again, but the cat frowned not long into it, “I just realized that we know both of your names. But we didn’t introduce ourselves… One second.” Getting up, she moved towards the partition separating them from the driver and knocked on it, “Hey, how long until we arrive?”

“We’ve still got half a bell to go!” Came the holler.

“Thanks!” Turning back to the other passengers, the cat thumped her chest. Which, considering her assets, made some very interesting things happen, “Not a lot of time to receive more in depth knowledge of the realm from the old man. But plenty for introductions, name’s E'Kofle Runhja. I’m traveling to Ul’dah for what I can only guess are the same reasons as Miss spoiled milk.”

“Say that again and you get to sit through a lecture on the differences between alcoholic fermentation and putrefaction.” Neil groused, although there was no real heat in it this time. Fat cat tats had kept him from becoming an arrow unicorn. Although she had also just given him a small migraine spike for reasons only known to his ailing brainmeats, but a swig of wine fixed that.

Kofle’s eyes narrowed, filled with spiteful challenge as they locked with the mage’s. A silent acknowledgement passing between them, her mouth parting so that it could write a check–

“My name is Alphinaud,” The boy elf said, looking particularly pleased with himself and entirely oblivious to having interrupted something.

“And I’m his sister, Alisaie.” The knife eared girl added, shooting them a look.

“We’re simple travelers. Here to pay homage to our grandfather by traveling the realm he loved so dearly,” He had a chaotic mix of emotions in his voice. Equal parts dread, disappointment and confusion without being quite anyone one of them. “He’d get into arguments with our father over what we ought to do to aid in its protection.”

“Ones heated enough they’d get into shouting matches,” Alisaie sighed, “A rather shocking thing, considering their otherwise calm temperament.”

“Few things can make tempers rise like a man who shares your opinion but disagrees on the details.” Neil sighed, shaking his head. Looked like Kofle wasn’t going to get lectured. This time.

“If only,” The girl said with a sigh, “Grandfather was of the opinion we had to help safeguard the realm. Father's opinion was to leave before it could drag us into a ‘meaningless war that did not involve us’.”

“Aaaaah, that's what yer accents are from!” Brendt said, having apparently received an epiphany.

“Your father sounds like the most typical Sharlayan that I've ever heard of.” Kofle sighed at the exact same time.

“Isolationists?” Neil asked with a quizzical tilt of his head.

The boy opened his mouth– “That's what some will tell you,” Only for the other man to accidentally cut him off with a chuff, “Truth's a bit more complex than that. Ah, but sorry lad I didn't mean to interrupt ye. You were about to say somethin’.”

“Oh, it's quite alright. And I think I would rather you continue to speak,” Alphinaud said, as smoothly as he could, “I have to confess I am curious what the rest of the realm thinks of us.””

“You’ll have to wait brother,” The second elf declared as she leaned out of the wagon, “I can see the end of our trip.”

Hearing his sister, the boy turned to look in the same direction as her and so did Brendt, “Aye, that'd be her.”

In the distance, a city was slowly coming into view past one of the large rocky outcrops that had begun to replace the more open plains and desert dunes. The domed roofs of tall buildings, easily reaching as high as some of the smaller skyscrapers of Neil’s world, peaked above a massive wall that ringed the whole city. In the distance he could see black specks in the darkening skies of the night, airships, coming and going from some unseen airport.

He had to admit, it was one hell of a sight.

“Welcome, friends. To Ul’dah. The jewel rose of the desert. Where sand turns to gold.” Brendt declared grandly.

‘So liable to wither and die the moment conditions change a bit and a prickly mess best appreciated from a distance besides.’ Neil thought to himself, the repeated mentions of a refugee crisis and Monetarist megacorp nonsense heavy on his bruised brain despite the wondrous vista.

A thought that was rapidly given credence. Rounding the corner fully, the foot of the wall came into view, and there. In the shadow of the barrier meant to shield the desert city from invaders and the elements, stood a second town. One made of wood, leather, cloth and the odd stone wall. One that, when the wagon moved through it, Neil would see filled with empty eyed people sharing more in common with skeletons than the living. Filled with patrolling Brass Blades that glared at the few beggars that dared inch in the wagon’s direction.

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