There was a chill to the night air, a breeze coming off the city’s lake and which cut down the streets with a ferocity which had been muted to a slight breeze out in the open fields.  The denizens of the city walked about; talking, shouting, spouts of laughter bursting into the night.  It was more noise than even the largest foregathering that Brokel had experienced.  The expressions and looks were almost overwhelming, the size of the towers of the city overhead nearly oppressive.

And yet it was also fascinating.  The man passed through a market, marveling  at the further sights and colors.  No one gave him a second look.  His face bare, his cloak stored away still back in his tent, meant he looked much like the myriad of people and their strange collections of styles and colors.  In time, Brokel found himself travelling down the streets towards the lake, coming to the docks of the city.  He wandered his way down of the piers, ears ringing in the partial silence away from the crush of people.  Turning about he took in the mighty city, the torch and crystal lights winding up the towers, the sight of people walking up and down along the shore side streets.  He found himself without words for a moment at this sight, the awe that creatures could make some structures, and steady foundations of the ground before him and the buildings atop it.  So, very different from the chaos of the Finnupave.

His gaze drifted up past the towers though, to the night sky and there a frown grew over his features.  There were few stars visible in the sky up there.  He turned about, looking back over the look and found many of the familiar lights hanging in the sky out over the darkened water.  A compromise it seemed to him, these feats of creation to replicate the majesty of nature also seemed to robbed them of it.

Brokel’s philosophy didn’t have much time to carry further.  His stomach rumbled, asserting that in all this awe that Brokel had failed to find a meal.  He made his way back down the pier, merging back into the crowd, just another figure in the night.  There had been smells and sights of food throughout the evening, most of them street side carts in the market and squares he had passed.  Here, down by the water there seemed to be an abundance of taverns.  Raucous shouts and laughter came out of most, and pair of men came falling out of the entrance to one, a flurry of shouts and punches.  Brokel stepped around them, continuing along the water’s edge and debating heading to what would hopefully be a less excitable part of town when he stopped in front of another of the taverns.

This one lacked the cacophony of noise of the others.  That was not what had stopped him though.  Instead it was what had filled the silence in it’s place.  Reverberating the notes of a string instrument and a woman’s voice accompanying had reached him.  Brokel shook himself and without further thought turned and entered the tavern.  The establishment wasn’t packed but it took him a moment to find a spot, pushing in between two gentlemen that barely noted his arrival to take a seat at a bench on the opposite end of the large room’s fireplace.  A server came by asking after what he wanted and Brokel just pointed to the mug in front of one of the men besides him.  For payment he reached into his pouch and produced a gem.

“Adventurers,” the server muttered with a shake of her head.  “Enough to cover your drink no doubt, I’ll let you know how much it banks for you.”  She left, leaving Brokel to look to one of the room’s corner.  The musician was seated there, on a section of the floor raised a step above the rest.  From the small stage she was singing songs about old heroes or such.  Brokel picked out a few names he recognized, knowing them as the name of this city and some others in the Provinces.  Seemed a strange arrogance to him have a city carry your name, but the crowd applauded and cheered as the woman finished.

“Thank you,” the minstrel responded, her voice melodic as she gave a large smile to the crowd.  “For those of you who have arrived recently, I’m Keto…”

Brokel started, earning him a glare from  the patron next to him.  Recalling what they had been told of the Last Landian, Brokel noted the woman’s fiery hair and, after squinting for a moment, her blue eyes.  The description seemed to match and the serenity that he carried most of the night died.  This Keto had been travelling with the Last Landian, and while it had been assumed she had stayed with him when the Landian had gone to ground in the mountain halls, it had been discussed that if she could be captured she would serve as potential bait to bring the Landian out.  It had seemed a foolish argument at the time to Brokel.  If the Landian was a doombringer he would not be disturbed by threats to another’s life and if the Landian did care then was that not an argument that he was not a threat?

Regardless, here she was. Within the city walls sure, but that likely would not stop Kartof and certainly not the firebrands of the clan from trying to take her.  His drink was dropped off in front of him without a word and Brokel took a sip to try and rid the bitter taste from his mouth.  Trying to take the woman would cause trouble with the town, and succeeding would create trouble even greater.  He could just leave, not note that he had found the Landian’s companion.  Yet, that would leave him where he currently was, with a tribe heading towards violence and a clan soon to rebel up from underneath him.  He looked to the stage, where this Keto was launching into another song.

Perhaps there was a different opportunity here.