NorthBridge (Entrance Thread)

[Grant]

Famed NorthBridge.

Despite the great width and strength of the Upper Scillus River, a great span of stone was built that connected the city of World's Mouth to all points north in the Western Kingdoms. Over twenty paces wide and not quite half a marker in length, the great bridge is an architectural achievement of both engineering and artistry. High enough to allow passage of some of the more mundane river ships and barges, the bridge is crowned every fifty paces by a great arch of sculpted stone depicting great personalities of perhaps this city's history. At all hours of the day, traffic could be found upon this great span, traffic of merchants, travelers, and local farmers bringing their wares into the city's great bondhouses.

On the southern end of the bridge, the city of World's Mouth opens up like a dark, hazy forest of tall, majestic buildings. A thin layer of dirty smoke lingers over the city at all times, choking out the stars above and casting much of the city in a near twilight at all times. The river, cut into the city in several small canals, was dark as night and moved with a slow, regal flow down towards the distant Mer de la Luna to the west. As far as the eye could see, the south bank of the Upper Scilla was a great urban mass, lined and developed with river wharves, canals, and riverfront industries.

There to greet incoming traffic were members of the city's guard organization. These were dressed professionally, though they wore bright colors and freshly washed clothes over carefully trimmed goatees and wide, decorative hats, each bearing a great plume dyed the color of the sunset. They were busy checking all incoming carts and wagons for goods being brought into or out of the city, seldom stopping or even approaching simple travelers as they passed.

[Templeton]

The young figure in old robes, crossing the great artery that spanned the river far below, seemed anxious with each step. His eyes, the colors of burning sand, filled with wonder as he approached closer to the entrance to the city. Never really crossing a bridge in his life, raised in a tower for most of it, Templeton felt light headed, as if he were floating. With every figure that passed him, Orleon looked at them, trying to find a hint of recognition. To this end, he showed off his father’s clasp which hung on his right shoulder. He stopped at every statue that adorned the bridge, as if in a museum, reading each plaque with care, even drawing or writing something in his journal.

Orleon shook his head and gathered the robes about him, comforted in the material and old scent of each fold, he looked behind him, and to his dismay could no longer see the tower he once called home. He rubbed his forehead and looked as if he would sit down for a rest, leaning his staff on a statue.

Yet after only three paces more, just over the arch, the city of World’s Mouth appeared to rise like a great concrete sun attached to the horizon by buttresses and walkways. His eyes dilated, rushing to take in more information, and the young son of a hermit mage had to pull his hand back to his side. So powerful was the drive to grab what he had wanted for so long- to be free and to explore this city of mystery and opportunity. Orleon was a moth, and World’s Mouth looked to him like a giant golden lantern beckoning him to dive in.

Walking more rapidly now, robe and staff clenched, heart beating like that of a pack animal, Orleon moved across the great Northbridge, wondering what lay before, who or what would he find that would shed light on the enigma that was his father. Show him the answers to the mystery of his experiments and journals, some of which lay now with him in his pack. All that spinning in his head, as he marched on aggresively...

Just when things looked so bright, that pack animal heart skipped a beat before his eyes could register the source of the panic. And there before him, searching packs and wagons, were members of the city’s guard. Searching, and Orleon clenched his robes, especially the back underneath. Exhaling he took the pack off as he approached the guards, wrapping the tendrils of leather about his wrist, putting it close to his chest. He tried to focus on the city dawning before him, his future at last rising there. But then he would catch a glimpse of a guard’s uniform or blume, and he would begin to sweat again.

“Cross the bridge, pass the span”, he thought over and over, watching the people go toward and away from him in both directions- always seeing if a name would suddenly burn in his mind. Or better if he was recognized.

Not seeming to calm him, Orleon distracted himself as any young man would, by looking at the ladies, their dress, their mannerisms, the instinctual pull that they radiated. He focused on the intricate designs of one maiden’s dress which adorned her back, a maze of spirals and lace that dazzled him. Infact her graceful and accented walk (like the arc of several pendulums) took him all the way to the end of the span.

And there glowing was his newfound sun, World’s Mouth, and before he kept going, Orleon wondered how and where in life he would be when he would again cross the span- this time away from the city that he knew was to make him who he truly was meant to be.

[Grant]

Upon reaching the end of the bridge, Orleon encountered a wagon full of what appeared to be little more than rocks. It was about these rocks that an older man wearing a simple leather coat argued, his arguments directed at a pair of the bridge guards that checked through his cargo and directed his wagon to a large bond house that sat just beyond the bridge's exit. The departing traffic simply strolled or rolled by, unconcerned with the spectacle, though many of the wagoners behind Orleon could be heard to voice their own complaints at the hold up.

Skirting the wagon, Orleon continued by until one of the guards approached him. This particular guard had a blonde moustache of some great substance, giving his smooth, youthful face a much older appearance. "Good day to you, sir, and welcome to the Mouth. Might I direct you somewhere?" he asked, his words a shout to rise above the argument going on nearby.

[Templeton]

Orleon barely heard the voice over the rush of activity about him, watching so intently as the older man’s goods were searched. He smiled a bit to himself, knowing that surely whatever was in there would get out- somehow. The youth had worked enough years as a trader to know that. He turned to meet the voice and almost dropped his backpack, staff and journal.

The uniform seemed sharp and contrasted with the other clothing of those that continued to pass. Templeton felt as if a large reptile was going down his throat, and realized it was his panic that he was trying to swallow.

Sweating, sweating, thinking, thinking, at that moment he could not decide if he wanted to be seen or not, recognized by a figure that could help him in the Mouth, or ignored by someone that remembered being shortchanged and wanted to slash his face. The panic made him grip the handle of the skillet hanging over the face of his backpack. A drop of perspiration splashed into his eye, and he shivered back to reality.

“Direct?, direct!” Orleon repeated the word as he looked at the guard’s impressive mustache. Looking down at his skillet he said, “Errr yes, I am a tradesman from outside this city, and I was wondering if you could direct me to a central tavern, or inn, somewhere that is central to the city.” Orleon rubbed the blackened cover, finding comfort in the seasoned surface. “Like many, I am sure, I am looking for work, and can cook pretty well, make a... a... a...” Templeton went through every recipe he knew in his mind. Trying to find something that would be known and remembered by just about anyone in the Mouth; “ a... welcoming pot of Homespice stew; always requested you know...taste of home.”

Very well Templeton, he thought, too much detail! With that the youth shut his mouth, looking to the other faces and not daring to ask about the old man being searched. With that Templeton let his mind wander, focusing on whether he knew anyone in this vast city, in the years that he had traded with the caravans going east into the desert, that could help him, or tell him anything about his father...

Then again perhaps a good place for me to start would be in cooking, becoming a part of the community, getting information, and still existing only in the anonymous kitchens of a central location. So much information! If only I had made a drawn out plan!

Orleon waited for the guard to point him in the right direction, eyeing his sword all the while.

[Grant]

The guard seemed pleased to listen to Orleon, and stood patiently as he spoke. If his attention wandered at all, no sign of this could be seen on the well manicured face of his, a face that winced with every raised voice or harsh word from the argument nearby. When Orleon had finished speaking, the guard motioned him forward away from the impending chaos of the bridge and pointed down a long, straight road that cut through the forest of buildings like a path through a tall wheat field.

"At the end of this road, when it meets the canal, you will find a place called the Flying Dortman. This is a fine central place for one with your skills to begin, though I warn you that you'll need marked by the local guild before you start. No worries there, sir...the guilds are eager to take in those that would pursue their trade, and the guildmaster of Cooks and Bakers is said to frequent the Flying Dortman, as it lies so near the Avaritia and the city center. And I must humbly beg pardon for the disturbance on the bridge..." the guard grinned, nodding back towards the wagon. "It is strange how light coal or iron become when bond taxes must be paid for it, I think. Hahaha!"

The guard leaned in towards Orleon before he spoke again, his voice now cautious and quick, a dull rumble that carried only just to the newcomer's ear. "You've the look of a priest about you, lad, and not one of Dominicus. Remember that worship of any other God save the One is a punishable offense in the Mouth: you may not do so openly. Good day to you."

(OOC: You can post just about anywhere in the Mouth. If the thread isn't already there, let me know in the OOC and I'll build it!)

[Templeton]

Orleon looks at the guard with a confident and happy look, thinking that he was going to searched, cojoled, both, or worse- he felt a bit more confident in this strange and unknown world that he had thrust himself into. Perhaps without thinking.

“I am honored that you would take the time to give me so much advice, surely... err... Dominicus is kind with newcomers. My name is Templeton and if somehow you were to find yourself in need, sir, do look upon me as a friend. Perhaps we shall meet again in the Dortman. It would be good to share a drink and a tale with thee!”

With that Orleon turns to leave the bridge heading in the direction of the chaotic dawn that is Winter’s Mouth, with both hope and some doubt in his eyes.

[Grant]

(OOC: You are cleared to go anywhere you'd like in the Mouth, so long as it's a public place. Also, be sure to stick to the latest timestamp: for example, The Flying Dortman has two timestamps at current, one for Samheen 11th, and one for Samheen 12th: you'd take the latter one on the 12th, which is timestamped for the morning. If you seek a different location, feel free to either post there or, if it doesn't exist, let me know and I'll make it so you we can proceed)

[Elija]

Elija'dhor trudged along the bridge. He had done this many times in his youth and each time it felt longer and longer. He was just returning from a little journey - the same path he had taken with his father long ago.

Elija still marveled at the structure of the bridge, he had spent countless hours here as a kid he thought, and for nothing.

Elija patted his sword as he continued along the bridge. He hoped the local authorities would have a job for him now. Last time he had been here they told him to go on!

[Grant]

The bridge was long...very long...though it did promice adequate shelter from the winds throughout it's length. The construction of the great span was such that it could even be defended, one section at a time, or at either end. Despite it's magnificent width, crossing it took some time, as crowds of people lined up to enter the city, the majority of which brought with them wagons and carts of various goods for trade in the city's markets.

The river over which the bridge stretched was dark and seemed...perhaps used. The waters were miscolored and occasionally carried in them a small pile of refuse or even the carcass of a dead beast, proof that the waters served the industry of the city more than it's health or it's beauty. It was no surprised that none could be seen swimming or washing their clothes on the banks of the Upper Scillus, for it was perhaps dirtier than the clothes they might wash.

At the end of the bridge, Elija was met by a guard wearing a bright ensemble of crimson. A loose tabard covered a tight leather buff jerkin, while loose, billowing sleeves erupted from this to cascade down to his gloved hands. A well crafted, decorative rapier hung at his side, and his trim, well groomed face was capped by a felt hat of some width that held a plume that stretched well above the crown of his head. "My greetings, traveler. You may pass into the city. May I direct you anyplace?" he asked, his bow quick and formal.

[Elija]

Elija looked at the guard, he had seen many of these guards during his life in the Mouth. Refitting his backpack as it had swung slightly awkward on his back he replied to the well kept guard, "May you point me to the authorities of the town? I am in need of work.."

With that Elija turned around and stared at the water, "Horrible it has become...." and then he stared at the crowd on the massive bridge, all sorts of people coming and leaving the great city. Then, thinking to himself, " I wonder how many of these are criminals...fleeing from the authorities..."

He took a swig of his water from his waterskin and gulped it down. He hadn't realized how thirsty he had been.

Refitting his sword Elija turned around with a smile to face the city and the guard. Elija's Chain Mail rattled slightly as he moved his sword, his dagger becoming nitched in him and little. His short bow was flung around his shoulders, his quiver on his back as well. He was well armed, and ready to go out bounty hunting.

[Grant]

The guard considered the half-elf before him carefully. It was no secret that while all races received the same courtesy and etiquette appropriate to their stations, racism was a clear fact in the Mouth, and one that often left non-humans out of work. Perhaps it was this that he considered before he spoke next.

"There's a rumor going 'round...about a new cohort being assembled called the Purifactio. I think they're looking for unique persons for that, people that can track down and bring fugitives to justice as well as investigate some wrong doings in the city. Not sure about the particulars of it, though...the Archbishop, God protect him, will be presenting an address to the Council in a few days about this new cohort, in an attempt to gain more funding for it. If you've the skill to use weapons, and you've a good knowledge of the streets, you might do well there. You could ask the Abbot at the Prodesse...I think his holiness is managing that endeavor. To get to the Prodesse Cathedral, you go down this..."

The guard continued to describe the way to the great monument of worship that was the Prodesse Dominicus, a cathedral of magnificent architecture and even greater public works, though Elija knew the way well. The church had long since been a great champion for the common man within the World's Mouth, it's concerns that of the people and it's service to the same. It seemed strange that the holy institution would seek fighters for any reason, but the church was well known for it's great demands of justice and righteousness, so any cohort raised by it would follow the same ideals at the very least.

Finished with giving his instructions, the guard pointed down the main boulevard before him to send Elija on his way.

(OOC Note: Welcome to the Mouth! I'll add a thread for the Prodesse: you're free to post there in hopes of becoming a villain-hunter whenever you like! Please PM me with any questions or comments!)

[Elija]

Elija took the information in. He had strayed away from joining anything liket his, and had not asked for the sole reason that he was a half-elf, and they were not looked upon highly.

Elija nodded and bowed to the guard, "Thank you for your assistance, I shall make my way to the Prodesse Cathedral."

Patting himself over and making sure his weapons were in place Elija walked down the street. Perhaps he would go there to pray as well, he had not prayed in a month...at least at the great cathedral.

As Elija made his way down the street his knife pricked him a little and he stopped to fix it. "How did you get out of the sheath.." Murmured Elija as he placed the small knife back in place.

Then taking a swig on water Elija walked on, looking at the buildings that he grew up around, looking at the people (Possible Criminals) he knew, some he did not.

[Guest]

Chrisaliel moved to the side of the road, admiring the great structure that loomed before her. Her journey had seemed as though it would never end, and yet here she stoop a mere bridge-span away from her goal.

Why the High Elf had chosen this city to pursue her studies, her family could not, or would not understand. Chrisaliel shook her head with a small private smile. No, it would not sit well with them, no matter how she tried to explain, but she had made her choice with great care. She wished to study history and culture, and not just of the Elven race. But she could do this in Kislovan, they would argue. Indeed this was true, but, as much as she loved books and scrolls, they would not give her the first hand experience she desired. By this explanation she had stuck firmly though all their objections.

Yet this was not the whole of the truth. For Chrisaliel also desired to learn about magic, something that she did not wish to disclose to them, for reasons that escaped even herself. And so she now stood before this Human city, in the Wester Kingdom, laughing inwardly at the irony that she should seek such knowledge in the land of this poor simple race.

I will return to the Seven Isles one day, she mused to herself, But I shall begin here. Where I can discover if I have the ability to wield the power of magic. And if I do not, well then, there will be no harm done, and I shall be able to achieve my other goals still.

Perhaps it was the thought of failure that kept her from telling her beloved family of her desire to study magic, but whatever the reason, here Chrisaliel stood, with the end of her journey only steps away.

It is most impressive, she thought, admiring the architecture of the bridge, as she stepped out into the traffic and began the crossing to the Mouth. Although she was indeed road-weary, her steps took on an animated step as she made her way across as she neared the city side of the great span. She was nearly there, at the end of her journey and at the beginning of a new and different sort of adventure in this land of Humans.

[Grant]

(OOC: Welcome to the nasty, stinky, dirty Mouth! I'm glad to see new people arrive! Let's get you started, then...)

Samheen 13th, Morningtide

People.

Never before could Chrisaliel remember so many gathered in one place. Even here on the bridge, a mighty span larger than any of it's kind she had ever known, there were thousands of people, hundreds of carts and wagons, and animals bleating out their impatience in loud, almost painful sounds. Long and straight, NorthBridge held it's travelers and carried them on their long march across the Upper Scillus, some marching out of the massive complex of the Mouth, while others, like her, marching in.

And then there was the river itself. Far, far below her, the dark waters of the Upper Scillus were enough to pain her heart, for the waters were black with pollution and speckled with the cast off remains from the largest population center in the world. The sight was difficult to bear, but the smell was perhaps worse, as the river shared it's unhappy condition through it's unhealthy, almost nauseating odor.

But the waters were not alone in their suffering. The sky above the Mouth almost offended Chris's senses more, for a large, dark cloud of smoke and ash coated the light airs above the river valley in a stinking pall of it's own design. Even the light that trickled through this haze was tainted somehow, as if it were corrupted by the lingering affects of massive, unstoppable industry as chimney, smelter, and smokestack blew new waves of foul refuse into the upper air.

But this was the price of power. All up and down the far side of the river, no coast could be seen for the magnificent city. It might have been as if the massive buildings of stone and marble simply grew from the water itself, their lights reflecting back to her over the water in a strange, dancing display of color and motion. And the city continued on well out of her sight, easily stretching away for marks in either direction. She could not imagine walking through it in a single day, if she were to even try to navigate the endless forest of buildings, canals, and winding, narrow streets.

Despite the press of crowds all along NorthBridge, it never escaped Chris's notice at how carefully and tacitly those near her avoided her gaze, her touch, and even her presence. It was as if she were not there, save for the consciously maintained ring around her, a space of a single pace that none of the locals would broach. They seemed to remain distant from her, and while they chatted endlessly among themselves upon topics ranging from the price of peas to the unjust actions of spouses, none addressed her at all.

After many marks of walking forward on the bridge, she finally reached the massive stone complex that protected it's southern end. Several guards attended the gates there, and their appearance gave Chris pause, for they were like nothing she had seen. They were brightly dressed in crimson and scarlet, and dressed in clothes that were extraordinary and exotic yet sleek and functional. Tight, buckled jackets of dyed leather covered their torsos, and broad, floppy hats covered their heads with a large, red plume sprouting forth from the same and swaying slightly in the variable airs. They were all well trimmed and kept, with carefully manicured fingers and goatees and carefully brushed and bound hair, worn long. The weapons they carried were rapiers, sabres, or estocs, all very decorative with glistening hilts and ribboned handles, and their boots and gloves were a supple, freshly-oiled leather that gleamed almost as well as metal.

But none of these approached Chris. They would stop wagons and carts, for these interested the gatekeepers overmuch, but the elfess brought with her no such cargo, and as such her passage was of no moment to them. The one man that did stop her was a bold exception to the other guards, a solitary man that wore a deep crimson robe the cut of which she was not familiar, though it might have been clerical or priestly. The robe was left open at the front, leaving his black-strained leather armors underneath visible along with his weapons and a simple pendent featuring a large circle of unblemished silver. He approached Chris, pulling his hood back to reveal his youthful though clever features, and spoke.

"A good day to you, madam, and welcome to World's Mouth. I am Prefect Violo..." he announced, sweeping low in a bow that was both absurdly dramatic yet strangely impressive. "I must ask you a few questions, yet I'm loathe to postpone your journeys. Perhaps I might walk with you for a time?" he asked, his manners impeccable and crisp though he fell in step beside her without awaiting a reply. "What...business have you in the Mouth? What do you seek here?"

(OOC: Sorry so long! I get dramatic, sometimes...)

[Guest]

(OOC: Thanks for the welcome! And please feel free to wax dramatic anytime. I enjoy it!)

"A good day to you, god Sir," Chris replied, somewhat taken aback at the intensity of the sights, sounds and, foremost, the odour. She was overwhelmed by the multitude of people, and not a little concerned by the noticeable space allowed her by the Humans. This gentleman's welcome did only a little to alleviate her concern.

Adjusting her pace to suit the Prefect's, Chris addressed his questions, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Prefect Violo. I am called Chrisaliel Mithrandyr, and it is my hope to both secure employment and to study in your great city." She paused momentarily, taking in the sights around her, and not entirely certain as to how much detail the Prefect wished to hear.

"I am a skilled weaver by trade," she continued, "and this would be my preferred employment. But I am capable in a variety of domestic skills, of course," she added with a warm smile. At least this gentleman willingly acknowledged her existence, and this was encouragement enough for her to behave in her usual friendly and cheerful manner.

"I wish also, as I mentioned, to study; specifically the history and culture of the Western Kingdom. This is a passion of mine, though I suppose you might fine this somewhat odd. Many people indeed find such pursuits tiresome, but it is not so for me, I assure you!"

Just then Chris realized that she must be keeping this gentleman from his work, and she stopped abruptly. "Oh my!" she exclaimed. "Please forgive my talking on, good Sir! I have let my enthusiasm take hold of my tongue. I must be keeping you," she apologised, with another of her beautiful, warm smiles.

"But, perhaps, good Sir, you could direct me as to where I might find employment and lodgings?" she added, with the earnest hope of direction from one so thoroughly acquainted with this city that was so overwhelming and so completely foreign to her.

She had not mentioned the study of magic, but this was not an immediate concern. Nor was it a desire she had yet given voice to. No, it would have to wait until she was ready. By then, she would have her bearings in this amazing, and not altogether pleasant environment.

[Grant]

The large, red-robed man beside her towered over her by much, but he had slowed his pace and crouched only just that they might speak easily. He listened to her carefully, and could be seen to consider carefully even after she had finished speaking. This might have seemed rather strange, given that she had given him very little upon which he might need to consider. As he spoke, it quickly became evident that he had been considering something else entirely, for his words were deliberate and almost chilling.

"You are most welcome in the Mouth, my lady. I hope you find what you seek. The subjects that most intrigue you can be found in many places...the lyceaum, the Prodesse Dominicus, the Castigus, even the Nashorn, if rumors are to be believed. For weaving, you might need to meet with the guildsmen...they'd know what kind of work you can find, though you may have more luck teaching your native tongue at the Castigus, as they require Elven for graduation. But something else concerns me, my lady, and I would not have you unawares of how the city lies."

"We find that most of your kind do not adhere to the worship of the One. Naturally, there is no law against this...you are free to believe as you choose. But here in the Mouth, public displays of worship for any other God or Goddess are very much illegal, punishable by fine or imprisonment. As you are no priestess, I doubt this should create for a problem for you, but I would not have you proceed without this knowledge."

He slowed to a stop and gave her a pleasant smile, though it never seemed to reach his eyes. "You can find lodgings at the Flying Dortman, at least until you've set yourself up more properly. The Dortman can be found at the end of this road...all the way down until it stops at Rhoddam Square. You cannot miss it. I wish you well, madam..." he finished, bowing deeply to her one last time.

[Guest]

Chris listened intently to the gentleman's every word, carefully noting each of the place-names and the directions to the Flying Dortman. She was instantly intrigued by the Castigus, for both possible employment and future study needs. And while she enjoyed weaving to a certain degree, it was not a profession that she wished to pursue. Perhaps teaching Elven was the answer. It was certainly worthy of further consideration.

"I thank you, good Sir, for your information, and for your concern," the petite Elfess replied, smiling as the Prefect made his final bow. "As you say, religious worship shall not be a problem for me," she agreed, thankful that her Grandfather had already warned her of the religious views of the Humans in the Western Kingdom, and in the World's Mouth in particular. Chris had made a point of finding ways to adapt her worship to private indoor spaces during her journey and was now well prepared to avoid running afoul of the local laws.

As they concluded their exchange, Chrisaliel determined that, despite the early hour, it would be best to secure lodgings before proceeding to explore this incredible metropolis, that was so overpowering to her senses. Chris turned back to face up the road the Prefect had indicated.

Surely this horrendous odour shall dissipate as I move away from that disgusting river! she considered hopefully, all the while doubting that it could possibly be true. Shall I ever adapt to such an environment? she wondered as she set out for the Flying Dortman.[/i]

[Gwaeryn]

With the bridge in sight, Gwaeryn’s pace had already hastened. By the time he reached the bottleneck entrance to the massive stone structure, it had nearly redoubled. As fast as the crowd would allow, the rugged (most would say dirty) youth moved forward, looking too far ahead at the wonders of the city beyond. Moving swiftly around the more ambling travellers, Gwaeryn swerved, dodged, and occasionally bumped his way across the vast stone arch.

His unchecked enthusiasm was unmistakable, a smile so broad it seemed irrisistably contagious. “The first milepost… the first measure.” He savored the thought as he reached the center of the bridge. If the throngs of people or the stench of smoke and the river bothered him, it showed not on his face. With an apology here and pat on the back there, Gwaeryn made his way across. The tap-tap--tap of his staff on the worn stones added its arrhythmic beat to the music of the city.

The bridge just behind him and the whole of the Mouth before him, Gwaeryn suddenly stopped. What was just a moment before the face of a confident young man flashed ever so momentarily into that of a frightened and awed child. The immense and new idea, that directly before him were innumerable possibilities… and just as many risks, washed over the youth’s face like a lone cloud on a clear blue day. But just as suddenly his jaw was set and his eyes were alert as he scanned the thoroughfares that lead further into World’s Mouth.

“Ok. What’s next?” he challenged himself, hair blowing wildly with the wind.

[Grant]

(OOC: Welcome to the Mouth! Let's put this fool on the path...)

Samheen 13th, TradeTide!

The water below him seemed like a slowly flowing tide of the abyss itself. The smell was clearly hideous, but not overly so, and not something Gwaeryn could place easily. It was dark, far darker than any river he had seen before, and debris and what might have been carcasses floated past with almost comedic majesty and dignity. Still, it was the boats that caught his eye, for small boats carrying a few passengers and one pilot equipped with a long pole moved about the southern bank with slow grace, dodging in between each other and massive barges as they went.

Gwaeryn soon found himself at the far end of the bridge, though he might have lost the better part of two full burns to reach it. Few full towns could boast as much street as the bridge itself represented, and only the majestic pillars and statues that marked the bridge at every fifty paces told of his progress as he worked his way over the mighty river. Watching the crowds pass with apparent boredom, the guards offered Gwearyn a terse, almost negligent examination before one of them approached.

"You appear to be a long way from home, traveller. Can I point you out to someplace in particular?" offered the guard, a larger version of his friends with broad, massive shoulders and a thick, muscled neck.

[Gwaeryn]

Easing from his internal moment to focus on the rather large man approaching, Gwaeryn briefly assessed the soldier's demeanor. As a peasant and trader, Gwaeryn had learned many times that the attention of large, armed men, particularly those in authority, was rarely something to be sought and more often than not, best avoided.

Swallowing, he pushed unfounded fears down and leaned into his staff with focused casualness. With an easy and warm smile, the sturdy youth made brief eye contact and replied, "Nay, friend! Home is where you make it!"

His eyes passed over the city once more and continued. "But right you are, sir... the road is long and I am glad to for the chance to rest! Might you direct me to an inn? Perhaps one frequented by those engaged in commerce in your fair city and looking to employ the honest and hardworking?" Gwaeryn shifted his weight, passing the long staff between hands before leaning into it once again.

[Grant]

"Ha!" responded the guard, a smile splitting his face. "Sure it is! And I suppose you'll be making a home here in the Mouth, will you? Well, plenty of room, I think...and lots of things around. A good place to start is at the best inn in town, at least for interesting company and good conversation. It's called the Flying Dortman, and you can find it in Rhodam Square."

He turned and pointed his finger down the long, wide street before him, a street that ran for close on a mark all the way into the heart of town. The southern bank of the Upper Scillus was rocky, and the bridge landing was high, so this street also seemed to slope downward as it ran away from where Gwaeryn stood, though that was as much an illusion as a truth. For it's entire length, a respectable length at that, it was lined with buildings, though these were buildings of tall stone and magnificent towers and sculptures. In more than a few places along it's length, it bridged over many smaller bridges that spanned the dark, busy canals.

"At the end of High street here, you'll be right in Rhoddam square. That's where the street ends. Tell the bartender that Nicolo Bartevi sends you, and it's good for a free beer, or I'll make up the difference myself."

Behind him, Gwaeryn heard a new argument forming between a merchant hauling a cart full of cloth bolts and a guard that required the items to be placed in bond. It was a common, annoying argument that always ended on the side of the city's bondhouses.

[Gwaeryn]

Gwaeryn listened to the guard’s direction quietly, nodding occasionally. He’d already made up his mind that the fellow was playing straight with him, but the offer of a drink just steps into the city was a pleasant surprise. His face made no attempt to hide it.

“Well met, Nicolo!” he exclaimed, offering his long-fingered, calloused hand and studying his face so he might remember it again. “I am Gwaeryn. Should you find…”

He paused abruptly as the argument behind him escalated from one element of the background noise to something likely to require the attention of a big fellow such as Mr. Bartevi. Gwaeryn glanced over his shoulder briefly.

“Well, it seems you have more pressing concerns at the moment…” He looked back to Nicolo with a apologetic grin and immediately began to move past the guard in the direction he’d been shown, now stepping slowly backwards so he could still face the man. As the general din grew in response to the argument around the cart, Gwearyn raised his voice to what could best be described as a "bellow". “But should you ever find yourself in need of a drink, the first round is on me.”

With an odd tip of his staff that seemed to pass for a casual salute, Gwaeryn turned and brought himself easily up to the pace of the crowd, clearly satisfied with his first encounter in the Mouth. No longer hurried, the patchwork traveller silently navigated the river of humanity. Now in the city proper, he noted the brightness of the garb in general and resolved to purchase another set of clothes more suitable to his surroundings. But first… home. The Flying Dortman.

[Grant]

The guard waved Gwaeryn as he joined the other guards in their interception of the incoming cargoes that, by virtue of the local law, must enter bond for taxation and trade. Before long, the newcomer was but one of countless faces moving up and down High street, one of the most distinguished avenues in the massive city. Despite the constant traffic and activity along it's immense length, no rubble or trash could be seen along the sides or even within the connecting alleys, for this seemed to be a rather expensive area of town, complete with large, expansive villas and mansions as well as fine shops fronted in marble or well carved stone.

The street ran straight as an arrow, driving deep into the heart of the stone forest, splitting the buildings like a path cut in the woods. And at the end of this wide, straight gash in the unbroken sea of buildings was Rhoddam Square, a vast plaza surrounded by many more of the austere, magnificent buildings so common in the city. To his left in the distance, Gwaeryn could see the old walls that marked the boundaries of the old city, outgrown many, many centuries ago, across a canal far wider than any of the ones over which he had crossed on his way down to the square.

And there, directly before him, was the Flying Dortman, a strangely rustic and old fashioned buildings of daub and wood, though a massive one with it's back to the great canal that ran with slow majesty behind it.

(OOC: You're clear to roll where you will! You'll find the Flying Dortman here: https://tazlure.nl/board/viewtopic.php?t=4332 should you wish to visit. Otherwise, you can post to any public location you wish, so long as the timestamp is on or after your own, which is Samheen 13th, Tradetide.)

[Julian Sandrose]

World's Mouth, finally came the thought flying into Julian's mind. It had been a long trip thus far and only now will his true journey begin. Making his way onto the gargantuan marvel of engineering prowess that he learned was named "Northbridge". So unimaginative, why not just Riverspanner or some other silly name. Clear your thoughts lad. the voice of Sir echoing in Julian's head as if he were standing next to him. It was true of course, he needed to keep his thoughts on the task at hand and not criticizing the locals. Fighting the crowds he began the journey across the bridge towards the gates. It looks as if the merchant traffic was being held up and inspected while everyone else just more or less waltzed in. Curiosity peaked, Julian made his way behind a merchant's cart and listened in on the heated conversation taking place between him and a city guard.

[Grant]

The argument seemed docile enough. After all, there were only so many things that might be said about a cart full of rocks. And this argument, like so many at the end of Northbridge, ultimately ended the same, with the cargo being pulled to the side into the massive bondhouses for inspection, weighing, and taxation, if necessary. The process was long and time consuming, and most teamsters were not so much concerned about the fate of their cargo so much as the many, many marks they would have to spend waiting for their goods to be bonded properly.

Despite the wagoner's pleas to be summoned at the Flying Dortman Tavern when his stock certificate were ready, the guards simply waved him into the bond complex with no regard or pause whatsoever. They were clearly inundated with this kind of protest, and no words of righteous indignation could sway them from their absent, ambivalent decision. Once the cart began rolling to the right in through the bond complex doors, the guards turned their attentions to Julian next.

"Are you with that cart? If so, you must go join it until the load is weighed and certified..." one said, pointing after the cart into the walled complex with some impatience. The bond complex not only had a protective wall surrounding it's contents, but numerous guards could be seen patrolling the entrance as well as within, a great expense in protection to secure this vital location within the massive city.