For the next week Azrael rode, wary, though not fearful, of potential pursuers. Either nobody had realised that it was him, or they did realise and didn’t know which way he’d gone. Either that, or they had sent somebody, but they never found him. He realised that there was a whole host of reasons as to why nobody pursued him for a stolen horse, like nobody actually caring for the drunk man and plight. Whatever the reason, he made a safe getaway.

Bucky himself was unfortunately not as grateful as Azrael had presumed, starting each new day with a short rodeo ride. Still, after the morning activity, he carried Azrael along at a good pace.

Twice the traveling duo passed through a village, their layout similar to the one he’d freed Bucky from – ten to twenty houses built along the main road.

He did notice however that the further he travelled from the forest the lower the percentage of elves in the villages was. It seemed that many, if not most, stayed near the forest. There were also still large bodies of trees, but as he travelled these became smaller and sparser, with many places also having been cleared for fields.

He also encountered a few more players, most of them traveling through the villages in the opposite direction. To be safe Azrael hid his divine spark behind a shroud of soul mist, to pass as an NPC. He travelled unnoticed and unaccosted.

Then, in the late afternoon, on the morning of his tenth day of traveling, he arrived at what could possibly be described as the end of the elven territory. The ever-thinning forest had finally given way to smaller and more separated bodies of trees. And there, dominating the center of a patchwork of fields, was a city. The domineering behemoth of grey stone stood taller than even the fort.

Built on a hill, the central keep peeked out from behind the five-meter stone walls that ringed it. Houses had spilled out of the castle walls, although Azrael noticed tell-tale signs that there were more hidden safely behind the walls. Here and there a guard patrolled the wall, looking down onto the rest of the small sprawling city. People, and players, were moving through the streets, giving the city an air of general busyness.

Trotting past an incoming cart, Azrael was faced with two choices. He could either go through and past the city, or he could go around it. Either one presented itself with various problems.

Azrael looked up at the already setting sun and realised that any time he lost now would probably be equally lost if he tried to find an alternative route around the city. He couldn’t always avoid players, especially if he was planning to travel through Nova Lux. It wasn’t like they would recognise him as a player either. That and the city probably had an inn with a bed. He’d been roughing it since he left the fort. Deciding in favour of a bed, Azrael led Bucky down the road.

Azrael walked down the main street, leading Bucky by the reins. A wave of voices and smells washed over him, causing him to momentarily stagger and wince as the sudden wall of scents and sounds assailed him. After only traveling through peaceful fields, for the last week and a bit, with Bucky as company, the sudden bustling life of the city threatened to overwhelm him.

Vendors called out their wares to the masses that passed through the streets, while storekeepers watched haughtily from inside their stores. Carts clattered by and the horses’ hooves echoed off the stone buildings on either side.

The throng of bodies presented its own challenges in terms of both navigation and smell. The smell of dirt and sweat mingling with the smell of roasting meat in the air. The proximity of a dozen or so players at any point in time didn’t make the experience any easier. Somewhere a child was crying.

Azrael gritted his teeth, already regretting his decision. He held onto Bucky’s reins tightly, his knuckles whitening. It was only the promise of a bed that caused him to push ahead, through the crowd.

He found it in the end, at least one of the ones the city had to offer. It was tucked up, beside the castle walls, along the main street. There was another one inside the walls, though a talkative vendor had hinted that it was more expensive than this one.

Azrael looked up. The inn, in difference to most of the other buildings outside the castle walls, was two-story. A narrow alley allowed for access to a stable behind the building and he gratefully tied Bucky off, beside a few other horses. Bucky was almost worse than he was with big crowds, his understandable distrust of humans causing him to lash out at any that he felt threatened his safety. A stable boy watched the two disinterestedly as they arrived and Azrael left the horse under the kid’s eye and care. Then, with that, he strode into the inn.

The inn was almost as crowded as the streets, though the general level of noise was at a far more sedated level. Other travellers, players and merchants had decided to stop here for the night, the gentle hubbub of their chatter occasionally broken by raucous laughter, or cries of indignation.

A middle-aged woman deftly threaded her way through the room, delivering food and drink, while her husband kept a watchful eye from behind the bar. The room itself was nothing remarkable. Too many tables had been squeezed between four wooden walls and a staircase at the back of the room led up to a second story. The hardpacked dirt floor itself was covered in straw, to soak up ale, grease and… possibly other things.

Azrael moved towards the bar tender, who assessed him with a level gaze.

“Greetings, elf-friend” he said, with a smile.

Azrael looked at him confused, before following the man’s gaze and glancing down at his clothes. He was still wearing those he had received from the fort. The cloth cut and colour was distinctly different from the common garbs.

“Ah. Oh, I’m not…”

The barkeeper just laughed, his barrel frame bringing it out in a deep jolly rumble.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one to have anything ‘gainst ‘em. You might find others more inclined to disagree, but there’s nothing wrong with ‘em. Where you heading to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“West” Azrael replied.

“Ah, best be careful then, our long-eared friends tend to get a bit more discrimination the further out you travel from their forest. That includes those working with them.”

Azrael nodded, as the barkeeper threw him an appraising gaze.

“Now, what can I get you?”

“A stay for the night.”

“Hmm, thought as much. Bet you’re hungry too.”

Azrael nodded, trying to guess the price for the night.

“How much?” he asked.

“Nine coppers.”

“Not gold?” Azrael asked perplexed.

Since Bartlos had asked for payment in gold and had in turn paid him for his artifacts in gold, he’d assumed that gold coins were the standard currency.

The barkeeper burst out with sudden laughter, drawing the eyes of several patrons.

“Gods no.” He said, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Nobody would come here if I charged that much, no matter how good the bed, drink or food.”

He smiled at Azrael and leaned in conspiratorially.

“Tell you what” he said, already pulling out a mug from behind the counter “The drink is on me.”

A little while later Azrael found himself nestled away in at a table in a quite part of the room, a bowl of steaming stew and a mug of ale beside him.

The stew itself was a thick meat stew, bits of carrot and potato bobbed in the bowl with the meat. A few slices of a hard brown bread accompanied the stew. He watched a few other patrons dunk their bread into the stew, before eating it. He followed suit, before cautiously taking a bite.

After dunking, the tough bread became softer, soaking up the flavour of the soup and adding to the texture of the well cooked meat and vegetables.

It was only when he was halfway through his meal that Azrael remembered the ale. He took a cautionary sip.

The ale was strangely bitter yet sweet at the same time, but with neither flavour dominating the tastebuds. It was just enough to cleanse hie palate, but not enough to overwhelm other flavours. Though he wasn’t much of a drinker he decided that it made a pleasant addition to the stew.

Eventually though, his mug ran empty and his bowl was mopped clean with the last remains of his bread. Azrael sat back, surprisingly full. Despite its simplicity and lack of spices, it had been a good meal.

By now nightfall had arrived and several patrons had either left or retired. The remaining few drinkers, or chattering groups, more than made up for the empty seats with increased volume and bravado, emboldened in no small measure by a steady flow of alcohol.

Once a fight nearly broke out, one man threatening a neighbouring drinker with his fists. The barkeeper’s, and now obviously tavernkeeper’s, wife muscled her way to the two men, browbeating them back into their seats.

The barkeeper just watched his wife with a bemused expression, while cleaning a mug with a rag. Some regulars, obviously used to the scene also watched on with bemused expressions. With the fight resolved and the tension dying down again, Azrael decided to call it a night.

Passing the barkeeper, Azrael paid another three coppers for a breakfast in the morning and checked on Bucky. Seeing the horse freshly groomed, watered and fed he slipped the stable boy a copper from his purse, before heading back inside. He simply hoped that the bed was as comfortable as Bucky’s hay. Worst case, he would just bunk down with the horse.

As it turned out, Azrael needn’t have worried. His straw filled mattress offered all the luxuries of Bucky’s stall, with the added benefit of a sheet that prevented the straw from stabbing into his sleeping form. With a satisfied sigh he dropped in, kicking off his boots.

He rolled over and pulled the blanket up, looking at the ceiling. Dropping into bed like this reminded him of a night bordering on two weeks ago, though it seemed to have been far longer.

“Do you think Alena is ok?” he asked the dark room.

There was no reply in the empty room, until Sera spoke.

“I’m not allowed to tell you what you don’t know, but I’m sure she’s fine.”

“How about a little hint?”

“I literally, technically, physically, metaphorically and every other -ally, can’t tell you.”

Azrael closed his eyes, knowing that Sera wasn’t being rude, just letting him know in the best way possible – directly. Checking his soul-link, he found nothing. Alena was alive, that was it, though that very act of her being alive alleviated some of his worries.

Letting go of his touch on the soul link, he drifted off to sleep.

The silver light of a waxing gibbous moon cast a gentle light into his room, illuminating a content half smile on his face.