Beorn shielded his eyes from the sun as he spied the enormous walls of Ingoltdshold. He flicked his reins and urged Tyvjyo forward. The stallion had a strong and sure stride as he kicked up snow and mud from the road.

Tyvjyo had rested well after last night’s rush out of the Wolvenrych. The hard riding on the previous day had taken its toll on the shaggy-haired stallion. Beorn had found shelter for the night at the house of a kindly old couple who owned a farm some distance from the exit of the Wolvenrych. He'd gotten permission to bed down in the haylofts with the horses, which Beorn had decided to avoid after one whiff of the place. He'd fed and brushed Tyvjyo before setting up a hammock for himself.

A couple of bronze had gotten him feed for Tyvjyo and some warm porridge for himself in the morning. The food was nothing special but at least it was warm and soft, a welcome break from the cold rock hard bread and leather-like jerky.

The dirt road soon gave way to cobblestones as he got closer to Ingoldtshold. The fortified brick walls grew in size until they towered over Beorn even if he was some distance from it still. The walls were as big, if not bigger than the ruined defenses of Banehallow. They offered a glimpse into what Bastion would have looked like in its prime.

He craned his neck to see armored soldiers armed with crossbows patrolling the tops of the walls. Ballistae were placed at strategic locations along the length of the wall. A curious contraption occupied the tops of two towers that flanked the massive gate. It seemed like a short, wide tube attached to a rotating platform. The portcullises were winched to the top with their teeth peeking through the stone. A line of caravans and riders stretched to gain entry into the city.

***

A swarthy man armored in gleaming steel chain up to his knees and a surcoat decorated with the sigil of an encircled fort with a tree in the middle stood by the gate. Beorn assumed he was part of Ingoldtshold’s Guard. He looked harried, with sweat dotting his brow despite the cold as he examined a sheet every entrant handed him.

Another guard dressed similarly poked through the sheets and tarpaulins concealing the contents of the wagons passing through with a spear before letting them continue. Behind him was a small wooden table with his steel helmet perched on it. A boy in a rough tunic noted down the name and contents on to parchment as they were called out to him. Beorn noticed a stack, waist-high, balanced precariously near the foot of the table.

“Ivan, Landsort Village.”

“Four barrels of grain.”

“Next”

The man on the wagon coaxed his mules with a slap on their rump. Its wheels creaked and groaned on the cobbles as it made its way into the city.

Beorn urged Tyvjyo up to the guard. The lead guard looked at Beorn, taking in the various weapons strapped to his body. He paid particular attention to his shifting cloak and the hilt that peeked from beneath it. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword as Beorn approached.

“Papers?”

“Papers?”, Beorn echoed back, not understanding the question.

The guard raised his eyebrows, “Do you have any identification?”

Ah yes, Beorn dug around in his pack for his ring. It had the family insignia on it. A good thing he'd remembered to take it with him. He handed it to the guard.

The guard squinted at it before examining Beorn more closely.

“What’s your name?”

“Beorn Draigkyn.”

“Noble, eh. Where’s your entourage?"

"I'm a ranger, from Banehallow."

"A noble-born Ranger, from Banehallow no less."

The guard didn't sound terribly convinced. He frowned before speaking up again.

"Tell you what, you take your horse and stand a bit to the side once you enter the gate. I'll send someone to check your insignia against the register. All right?"

He handed the boy Beorn's ring, "Olaf make a rubbing of the ring and go check with the record keeper."

"You mean the one at the barracks sir? Mr. Welkus?"

"No, the one at the Library… of course I mean Welkus." He cuffed him lightly on the ear. "Go quickly, you're holding up the line."

"Yessir." Olaf dipped the face of the ring into some ink and pressed it onto a clean parchment. He dabbed the excess carefully with a rag before wiping his ring as well. Olaf handed the ring back to Beorn before running off into the gate.

The guard nodded to Beorn, "Sorry for the trouble. Have to check everyone entering the city, with all the refugees rushing north these days."

"Refugees?"

"Yes, those fanatics from Ixilan have started trouble at the border again." He replaced Olaf behind the table, "You just head inside and wait, someone should meet you soon."

Beorn nodded and dismounted Tyvjyo before leading him inside the gate.

***

Tyvjyo was skittish. The sounds and smells of so many bodies packed into a tight place made him nervous. Beorn felt much the same way with his heightened senses. The sour smell of sweat, reek of unwashed clothes, and the smell of freshly turned mud combined to form a heady mixture of smells that brought with it a throbbing headache. It was made worse by the constant noise, the ringing of metal on metal, the footfalls of men and animals, the creaking, the chattering, the loud hawking of sellers peddling their wares it all bored directly into Beorn’s brain. He clutched his ears breathing rapidly.

Wilhelmina sensed Beorn’s distress and pinpointed the problem, ‘Beorn calm yourself. You need to stop enhancing your senses with essence.’

Beorn groaned and clenched his teeth. He wrapped his arms around his head in an effort to block out the sounds.

‘Listen to me, concentrate on your heartbeat. Feel the blood pumping, returning to your heart. Let the essence flow with your blood and gather there…’

His heart echoed in his mind as he drew himself into himself. He could feel his blood flowing through his heart as it sent his blood through each part of his body. He centered his breathing trying to concentrate on the beats of his heart.

‘Good.’

He felt someone shake him. Beorn tried opening his awareness to the outside world, it was much more bearable now. He saw a young face looking up at him. He was clean-shaven and his hair close-cropped, his brown eyes gazed at him with concern. He held Beorn’s arm to help him steady himself.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Yes… thank you.”

His eyes brightened as he released Beorn’s arm, “No problem sir. Glad to be of help. My name is Ragnar, I’m to guide you to Headquarters, sir. ”

Beorn looked over his guide. He noted the gleaming chain, underneath the shining leather cuirass. He had no surcoat but wore a badge with the same insignia near his chest. Even his leather boots were polished to a gleam, the whole person looked like he was sparkling in the sunlight. A slight hint of immaturity remained on his smiling face. He looked even younger than Beorn.

Beorn greeted his guide, “Call me Beorn. Thank you for guiding me, Ragnar.”

“Of course, let’s go Sir Beorn.”

"I'm not a knight Ragnar, just a ranger."

Ragnar's eyes grew wide, he spoke hastily, "A ranger! How exciting! I heard you came from Banehallow. Is the Wolvenrych as dangerous as they say? What kinds of monsters have you seen?..."

'This sparkly manling speaks too much.'

'Tell me about it, also you can feel the sparkles too? I thought it was only me.'

"...Your surname, Draigkyn sounds so cool. What is that brooch? Your cloak is shifting colours, how does it do that?"

He was gasping by the end of the rapid barrage. Beorn answered him before he could manage to regain his breath.

"The Wolvenrych isn't that dangerous if you pay attention and keep your wits about you. I haven't hunted anything more monstrous than a large bear. A ranger's life is pretty boring. We mostly patrol the nearby forest for any sign of beasts and take up contracts to hunt down anything terrorizing the people. The brooch is my family's sigil. And the cloak has a weak illusory enchantment on it to help me hide in the forest."

Heading him off before any more questions, Beorn asked, "What about you Ragnar, you look even younger than me. How are you in the guard?"

Ragnar puffed his chest as he answered, "I'll turn fifteen next year! I'm a squire. My aunt put me in the guard to gain some experience. The Captain also is very pleased with me that's why he sent me to guide you!"

Ragnar hopped slightly, "That right I nearly forgot. We need to go meet Captain Torsten. He told me to bring you right away."

Ragnar took Tyvjyo’s reins and led him from beside Beorn.

As Beorn and his guide made their way through the snarling maze that made up Outer Ingoldtshold, Ragnar introduced the city.

"We're in the Outer areas now. Normally it isn't this busy but the situation with Ixilan… the guards are stretched thin trying to keep the peace."

They turned right at a cross-road, following the curve of the wall. Beorn noticed the roads were kept clear despite the overcrowding at the side of it. Many slept in makeshift beds and shelters made from tarps lashed over wagons. There was a small queue of people heading into a darkened alleyway, Ragnar led him into it.

"Here's the temple to Ereshkigal, hello Father."

A blindfolded priest in black robes stood in front of a small shrine with a Raven statue. He raised a hand in greeting towards Ragnar before resuming his handing out of rations to the people.

After a few kilometers, the streets widened up. The surroundings became a lot cleaner and so did the people. The houses were bigger and small shops started appearing. As they neared the Inner wall, the duo came upon a wide circular courtyard.

"The temple of Prosperia. They have a bigger one in the Inner city but the sisters come here every day to offer charity."

A much bigger temple than the one Beorn had seen earlier bordered a quarter of the courtyard. The carved marble columns gleamed in the afternoon sun supporting tiles with frescoes of the forms of the goddess, the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone and scenes of spring.

A statue of a mighty stag with a crown of leaves and a fountain gushing from its base was situated in the center. The droplets dispersed by the splashing water misted in the cold, but it was curiously warm near the statue itself. Beorn felt nostalgic when gazing upon it.

'The aura feels similar to the one after your encounter with faerie.'

'Huh, are you sure Wilhelmina?'

'Of course, I am sure. Are you questioning this princess's perception?'

'Alright, if you say so. Maybe there are some faerie hanging about here. Wouldn't be too strange near a temple to Prosperia."

Novices in brown dresses were distributing food amongst the crowd that had gathered before their temple. A few with white armbands were examining the injuries. They applied salves, bandaged wounds, and comforted even the meanest beggar that came for their aid.

Beorn patted Ragnar's shoulder, "I'll be a moment."

He stepped up to the fountain, dug around in his cloak, and tossed in a silver piece. He clasped his hands in prayer.

Beorn opened his eyes to see one of the sister's next to his arm. She was a beautiful woman just slightly shorter than Beorn. The brown habit she wore gave her an aura of purity and tranquility. She bowed slightly, "Thank you for your generosity, stranger. May Prosperia bless your journey. "

She looked up and scrutinized Beorn's face curiously. Beorn was just about to ask her what she was looking at when Ragnar started fidgeting. As he came closer Beorn, noticed a slight tinge to his cheeks. He smiled even wider at the sister as he introduced Beorn, "Sister Tilda, this is Beorn. He's a ranger from Banehallow! Sir Beorn, this is Sister Tilda. She's in charge of all the sisters of Prosperia in this temple."

She slowly moved her gaze from Beorn's face and smiled warmly at Ragnar. "Thank you for introducing us, Ragnar. Good to see you too. How is your training going?"

"It's going well, Sister. Aunt says I can be knighted in a couple of years at this rate. She says I'll be the youngest knight in the last fifty years."

Sister Tilda patted Ragnar's head as she praised him, "Good job! Don't overdo it though. Give your aunt my greetings."

She turned towards Beorn, "Please excuse me, Sir Ranger, I have chores to attend. You are always welcome here." She waved to Ragnar before turning towards the temple, "See you, Ragnar."

"See you, Sister."

Ragnar looked at the sky, before tugging on Tyvjyo's reins and walking a bit faster, "Come on, Sir Beorn. We need to hurry"