The night in the woods had been spent around a muted campfire and the following morning they emerged to view the splendor of the port city, Juscalius. The stretch of coast the city occupied was shining resplendently in the morning sun. A wall, easily a hundred feet high, of polished onyx closed off the landward side of the city. Turrets were spread out at periodic intervals along the wall each one a stark white beacon that stood out against the black. Beyond the wall, stretched a city of white. The structures, towers, and castles were built from marble making the city shine like a beacon against the sea.

“It’s so the city can be seen from a distance at sea,” Roland commented. “Makes it much easier to navigate during the day and keeps the all-important harbor open.”

The harbor was packed with ships of all kinds. Colossal ships of a hybrid familiarity, somewhere between modern oil tankers and the galleon ships of old. One reminded Ian of a Chinese treasure ship from the Ming Dynasty; a floating fortress of a city all unto itself. Those were docked far out in the vast harbor leaving room for the smaller local ships which were too numerous to count.

“This city was founded by pirates and, as such, carries on many of their traditions. Be on your guard when we are inside. Do not be fooled by the veneer of pleasantries; everything in this city has a price. If you enter into a barter, even unknowingly, and can’t meet the price then you will be forced into bondage,” Pandora said as they approached the city gates. Something in her tone suggested she possessed personal knowledge on the matter. “Only the authority of the Wyrm Sea Guard is recognized within these walls. And that, like everything else, is for sale.”

As they approached Ian was able to discern more of the elaborate details of the cities hundred-foot wall. Many of the turrets had cannons packed in around their battlements. So many that even some of the window slits had cannons peeking out. Inside the defensive spires and along the wall men dressed in dark blue uniforms marched on patrol. The Wyrm Sea Guard.

Ian pulled his attention away as they joined the throngs of travelers on the main road. Swept up in the tide of Paragorians they soon reached the gate. The guards waved the masses through with only cursory glances into carts and packs. Weapons, food, goods, all were waved through with impatient gestures or sharp words. Every so often a guard reached into a pack and took food or an object that caught their eyes. No one seemed upset by the action; it was a quick demonstration of how the law worked in this city.

“Many merchants here leave items in plain sight for the Wyrm Guard to take. It is a not so subtle bribe and a way to ensure that a closer look isn’t given to their wares,” Pandora quietly informed Ian. He merely grunted in response. Corruption was no stranger to a man who’d grown up in D.C.

Ian’s group passed into the city with ease. No one so much as batted an eye at them, even with Mal completely loose despite most animals in the city being caged or saddled. The city was laid out very differently than the orderly roads of Raxal. A spider’s web of lanes and avenues that had grown too quickly and become a tangled mess lay beyond the gate. Streets stopped at building fronts, took sharp turns with no warning, or ended in cul-de-sacs with no way out but back. Rather than carriages people were riding horses, jungle cats that matched the horses in size, or bulky horned beasts that let out angry groans when anyone got too near. Everything felt cramped and personal space was nonexistent as they moved into the city proper.

A bell chime pealed through the city and the crowd thickened. The sheer number of sailors and passengers heading to their ships before they cast off without them created a rush hour in the maze of streets. Others still were coming in from the harbor to peddle their wares in the markets. Traffic jams formed quickly followed by angry shouts and then brawls. It was chaotic, hectic, and reminded Ian of downtown D.C. once five o’clock rolled around.

Beggars crowded the alleyways and gutters. Those foolish enough to be knocked out cold in their petty fights were descended upon like the prey of locusts. The beggars left nothing behind but a naked body. Ian forced himself to keep his jaw clenched and walk on. He could see the same tightening of the jaw in Ban and Vale as they strode past. It comforted him to know he wasn’t the only one with a moral compass.

“If he has rot-gut then I’m the Queen of Bastion,” Pandora said with a snort as they passed a horribly foul-smelling man. He was spouting off a tale of disease and misfortune.

Ian noticed the lack of humans, or at least the lack of their dominant presence, as they all muscled through the crowded streets. This city was unlike Raxal or Landorei in that no one race could call it home. Port cities on Earth often had mixed populations especially when the English Empire ruled the world. He reasoned it was the same premise.

“It’s the trade,” Roland chimed in, “This city was unlike any other even before the Eternal Accords. Every race comes here to hawk their wares, show off exotic foods, weapons, people. The lax laws made it all possible. If you could pay for it, then you could do it or have it. Same holds true today.” Roland had been endlessly spouting out facts to no one in particular since they’d arrived. Though it annoyed everyone but Ian, it gave the mage a way to calm his mind and keep his focus off his aching head.

The Transmission Spring was guarded by the usual ring of armor-clad figures all wearing the emblem of the Order of Brass. Nothing strange there. What was in disarray, however, was the area around the Spring. From his vantage point Ian could make out a sparkling fountain and at its center a colossal statue of a hydra. Its eight serpentine necks twisted and warped to create a nonsense pattern but each head was facing a cardinal direction or an intermediate one. At least it should’ve, but someone or something had cracked the statue’s base setting the whole thing on a tilt. A silvery liquid, flowing from the hydra’s mouths, was spilling everywhere. There were men, gnomes, dwarves, and several other species running around in a panic their light purple robes with black trim marking them as members of Arcanum Adjustment Guild. They rushed around the space trying to collect the liquid in huge vats.

Ban gently elbowed Vale and jerked his head towards an obscured alleyway. The others followed along. The alley emptied into a narrow square with a few shops and one busy restaurant. A wooden plaque hung above the door read Kraken Roost, and it sported a shakily painted sea monster with tentacles and feathers across the background. Ban headed towards the restaurant.

“In all my years I never expected to see a Spring damaged to the point that it had to be closed. Since we didn’t show up yesterday, they must’ve broken the Spring to pin us here. We need an alternative. Let’s fill our bellies while we figure out our next move," Ban said as he broke through the crowd and pushed the door open.

The restaurant was filled with sailors and merchants some of them discussing business, others making shady deals beneath their tables. A hostess led the group to a table in the back. The deeper they ventured the more they were enveloped by the deafening, boisterous conversations. Fights broke out before they were even seated and another two afterward. It was the perfect place to go unnoticed.

Ian loosened the catch on his holster.

When the hostess had left them at their table, a live band with dancing girls up started up a rowdy song on a cramped stage, adding to the symphony of chaos. No one had stopped Mal from joining them either which made Ian question the quality of the food he was about to ingest. Mal circled the table trying, and failing, to squeeze underneath it. He settled for sitting directly behind Vale as her silent sentinel. His snout peeking over her right shoulder as he overlooked the front entrance.

Ian did his best not to stare at the tan-skinned dancing woman who was doing everything in her considerable power to capture the attention of the room. Curvy hip sways and the suggestive motions did not make it easy for him to keep his focus. He used the menu as a welcome diversion opting to try something that he hoped was similar to a burger; a Belbatha grilled sandwich.

“Why are you still here, Pandora?” Roland blurted out once they had ordered. His violet eyes focusing on her as though he’d only now remembered her existence. Which, in his state might very well be true.

“Why are you trying to shoo away anyone when you are so clearly in need of help?” Pandora responded letting out a terse huff. “Besides, I may be a skilled healer but I can’t do much in the way of offensive magic. If golems and fanatics are going to be running around blowing things up, I’ll take my chances with a group of fighters whose competence has been proven.”

Roland’s head lolled over listlessly toward Ban and Vale silently urging them to deal with Pandora because he didn’t have the patience for it.

The minotaur looked down and flexed his expertly mended arm then shrugged.

Vale kept her emerald eyes on Pandora taking in every detail of the woman’s facial features and ticks. “She could have given us up to the Wurm Guard the moment we got here. And it is likely the Court will now be targeting her. So the safest thing for all of us would be to stay together," Vale said, letting the others in on her thought process.

Roland let out an exasperated sigh but allowed the matter to drop, for now. He turned his attention instead to pilfering a half-finished ale from the table behind them.

“With the Spring busted, what do we do?” Ian asked, changing the subject to the more pressing issue. “We can’t sit around here waiting; should we book passage on a ship? Or maybe we can get one of those magic carpets to take us?”

They all pondered that very important issue while their food was delivered. Ian’s sandwich was indeed similar to a burger with freshly baked slices of crusted bread, the smell of a delicious brisket, and a flame-kissed slab of fall-apart tender red meat. A crunchy orange slice of vegetable and a lavishly creamy sauce complimented it perfectly. The quality of the food in Paragore was a sorely needed consolation to Ian lightening his mood and restoring perspective.

“Good suggestions, Ian, but there are two problems with travel by sea,” Ban said breaking the silence, while reaching for a bottle of red sauce and dumping most of the contents over his fried potato-ish dish, “First, if our enemy discovered us on a ship, we would have nowhere to run. Second, we are a great distance from Landorei weeks by boat and overland travel.”

“As for your carpet idea, it’s much the same,” Roland chimed in around a mouthful of food. “Outside of cites the carriage drivers and carpet masters have to use their own power. It’s not easy to find a mage powerful enough to use the carpet for more than half a day. And as incredible as I am, I don’t have a carpet. And we don’t have the funds to procure one. Unless you know a professional Carpet Racer…”

“No Roland! We are not hiring a Carpet Racer. And you know that after the fiasco at the Gnomish Rainbow Circuit I would not allow you to drive one. Ever,” Ban said with a shudder at the memory.

“In that case, perhaps we can hire a transport mage in the city?” Vale cut in. “One that at least can get us closer to Landorei," She gave Mal a scratch behind the ear glancing between the two mages.

“There are probably forty mages versed in transport magics on all of Paragore,” Roland piped up seeing Vale’s lingering gaze. “Fortunately, I am one and know the spell. But I don’t have the components for it. While I agree with the idea, we need the shell of a Parrosean Roc egg.”

“Fine, but if we can’t get the ingredient then we can head to the Salted Desert and travel by sand ray form there. A ray could get us to Landorei in a few days time,” Ban said turning his horned head towards Roland, “It’ll be less conspicuous if only you and I go and haggle for the materials. Though my funds are rather low… you?”

“Don’t look at me, you’ve seen how I live. Valethalassa?” Roland asked with an optimistic tone. He took a long drink from a bottle of liquor that he’d pulled from his sleeve then used the rest to fill his flask. He poured and poured yet through magical or other means the flask never overflowed.

“Where-?” Ian cut himself off, not wanting to know where, or how, Roland had acquired the bottle.

“I’ve got some money left though my coin funds are drying up,” Vale said pulling her money pouch from her belt and sliding it over to Ban, “I wouldn’t want to risk using my exchange crystal when they’re already looking for us.” She completed the circle of collection by turning to Pandora.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me! I told you I didn’t even have time to collect my money from the lock-drawer before we left,” She hissed directing her gaze at Roland as the focus of her ire.

“You wanted to help. This is the only way forward,” Roland said, oozing a nonchalant attitude but his voice dripped with venom. “Besides, lies do not become a woman of your intelligence.”

She glared at him while slipping a hand inside her robe. She withdrew a well-worn fat money pouch tossing it next to Vale’s on the table. “I’m going to add that to your bill," She said, then went back to her salad stabbing with more strength than was required for a simple piece of greenery.

“Thank you,” Ban said, collecting up the pouches without opening them since there was nothing to be done regardless of the amount. “Now we must assume we are being watched. Though no one came in after us I am sure agents of the Court are about. Let us be quick and careful.”

They finished their meal while finalizing plans. They were to meet at Pandora’s friend’s shop called Vin’s Verdures once the eggshell was procured. Vale, Pandora, Mal, and Ian would head there after leaving the restaurant.

Before they left Roland topped off his flask even further with some sleight of hand. He was slipping through the bar nonchalantly pausing next to vacated tables and emptying half-finished drinks into the flask with practiced skill. Ian raised a questioning eyebrow at the mage while he waited by the door. Roland shrugged in response.