Truss Harton removed the spectacles from his face and wiped his sweaty brow. Not for the first time today—and certainly not for the last—he pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed at the glass lenses. It was a hot day in the Vynte Free Cities, and Dralif Cor in particular was as warm and humid as Elyran’s blazing pits.

“Who wants drinks?” asked his sister. Tress was older than Truss, though only by a few minutes. Her golden hair matched his own both in color and in length, as both kept it short and just above their ears. Her eyes, however, were darker than his own—a chocolatey brown rather than his deep blue.

“I could do with something cold,” Truss admitted. He replaced his spectacles and frowned. The glass was still blurry. He removed them once more and resumed cleaning.

“Something strong for me,” muttered the third woman in their party, a woman who called herself Seahawk.

It was a false name, of course, and obviously so. But Truss knew better than to pry. People entered the adventuring profession for all sorts of reasons, but the most common by far was that they were running from something in their past. Judging by the jagged scar that ran down Seahawk’s face, warping her mouth into a permanent grimace, she must have had something very painful to run from indeed.

But regardless of her mysterious circumstance, the woman more than pulled her weight. Her skill with Water Magic alone had saved them multiple times. If she wanted to call herself “Seahawk” and go around pretending like that was her birthname, then Truss was more than happy to oblige her.

“Strong and cold,” said Tress, nodding. “Alright then. How about the Goat’s Hoof?”

“You always want to go to the Goat’s Hoof,” Truss pointed out.

“Yeah, because it’s the best damn tavern in the city!” Tress declared. “Maybe even the best tavern in the Southern Cities.”

“And you will spend too much coin there,” said Seahawk. “You always do.”

Tress shrugged. “We just got paaaaaaid,” she sang. “A job well done! We deserve a little celebration, don’t you think?”

Truss sighed. It was, he had learned over a lifetime, a fool’s errand to try and dissuade his sister from anything once she’d set her heart on it. “Fine,” he told her. “But I am keeping track of our finances. Not you. Understand?”

His sister pouted her lip. “You’re no fun.”

He is responsible,” said Seahawk. “You should try it some time.”

“Hm…” Tress tapped her finger to her chin and looked up to the sky, as though she were giving Seahawk’s suggestion some serious thought. “Nah. I don’t think I will.”

With another sigh, Truss followed his sister down the busy and bustling streets of Dralif Cor. The city had originally started as a simple goblin encampment; one that had become a permanent settlement once the clan opened up trade relations with nearby towns and cities. An early alliance with the orcs of Amren-Dar had ensured their safety, and soon the settlement had grown into a center of trade in Southern Vynte.

Over the centuries, Dralif Cor had grown from encampment to village, from village to town, and from town to city. But the shapes and styles of the goblins’ original tents had been preserved in the architecture. The roofs of the buildings were sloping and sweeping, comprised of triangular structures arranged along diagonal beams, capped off with spikes on the corners and poles where the points met. Some buildings were all roof, while others had round, circular structures beneath them. Regardless, the buildings were arranged in tight clusters, with the entrances often located away from the street and facing one another.

The street itself was an intricate mosaic. Flat stones of every shape and size and color all fit together perfectly. The make-up of the streets combined with the clusters of tent-like buildings gave Dralif Cor a sort of jagged, haphazard look that nonetheless managed to come together in a cohesive whole.

As they walked, the trio passed by multiple diverse groups who had come to the city as traders or adventurers or simply immigrants. There was a gaggle of elves. There walked a pair of dwarves; their faces and hands blackened with ash from a forge. But Dralif Cor was, first and foremost, a city of goblins, and the small creatures were everywhere.

A pair of goblin barghest riders passed them, turning at an intersection to head toward the city’s center. Both goblins had squat faces and dark eyes that seemed almost too large for their heads. One had grey-green skin, while the other was the color of tanned leather. They wore helmets and iron armor and carried spears that were pointed toward the heavens. The black hounds they rode cast their blazing red eyes over the crowd this way and that, searching for anyone who might cause problems, their tongues hanging from their toothy mouths as they panted with hunger.

Truss had to suppress a shudder as the scarlet gaze of one of the barghest lingered on him for a moment. The creature soon determined that the adventurer was not a threat to the city’s peace, and it turned its attention elsewhere. But that didn’t make being the beast’s focus, even for a few seconds, any more pleasant a feeling.

He relaxed once the barghest and their riders were out of sight.

“I feel sorry for anyone who decided to cause a disturbance near those things,” Tress noted.

“Don’t,” said Seahawk. “Criminals get what they deserve.”

An image of a barghest tearing into someone, rending the unlucky fool’s flesh with its fangs and its claws, splattering blood all over the street, came to Truss’ mind. “I’m not sure anyone deserves that,” he muttered, too low for his sister or their companion to hear.

At last they arrived at the Goat’s Hoof, a tavern that catered specifically to adventurers and other travelers. Unlike most of the buildings in Dralif Cor, the Goat’s Hoof had been built in the style of human architecture, and was designed to resemble a large red barn. This made it a rare Dralif Cor building that Truss didn’t have to stoop to enter.

“Vek!” Tress exclaimed, holding her arms out toward the barkeep as if she were about to hug him. She of course did no such thing. The lizardman notoriously did not like to be touched by anyone. “Good to see you! It’s been too long!”

The lizardman’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. It was, Truss knew, the lizardfolk version of a smile. “Tressss,” he said. “Finally back from your job? Sssit down and relaxxsss.”

“That is precisely what I intend to do, my good man!” Tress planted herself at the bar and slapped a pair of coins onto the counter. “Beer me!”

Truss shook his head and looked around the tavern. Since it was midday, it wasn’t exactly a busy time for the business. However, there were few men and women here and there, sitting at tables and taking a load off.

He stepped forward, just in time to bump into someone smaller than him. “Oh, excuse me,” he apologized.

“No, it’s my fault, lad. Didn’t look where I was goin’.”

Truss blinked. He recognized that gruff voice.

Looking down, he asked: “Garban?”

The dwarf looked back up at him and grinned beneath his dark beard. “Well, well, well! Truss! Fancy meeting you here!”