“The people of Cardona are an interesting lot. They’re fiercely independent, or at least claim to be, but at the same time require indentured and Bound labor from the West, tradesfolk and skilled labor from the East, many essential goods from overseas, and are in general a hub of intercontinental trade. All the same, they cling fiercely to their cultural identity as the home of rulers, great conquerors, and the most determined stock ever found on Esun. Most of that is all tomfoolery and ego-stroking, but every bit of propaganda has some kind of kernel of useful information hidden deep within. In the case of all the grandstanding, something much more sinister is communicated: Cardonans know they used to rule the world, and very much want to once again.”

Sola Toven, a scholar of urban culture and metropolitan research

The quartet entered the Heart of Esultare without much problem, despite everything. They found themselves surrounded on all sides by wooden and stone buildings, some three or four stories tall, though most just one. They were immediately swarmed by hawkers, peddlers, thieves, con men, guides for hire, employment scouts from the Guilds, and all sorts else. At the edge of things, in the dark alleys, the group noticed shambling and misbegotten folk, gaunt and with a certain downtrodden empty quality to their sight. The homeless, the forgotten, the mistreated of society.

Yet even in the outermost portion of the city, where it could be expected to be a hub of grime and poverty, such as these things were, things seemed brighter, grander, and wealthier than any place any of them, save perhaps Greg, had ever been. Helena very carefully guided the cart through the crowds and down the wide main thoroughfare, which was lined by stalls manned by all manner of merchants trying to grab your attention and earn some coin. The group was bedazzled, especially Helena, who’d never been further east than the western edge of Lakeside before this grand adventure.

“The first order of business is finding ourselves a place to stay!” Bim said, having to yell to be heard over the ambient noise of the crowd.

“But where do we go? We don’t have much money at all!” Helena answered in a similar volume, with a hint of worry on her face.

“I think I know a man who used to sell his wares in the Outer Market here when the 5th Battalion was stationed in the area all that time ago! I don’t know if he still does; we haven’t been in contact in years. His name’s O’Brian; I can ask around for him if you all don’t think it’ll draw too much attention!” Zara’s voice carried a lot easier than Bim’s or Helena’s, booming like a drum.

They found a place off the main road to leave the wagon while they searched through the busy main street on foot. “I’ll stay with the cart and make sure it isn’t nabbed while you’re gone.” Helena volunteered.

Bim gave his thanks. “Alright, everyone. The three of us are going to head out among the Market, and try to be surreptitious about it, but we’ll looking for one Steven O’Brian, Zara says. I’ll go with Zara, and Greg, you’ll be on your own. Are you alright with that?”

Greg nodded amiably. “I can handle myself. I might be from the country, but I know a thing or two about how to keep my ground in the big city.”

Bim was satisfied. “Alright, then, we’ll meet back at the wagon in two hours’ time. If you get any word on the merchant, pursue it. He’s our only real contact here.”

Zara and Bim waded through the crowds, pushing past people of all shapes and sizes, all origins and faiths. After around ninety minutes of searching and asking around here and there, they found there target: a portly man, perhaps five foot, two inches tall, in his late forties or early fifties. The ever-smiling man had a huge chestnut-colored mustache and bright little emerald eyes, with bronze-rimmed spectacles perched upon his nose.

He was just finishing showing off some of his wares, which appeared to be soaps, lotions, creams, and other beauty and cleanliness products, when he turned and spotted the pair, specifically focusing on Zara. His gleaming smile stretching even wider, the small man trotted out from behind his stall and spread his arms. “Give an old friend a hug, Lieutenant Zar! What’s it been, twelve, fifteen years? By the Archons, I was just thinking of you the other day, wondering how you were getting on in that awful damp prison of a fortress. But I see you’ve come out of it a stronger woman, if those muscles are anything to go by--” He cocked his head, squinting up at her. “-- My eyes simply must be deceiving me. Have you grown during our time apart?” Zara nodded silently in answer, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards, and O’Brian chortled gleefully and clapped his hands together. “Well, you simply must tell me everything that has gone in your life this last decade and a half. We’ll have tea just later this afternoon. But I must know: why are you in the city now? I thought you said you planned on never returning, after the Great Kerfuffle with Brosian being deposed and all.” His smile faded then, and his hands fidgeted with his vest buttons. “A dreadful business, that. But let’s put it all behind us. You simply must explain it all…” He muttered to himself, and went off puttering over to the stall.

“You don’t seem to have changed one bit.” Zara said, seeming heartened. She motioned to Bim. “Let me introduce my great friend, ah… Jim. We’re with a couple of others in town, and actually, we were looking for a place to stay for a while that’s cheap. You know how housing is around here.”

O’Brian stuck out a hand, shaking Bim’s vigorously. “Happy to meet you, I’m Steven O’Brian, an old pal of Zar’s. I know just the place to put your group up. The Wailing Wight.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eye.

Zara seemed skeptical. “That dump? I suppose it is just the sort of thing we can afford. How many open rooms do they have?”

“Nine of the ten, as ever. That strange eyeless codger’s still cooped up in the tenth room after all these years. I figure he hasn’t gotten any less sane with time.” He clapped Bim on the shoulder. “And don’t worry, lad, the place isn’t actually haunted. Though Ole Fren, the place’s owner, will try so desperately to convince you otherwise. Now, about that tea--”

And like that, they had secured accommodations and were ready to start planning the first proper step of their Master Plan.