"I'll return before dusk, Milina."

Zane gave her a subdued peck on the cheek. The door to their townhouse closed behind him, his back turned to the apprehensive gaze that followed him out.

What greeted his egress was the southern residential district of Narwell, a city that, over the years, nurtured a certain fondness in his heart. But today, he couldn't help but notice how the grays of the scene stood out so morbidly, and how the monochrome of the buildings around him weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

In this area of the city, townhouses of varying heights and occupancy lined the left and right-hand sides of the cobbled street. Above, pulled taught between the buildings' windows, was a veritable cobweb of laundry lines, with their linen catches dangling from them. Women, to whom these lines belonged, stoically heaved on the lines to retrieve their haul. While they did so, their children played in the street below, perpetuating their mothers' neverending labor in their own amusement.

The southern residential district was commonly known as the slums of the city, although this designation stood as a tragic misnomer. Narwell boasted the lion's share of commerce throughout the continent of Keldor, and it couldn't be said to have any homeless, let alone beggars. Instead, there was a different set of classes to its caste: those in the good graces of the merchant's guild, and those that were not. As for the two classes, it was merely a difference between the extremely well-off, and those of the middle class or non-mercantilists and artisans who didn't much care for the niceties promised by the guild's compromising contracts. Where Zane and his wife lived just so happened to be a lowly valued zone within the district that housed many of the residents described by the latter of the aforementioned caste system.

Despite the alleged governorship of a local lord, his authority never seemed to leave the comfort of his own mansion to affect the populace. The noble family's indolence, as a result, shifted the power over to the merchant's guild. From the citizens' and seamens' perspectives, the guild's rise to power couldn't have come sooner, as it brought the prosperity the city now enjoyed.

As for Narwell's layout, from above it resembled the Greater Narwell Crab, its namesake. To the north and south side were the pincers of the city, a wide stone road capable of sustaining traffic four carriages wide, with ample room to spare for footsloggers along its fringes.

Branching from this main thoroughfare to the east was the head of the city, the Merchants District. The adventurer's and merchant's guild, naval offices, and other sundry services and governmental buildings resided here, and for good reason. The district abutted the shoreline of the Minor Silian Bay, where the city's wharf operated. It's commonly said among the seamen that frequent the city's taverns that there was no place on the continent that more gold traded hands than in the Merchants District. Although not all the tales they spewed were to be taken at face value, not if a passing stranger were to keep their pockets full, they weren't entirely mistaken in this sentiment. Narwell was, indeed, a prosperous city.

A briny breeze tickled the insides of Zane's nose as he wound his way through the city's main thoroughfare. It seemed that with every step, the smell and buzz of activity grew. Street vendors selling their wares, seamen galavanting about on shore leave, and brokers and storekeepers advertising their services filled the streets. In his younger days, these sights were Zane's treasure, even when gold could not. After all, it was here that he met Melina.

"Hoi, Zane!"

His attention was arrested by the hearty cry of one of the street vendors who caught sight of him, "Is it you, Darin?"

"It is, it is m'lad."

The man in question bore a striking resemblance to a barrel in stature. His torso was wide, and shoulders also. A ponderous belly wobbled underneath a grease-stained jacket and brown tunic that had certainly seen better days, and atop his head sat a woolen cap in like manner. His eyes held a cheery gleam, despite their beady appearance, "I've got a fresh batch of cakes if you'd care to sample em."

The smell of shellfish emanated from the cart Darin watched over. On it, was a burner lit by a bright green flame, which heated a large fryer above, filled with oil and the aforementioned cake batter.

"I thought it wasn't the season for Narwells?"

"Aye, it isn't. But lately, hauls are bringin' them in. as though the shelled beasties have forgotten their proper time. And they're bringing more and more in at that. Strange it is, but I ain't complainin'!" The burly Darin shrugged, then grinned widely while thrusting one of the city's delicacies in Zane's direction, "Take it, it's on the house. These days, the flavor's dulled the customer's taste, not too many bites anymore you see."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

Zane juggled the hot crab fritter about in its palm leaf wrapping while watching the stream of traffic from their roadside vantage point. Little by little, the color seemed to be seeping back into the cityscape, but he knew it would be some time until it came back fully.

"It's busy today. I don't remember a day so lively like this before."

His companion cast a puzzled look at him, "Did you not hear? The Empire's third prince is going the pay us a little visit."

"Oh? That explains it then."

"Aye. I hear he's quite something. Not even my own son's age when he ended the war."

"Did you hear what he was coming for?"

"Something about expanding the port, though why I can't fathom. The way I see it, things are going smoothly as they are."

Zane nodded, while he stared pensively at the half-eaten crab cake in his hands.

"What's ailing you, lad? You don't seem yourself." Darin asked.

"Ah, it's nothing."

He turned his face away from Darin's probing stare, "I should be going. There's an appointment I need to attend to. Let's meet again, friend."

"Aye, let's."

Darin's wave shrunk in the distance as Zane continued onward toward the Merchant's District. Ahead was the central plaza, where the way to the head and the rest of the city met. It was here, that the heart of Narwell pulsed with vibrancy unrivaled in the continent of Keldor.

A large crowd flocked near the north-eastern corner of the square. Curious, but unwilling to sacrifice any more time merely on an impulse, Zane veered course behind the onlookers, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the spectacle in passing. Between the swaying heads, he saw a group of performers, all of exotic origin. A lizardman, who pressed an intense assault on a leathern drum, lead the rhythm of an elf's lute, and a human's... in all honesty, it was hard for Zane to even describe. The oddity had so many cranks and keys that it was difficult to distinguish what was instrument from clockwork. Nonetheless, the man that wielded the infernal contraption operated it with incredible skill, unyielding to the lizardman's frantic tempo.

The motley crew was as diverse as their music. Unconsciously, Zane walked to their rhythm. It was difficult to focus his eyes ahead of him, for when he did, they would drift back to their performance.

A mere two years ago, this unlikely troupe wouldn't have existed. The continent of Keldor was never as peaceful as it was now. For centuries, The Humans, Demihumans, and Inhumans, the three nations of power, were locked in mortal combat. Only recently, with the immense knowledge and diplomatic prowess of the third Prince of the Human race and third heir to the throne of the Thessolian Empire, brought the war's decades-long deadlock to an end. It was unheard of for a prince, let alone one as young as he, to handle the matter as he did. For this reason, the Third Prince was held in high regard, not only among the humans but the many races of the other nations as well. Whether it was this universal respect for the prince that these three could meet, or some other whim of fate that brought them together, Zane couldn't decide. Regardless, it was a sight to cry tears of joy for.

Tearing his gaze from the performers, Zane turned east, toward the Merchant's district. After some minutes, his destination came into view.

"Lorel's Brokerage for Mercantilists and Seafarers."

The wooden sign attached to the front of the building from arched supports dangled above his head. Normally, like the other services adjacent to this structure, a supplementary symbol or illustration universally understood among the illiterate of the city would hang alongside the lettering. However, Lorel thought them meaningless, as Zane knew. If clients couldn't read, then by extension, the possibility that they would understand what a brokerage was, let alone the borrowing process in general, was slim.

Zane entered the building and met with the clerk at the establishment's counter. The clerk feigned indifference at his arrival. Offering only a cursory glance at his person, she returned her gaze back at the hefty ledger opened on the countertop, a tightly bound ginger bun topped her fair, bespectacled complexion.

"Er... is Lorel in today?"

"He is."

"Would it be an inconvenience if I could meet with him? My name is Zane Delark, I'm something of an acquaintance."

"Acquaintance?" She snorted, "Master Lorel is currently engaged in a meeting with several of his clients. As an acquaintance, you may wait for him over there."

She pointed toward a cramped-looking lounge to his left.

"Ah, right."

Zane took a seat in one of the equally cramped-looking chairs placed in the room. An inexplicable sense of defeat reddened his face a little.

"Perhaps that clerk was new..." He thought.

Half an hour had passed. Now, the bespectacled clerk scratched at the ledger with a white quill. Every minute, a page turned. It was rhythmically torturous, devilish even, exacerbated by the time that slowly ticked by. Unsurprisingly, this went unnoticed by the torturess, her entire being absorbed in the inked pages before her.

The painful wait ended roughly ten minutes later when the sound of a number of male voices echoed down the hall adjacent to the counter.

"I tell you, the idea isn't outlandish at all!"

"No matter what you say, I will not back a venture with risk of that caliber."

"You reject the offer merely because of a little risk? Have you not been weaned from your mother's tits, Lorel?"

"I prefer to regard my caution as a sign of maturity, Master Bagir. Now, do have a good day, all of you."

Three well-to-do men exited the building in an indignant huff, followed by the exasperated sigh of the equally elegant figure of the one that saw them out.

"Einese, see to it the men know their faces. I don't wish to bandy words with them any more than what I had to endure today."

"As you wish, Master Lorel."

Lorel began to return to his office. He paused momentarily after spotting Zane's hunched form in the cramped chair at the furthest corner of the cramped waiting room.

"And what brings you here, Zane?"