Chapter 40

Walking down the narrow gangplank, following closely behind Edvard and Quentin, Wil was struck by how busy and exotic the port was. People were crowded everywhere!

Pausing on the dock, he took in his surroundings, his first sight of so many different people in one area. If this was even a small part of the bustle that Aachen experienced before its fall, he could see why its loss was such a terrible blow to the Illyrian Empire.

From where he stood, the dock was filled with ships, all loading or unloading goods, with crews working frantically to complete their tasks. But what struck him the most wasn’t the goods, or the noise, or even the sheer amount of people around him, it was the myriad of races and cultures that were all in this single place.

To his left, right next to the Drake, a mechanical steamship was docking. Rather than the traditional sails or oars, this vessel had large, metal stacks reaching towards the sky, white steam, and grey smoke billowing from them. The ship was a combination of wood and brass, shining steel and dark iron, and in the rear, a massive waterwheel propelled it forward.

As amazing the ship was, it was the crew that shocked him the most. Crewed by short, grey skinned Gnomes, dressed in garishly bright clothing, the small humanoids scrambled around the ship. They were practically buzzing with energy as their vessel pulled in next to the Drake.

Mouth agape as he stared, Wil forced his eyes away from their ship, before he rushed to follow his companions, all who were equally stunned by the sights before him.

The Foreigner’s Port, for an exotic location with people from all over the world, was surprisingly simple. Straight, main thoroughfares, filled to the brim with taverns, inns, and shops, had signs in a myriad of languages, all directing visitors to different areas of the bustling harbor.

The paved streets were wide, and the directions easy to navigate. If it wasn’t for the people, traveling through the Foreigner’s Port would be a simple endeavor. When adding the mass of people, the comings and goings of carts and wagons, it became a chaotic mess.

Wil dodged around a group of large, scowling Beastkin, all taller and wider than even Garman, and sporting a variety of animal features. Some looked like humans, but with fox ears, or wolf tails. Several looked as if an animal’s head were placed directly on a human’s body!

Their leader was a tall, muscular man with an ox snout and large horns protruding from his forehead.

Sidestepping around their group to avoid a collision with the Beast People, Wil almost tripped over another group of Dwarves, the short, bearded men stomping their way down the road, shouting at each other to be heard over the din.

Dressed in heavy armor, with axes strapped to hips or backs, the Dwarves looked as if they were prepared for a brawl, as they were followed closely by a cart filled with casks of ale and liquors, from the smell of alcohol that permeated the air.

Shaking his head in amazement at meeting races he had only read about in books, Wil quickly caught up with his companions. In the time he spent on the Drake since Miquelon, his injuries had fully recovered. His body regained its former strength, and he was no longer out of breath as he walked the short distance to the Trade Office that the captain was leading them to.

Standing outside, Quentin’s group paused to watch the line as it stretched out of the Trade Registration Office and down the block. Not having a choice, Edvard led them to the end of the line. No ship business could be conducted until they checked in and paid the myriad of fees required to dock and trade here.

“Alright, Edvard is going to get us settled with the authorities. While he does, we can split up and explore. I don’t want any of you causing trouble!” Quentin said, spinning to look at Garman and Bell, who had the insight to at least look a little guilty at the accusation.

Wil was constantly amazed how the short, blond woman could pin the two down with nothing but a single look.

“Nothing to worry about, Miss. Wil’s the troublemaker here.” Bell said, grinning as he started to walk away towards the nearest tavern, Garman following closely on his heels. Opening his mouth to argue, Wil gave it up as a lost cause and shut it again.

“Wil, come with me. We need to get you ready to join the Adventurer’s guild.” Quentin said, grabbing onto his arm as she began to lead him away. Mara and Martin, not having anything better to do, tagged along.

“About the Guild, what am I in for? I get the impression it’s a bit more than signing a form and wearing a membership badge.” Wil asked, as the four of them walked down the busy streets, Quentin keeping an eye on the signage lining the road.

“I’m not entirely sure, I know it’s a test of some sort, proving your worth, that sort of thing.” She said, distractedly as she led them through the streets.

“You can count on a big part of it being combat, Wil.” Mara spoke up, her head constantly swiveling as she took in the sights. The young woman hadn’t seen anything like this before. Her travels with Bell had taken them to the capital, and a lot of places in Illyria, but the Port was on an entirely different level than anything she had experienced.

“And possibly knowledge, magical and mundane. I know that the auxiliaries are pretty loose on joining, but I get the impression that Lund can afford to be much choosier.” Martin added, his eyes firmly on the road ahead. It seemed that little fazed the Cleric, and the Foreigner’s Port could have been just another place on his journey.

‘Maybe apprenticing under a Bishop prepares you for this sort of thing.’ Wil mused, impressed by the young cleric’s calming presence.

“Then I’ll need supplies, and some new armor. My hand is better, so I should get a sword as well.” Wil said, thinking out loud about what he needed. His increase in Rank made his magic much more powerful than his swordsmanship, but he couldn’t help feeling defenseless with the lack of a sword on his hip, or strapped to his back.

“I’ll cover everything, Wil. We just need to find the appropriate shops.” Quentin reassured him, her eyes still tracking the shops to the sides of the road.

Shocked by her words, Wil looked at the Boss like she was losing her mind. Even Martin and Mara turned to look at her. Feeling three sets of eyes piercing into the side of her head, she finally tore her gaze away from the signage to look at them.

“What?” Quentin asked, her blue eyes showing confusion at the disbelief plastered on their faces.

“Are you feeling alright?” Wil asked, shaking his head as he reached forward and placed a hand against her forehead. He had barely felt her temperature when she slapped his hand away irritably.

“I’m fine!” She said, scowling at the trio.

“Are you sure? You just offered to pay for something, Boss.” Mara said, her words tinged with shock.

“I’m not that bad!” Quentin huffed, which caused her companions to break out in grins and laughter.

“Sure, you aren’t!” Wil reassured, putting an arm around her shoulders casually as he led her onwards.

“It’s an investment, Wil! I have a lot riding on you getting me that license. If I must spend a little coin for greater profits, than that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make!” She said, throwing off his arm and stomping away.

Smiling at each other, the trio dashed to catch up with her, before matching her pace.

Weaving in and out of crowds, they spent the next hour or so walking through the bustling Port, stopping at shops to look at the items. Unlike Illyria, the Port was flashier and more extravagant in its shopfronts.

Rather than brick and mortar, with small windows to let in the light, the stores here had wide doors, open and inviting, with large front windows that displayed select items the shop offered. Each storefront even had large signs overhead, detailing the types of goods available.

Impressed, they entered store after store, but unfortunately, because of the number of diverse clientele that frequented the Port, some stores only catered to specific types of armor or weapons, and usually they were in high demand, while supplies were short.

It was only after they entered the fourth shop, that Wil found exactly what he was looking for. On a display, a set of light, leather amour, similar to what he was used to wearing, was exhibited on a human sized mannequin.

The armor, rather than the black he wore before, was a deep, royal blue, nearly as dark as his previous amour. With brass studs, it looked perfect for his needs.

The shop manager, a plump man, local to Lund, let him try it on. The best part, it was even more enchanted than what he had purchased in Aachen, with charms and enchantments for sizing, increased durability, and protection. The light leather armor could repel attacks as well as mundane plate mail, with only a fraction of plate armors weight.

Comfortable and impressed with the quality, Wil informed the man that he would take it. But the manager had one last surprise for him as well.

“What symbol would you like on the front? You Illyrians love your house symbols, eh?” The man asked, jovially, as he checked the strapping.

Thinking for a moment of the twin stags of his family, Wil turned to look at Quentin and the others, who were still browsing the shop while he was being fitted. He thought of the ship that had become more of a home than Brookmoor had ever been. Decision made, Wil had the man work on his chosen symbol, informing him that he would wait while it was added.

Walking out of the store a short time later, in his new armor, with his white, Ursine cloak now back across his shoulders, the sun hit the new symbol that took up a large portion of his leather chest piece, a Drake, wings spread wide as it flew.