Nize is a city often called the ‘Jewel of Marnesia’ due to being one of the richest cities in the southern continent. It thrives on the bank of the Bealwarre river as a hub of trade. The sprawling city is close to the borders of three other countries, but its long history as an independent city-state made it a location free from the much of the Gulass royal family’s influence.

The region was frequently contested centuries ago until the Battle of the Crow, which firmly cemented Nize’s military and economic might. Eventually, the leading families of Nize were married into the royal family but managed to keep their political influence at arm’s length. Exploring Nize, you can see traces of its history. The old palace was turned into the Riverside Library, around which many colleges were built. The most recent addition, the Dandelion Docks, fly gently overhead and is the first place people see upon coming to the city. But none quite captures Nize’s diversity and personality as well as the Crow Garden.

The Crow Garden was built to commemorate the union between Melody Grisha and Belford IV of Gulass, on the site of the legendary battle. Nize grew quickly with Gulass’ protection and roads, sandwiching the Crow Garden between the merchant’s district, old Nize, and the colleges.

Peacocks roam the grounds, their majestic feathers accentuating the vibrant flowers. Songbirds sing from every branch, fluttering down to the paths to bathe in the ornate water fountains. And at the center is a glade of ancient oaks, from which a local population of crows reside. It was in that very grove that Nize troops ambushed those who sought to put the city under siege, led by the great Vern Grisha.

Every summer solstice, a girl and a boy are allowed to enter the glade and return with the first thing the glade gives them. It is said great blessings come to those who witness the pair return with a crow.

All in all, it is a place that you should visit.

—Nize tour guide

When the ship got closer to Nize, Rael’s grip tightened around Azmond’s hand. While Stone Circle was the only major city they’d ever visited, the experiences of Ruen and Bjorn pulled at their unconscious mind. Perhaps it was the long lines of people waiting outside the city gates, or the empty Dandelion Docks floating above as airships nervously orbited the outskirts of the city.

“Something’s off.” Rael muttered.

Azmond, ever curious, peeked over the edge of the drakkar. He squinted and his vision focused on the people moving about on the street.

“There’s a lot of people in red.” Azmond said. Rael stood straight.

“Are you sure?” When Azmond nodded, the Dragonward narrowed their eyes and ran to the helm.

Captain Derrol was manning the wheel when Rael came up to him. He smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but Rael didn’t let him.

“We can’t go to Nize.” Rael blurted out. “The Sanguine Order is down there.”

Derrol cocked his head. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

Rael bit their lip and struggled to find a way to explain this without presenting it as a challenge to Faulk pride. “We should talk to Feldon. I’ll explain it all at once.”

Derrol hummed and beckoned a crewman to take the wheel as he, Azmond, and Rael went into the captain’s quarters. Feldon and Edith were organizing the silver from the recent raid into piles based on purity and weight. Ulric was also there, strumming his lute nonchalantly.

“Jarl Feldon, we’re almost there…but Rael has some concerns.”

“Oh?”

“Doub Blight.” Rael declared as if it explained everything.

When all they got were blank looks, Rael explained to the others. The Sanguine Order was a large group of dragon adherents, preaching the dragons’ insights on health and safety. Cleaning, healing, sanitation, they did it all to the specifications of ancient dragon texts. They travelled from place to place wearing red to heal the sick and eliminate disease. However, for the past few decades, their main purpose was to combat outbreaks of Doub Blight.

This Zirconian community of scholars and priests specialized in medicine, but Doub blight was a new beast. No matter what alchemy they used, no matter how many texts they gathered from the age of dragons, they could not cure it.

Their only recourse was purification with fire.

“We can’t turn back.” Feldon rubbed his beard. “We already saw Kip’s ship in the sky docks.”

“We should limit those going into the city.” Shieldmaiden Edith crossed her arms and grunted. “And only eat where you see members of the Order eating.”

“Probably have to return to sleep on the ship.” Rael grunted, irked at being robbed from using a comfortable bed.

The Faulk ship approached the sky docks in full view of the city, one of the rare few ships brave enough to dock during an outbreak. Brave, or foolish. When they were moored, a contingent of people surrounded the dock.

They all wore bright red robes that would have reached down to the ground had they not been stuffed inside waxy boots and gloves. Their masks were the most unsettling; pointy red beaks stretching past their chests and dark glass circles embedded in the eye holes, they looked like strange parodies of mosquitos or crimson woodpeckers.

The one in the lead had his tome at the ready. With a swish of the wand, several empty wooden boxes were brought forward.

“Put your weapons in the crates. We need to check you for diseases.” The Faulk bristled at the command and stayed still. “Put your weapons in the crates or you are not welcome in Nize.” The others of the Order summoned their own tomes.

The crew tensed, their hands on their weapons as tome-warriors appeared on deck. A few spared glances towards the Jarl. He twirled his mustache and patted Rael on the back.

“Go negotiate.”

“What?!” Rael whipped around to stare at him.

“We won’t give up our weapons.” Feldon had to get on his tip toes to whisper in Rael’s ear. “We can compromise on other things, but not that. You know more about them than we do; making you the most qualified for parlay.”

Rael gritted their teeth and took a deep breath. ‘Parlay? Last time I negotiated with someone it was…’ Rael shook their head. ‘It was on the slave ship.’ They pushed their way to the starboard edge, where they could look down at the leader directly. Rael nervously cleared their throat.

“Why should we give up our weapons in a foreign country?” Rael crossed their arms.

“We have enough trouble with the blight as is.” The leader had a tense edge to his voice. His mask made it hard to tell what he was thinking. “Inviting a ship full of Faulk with their diseases and violent tendencies is a recipe for disaster.” Agitated muttering sprang out from those on board. The members of the Order held their tomes tighter. ‘They’re scared. They don’t want to fight.’

“We noticed a friend of ours has a ship docked here.” Rael pointed to Kip’s sloop. “Are they the reason for this reception?” A few of them turned to look at the airship.

“They were here before the outbreak.” The leader shook his head. “Take no offense, we do this to all newcomers of Nize. We’ve found that it is easier to stop the infected if they do not have weapons.”

‘Makes sense. I wouldn’t want to be purified, either.’ Rael bit their index finger in thought. ‘I should focus on the similarities. The leader is less jumpy than the others, he can be reasoned with. Maybe mentioning the war?’

“Faulk believe dying without weapons in hand would condemn them to the Hells. We need to recover our men here for the war effort.” Rael stated and took a step forwards.

“Our duty is beyond that of mortal issues. Entering or leaving, everything needs to be clean.” The leader stepped closer as well. “We are at an impasse. I suggest you leave and wait with the other ships until the quarantine is over.”

Someone on the ship snarled and spat in their direction. The Sanguine adherents tensed, stepping forwards with their tomes at the ready. The crew responded in kind, and the tension grew so thick that Rael feared that it would be broken by bloodshed.

Until Feldon held up his hand. The leader of the adherents nodded when the Faulk backed off. He signaled his men to do the same.

‘This is getting nowhere.’ Rael took a deep breath and calmed the anger that threatened to surge out. The Sanguine Order was notoriously stubborn. There were stories throughout Marnesia, even in Rael’s little town, about the lengths they went. They once put a city on the border of Shaleed and Zirconia under siege because someone was trying to use a disease as a medium for their magic.

The city sent arrows and magic over their walls for months. Yet the Order did not balk, defending from attacks resolutely. They held the line for five more years, wringing the city dry of its soldiers, food, and morale until they gave up the offending Spellmaster and his noble patron. These were not the type of people to balk under threats, even from much larger forces.

In a way, they were akin to the Faulk: stubborn to a fault and reverent to the dragons. ‘I could use that.’

“We follow the teachings of the dragons as well. I am sure we can discuss our interpretations later, but for now…” The Dragonward put a leg on the ship railing. They could feel the gaze of the members of the Sanguine Order trailing their eyes over their unwashed bodies. “If we swear on the name of our dragon to surrender if we have the blight, would you allow us into Nize with our weapons?”

Someone in the crowd below scoffed. The crew on the ship roiled uncomfortably. The leader clapped his hands loudly to silence his followers.

“Not many know of the devotion the Faulk have for the dragons. If you are willing to allow yourselves to be vigorously cleaned as well, I am willing to accept these conditions. We will return your weapons to you…after we clean them.”

The people on the drakkar grumbled. Jarl Feldon finally stepped up, patting Rael’s back proudly.

“I am the Jarl of this crew. We will accept these conditions.” He held his fist up in the air. “By Xythael’s grace, if any of my company break this vow, they will face your justice and mine.”

“A Jarl?” The leader paused, stunned. He slowly nodded. “So be it. Welcome to Nize. Apologies for the guarded greeting. A recent demon attack has left us vulnerable.”

Edith and Feldon traded a look. The unspoken communication of a husband and wife or a commander and his right hand sparked between them. It was gone before the crew had a chance to finish putting down the gangplank.

Azmond kept close to Rael as they got off the ship. The smell of citrus flowers reached even this high up. It reminded him of a time, not so long ago, when he played in the forests. When another old man took care of him, bringing food and stories to their little hut carved from the log of an ancient redwood. When the old man fell asleep and never woke up, the lady tried to take care of him. But the lady was mean and angry. She scowled whenever she saw him. She was the one who took him to the city to be given away, draped in a stinky gray cloak.

She took him to this city, where a mean man encased his head in an iron mask, still hot from the forge. Nize would forever be a place of misery to him. He wished he didn’t have to come here. Rael offered for him to stay on the boat, but Az didn’t want to leave their side. Without him, they’d get into trouble!

So it was that he huddled close to Rael, squished against their legs as the crewmen were led from the docks to a large room. Mumblings of ‘quarantine’ were uttered, the typically wild Faulk restraining themselves considerably, following Feldon’s example as he put away his weapons in one of the many crates.

Though it was funny when Shieldmaiden Edith kept pulling out weapons from all sorts of places on her body. The guardsmen escorting them already cowed by the giant woman, but the number of weapons she pulled out sent them in a frenzy again and again.

Then, they were led through a small tent. The yelps and the screeches scared Azmond. He buried his head in Rael’s side and shivered as the line got closer. It didn’t matter if the Faulk left the tent in clean clothes and brighter skin, the sounds they made frightened him!

Faulk never squeal! Even Edith yelped in surprise!

He held Rael tighter, the Dragonward gently rubbing his head and whispering comforting things. Rael went in before him.

It was a bit like those shadow plays Rael would play for him back in Feldon village. Only this time, it was Rael’s shadow dancing on the canvas. The second they entered, their clothes jumped off their body.

“Woah, easy with the clothes—” A splash of water. “Hey!” They yiped at the highest pitch Az had heard from them yet. “That’s cold! What are you doing with that brush?”

A whirlwind of shadows surrounded Rael’s as they were assaulted by every variety of cleaning spell. All at once, their clothes jumped back onto them and they were pushed out of the tent. Rael’s glare faded when they saw Az. Rael composed themselves and cleared their throat as they mustered a gentle smile.

“Well, the washing isn’t bad. They’re just a bit…intense.”

Azmond entered the tent, and the people inside paused at the sight of him. They didn’t magic off his clothes, gently disrobing him instead. And the water wasn’t nearly as cold as he thought it would be. They cleaned his skin with wet towels and rubbed him with soap until he was covered in suds, washing it away with a gentle stream of water.

When he left the tent, fresh from grime and filth, he joined the others in groups surrounded by members of the Order. The adherents cast spell after spell on the group. When Azmond’s turn came, he clung tight to Rael’s leg. Rael walked awkwardly forward, pulling the child with them in hobbled steps. The eyes of the people in the red robes widened through the lenses in their masks, and they gave small bows in Azmond’s direction before gingerly casting their spells. Azmond flinched as their hands got close, but all he felt was a warm light dancing on his skin. It must have been more than just light, since his horns itched intensely.

Once they were done, they took off their masks, the bags under their reddened eyes readily apparent. They shuffled away and came back with the boxes of weapons, smelling richly of disinfectant.

“Please don’t use these.” One of them pleaded as he led the group of Faulk through the winding wooden passageways of the airdock. “I’m supposed to give you a long spiel, but…I’m not sure you’ll listen. We have enough problems right now.”

They split into two groups at the center of the Dandelion Docks. Nearly a score of the crew stayed on the dock as the others settled on two of the platforms at the very center, arranged like slices of a pie.

“Derrol.” Feldon gave a wry smile. “I know you were looking forward to Nize.”

“Ehh…” The grizzled captain made a ‘sorta’ motion with his hands and shrugged.

“Keep an eye on our ships. If another captain gets here, make it clear you’re in charge.” Derrol and Feldon shared a Faulk grin, one that promised bloodshed and glory. “Ulric, ask around the docks about Kip, you’ll be the one to relay information.”

“What I wouldn’t give for some vines…” Ulric grumbled.

“Maybe you can take advantage and learn a Marnesian communication spell rather than [Grapevine].” Derrol winked as he elbowed the younger captain.

Feldon nodded and walked onto the platform with the others. When he closed the gate, the platform began to lower slowly, a series of gears ticking loudly as the platform slid down a massive rope.

Rael and the others stumbled as the platform accelerated down into the sprawling city. The docks cast a flower-shaped shadow over the older marble buildings lining the eastern banks of the river. The wind turned and the citrus was drowned out by the smell of burning hair. The older crewmen frowned and gripped the hilts of their weapons. Something small and dark flitted above the airdocks. Edith tensed, her eyes tracking the thing until it disappeared in the distance.

“Was it like this?” Feldon asked Rael. “Last time you were here?”

“I never got to see it.” Rael took in the sprawling city, the jewel of Marnesia. Hundreds of people moved through the wide streets. The red cloaks stood out in denser sections, but mostly kept to a hastily built encampment just outside the city. “But considering how quickly we came and went; I don’t think so.”

When the platform landed, they all got off and watched as the thick canvas beneath the platform swelled with air again, rising up along the fist-thick ropes back to the structure above. The Faulk organized themselves into groups to look for Kip and his crew. Rael and Azmond were pulled into Edith and Feldon’s group.

The tall stone buildings with tile roofs were familiar to Rael, though much bigger than they were used to. The smooth, fitted cobblestone path fascinated a few of the less-traveled members of the group, as well as the sheer volume of people. Feldon and Edith kept their eyes out instead of ogling the sights. It was fortunate they did. Azmond bumped into Feldon as he held his arm out to signal a stop. Before anyone had a chance to ask what was wrong, a man burst from a building not ten meters away from them. He limped quickly, his figure covered in thick bandages. The tense atmosphere on the street rose, people backing away from the panting man.

“In the name of the Sanguine Order, halt!” Someone cried.

Immediately, the crowd froze, but the man tried to scamper away. His leg gave out in a horrid squelch and he collapsed to the floor. A person in a scarlet robe and mask ran out from the building he came from, large book in hand. Azmond’s horns itched when he looked at it. A tome. The person in the mask rushed over the crawling man, ripping off his bandages on his arm to reveal sickly yellow and green skin erupting in boils.

“No, please!” He begged.

He tried to get to his feet, but his leg twisted under his own weight in a horrid cracking sound. Black blood swelled from his bandages and leaked onto the floor.

“Your very body is collapsing!” The person held up their tome. “Your blight risks everyone in Nize.”

“I have a family!” He clutched the hem of the scarlet robes. “Mercy!”

“[Isolation].” A sheen of magic erected a wall between them and the rest of the crowd. “I will grant you mercy. The blight will be purified.”

“Please…I have a newborn daughter…” The man sobbed and put his head to the ground. “Her name is Suzanne.”

“For the sake of your family.” The person’s voice shuddered. “For the sake of all who live, all who are yet born, we make this sacrifice…”

“I’m begging you!” Another prickle of magic. The man’s own tome appeared in his hand, a scroll.

“May the Dragons save you…with [Purifying Flame].”

“N-!” The man had no time to cast his own spell, as a bright light enveloped them both. Constrained to the isolation spell, a cube of light cast dark shadows over all the onlookers’ horrified faces for but a moment. And then it was gone. All that was left was the cloaked person, now stained midnight black in the ashes of the man they’d just immolated. They stared down at the blackened square they stood in.

Azmond couldn’t look away. Rael was too slow to cover his eyes, but even if they were, Azmond would have still heard it all. Smelled the rot emanating from the man, which was replaced by the stench of burning hair. Human meat roasted into nothingness. Stars danced in his vision. The stench cloyed to the back of his throat, filling his lungs and mind. Shoulders hunched, the Sanguine adherent walked away. A path of terrified onlookers cleared a wide berth.

The beaked figure slowed as he passed Azmond. He reached out a hand, but the Child of Dragons flinched away in a stumble. The adherent’s shoulders slumped lower and they looked away in shame.

“Az?” Rael snapped their fingers in his face again.

“I don’t feel so…” And that was the last thing he remembered.