Re: Chapter 1
In reply to Enrei Omal'i (msg # 866):
Godrick has, by this point, learned to ignore everything Enrei says and to meet everything Uldaf says with a queer squint of the eyes.
"On the road again," he announces, clapping his hands and wincing at the pain in his injured arm.
Arule shoves one last heel of bread into his mouth and hoists himself up carefully with his sword. Lump hops to cleaning what's left and hoisting his ponderous pack atop his crooked spine.
Your group receives a few smiles and waves from the miller's men, but see nary a sight of the man as you move down the dusty road to the west.
Almost immediately you come upon a fork in the road, one branch leading west and the other north. Godrick does not slow for an instant, pressing west toward Thorngate and waiting there, Flynn.
The trip is largely uneventful. The road slopes gradually down for many miles before leveling out. To either side are fields of gently rolling hills covered in scrubby grass and low bushes. You make good time but don't seem to make any headway on reducing the seeming massiveness of the mountains looming to the east.
It is several hours into the journey before Arule ventures to inquire about the two horses and the unconscious man you seem to have acquired. Godrick immediately huffs loudly, as if hearing the answer would only make things worse, and Arule allows the question to drop, instead turning the conversation to stories of how Belarius, knowing God's will, leveled the bulk of the oppressive mountains into fertile farmlands for the use of mankind.
You rest only once, consuming the balance of your rations and water, then press on toward the town you can already see indications of in the distance. First it is the gentle haze of hundreds of cookfires, next the occasional hoofprint, wooden cross or odd pile of stones beside the road.
At long last, when the sun is already on its descent in the West, you come up on a low hill and see the town of Thorngate.
The town gets its name from an enormous patch of thorny black bushes that grow thickly on the leeward side of a long boggy pond. Assuming this natural barrier to be sufficient, the town is walled only on the remaining three sides with walls twenty feet high made of thick logs backed by piles of packed earth. Along the tops, crenelations of mortared stone provide cover for sentries. Of the town within you cannot see from a distance, but the rising smoke indicates a dense bustle of activity.
The farmland circling Thorngate appears to be primarily fruit trees and some grains. Those familiar with this part of the world recognize apple, pear and fig trees being tended by local farmers.
The bog too is a buzz of activity as men wearing nothing but thick loincloths wade into the muck and haul out great buckets of it which are hauled off on the backs of children into the town for some purpose.
There is little traffic on the road you walk, apart from farmers hauling their wares in from the orchards and fields, but there is a great deal of activity going on between the main gate of the city wall and a large hill some mile away from it. A train of empty horse-drawn wagons moves toward the hill, and a similar train of laden ones returns.
Before you reach the first thin fences and upright posts that mark the border of this or that farmer's land, you must pass a small cluster of soldiers who seem to have made semi-permanent camp beside the road. They have a full fire pit with a ring of stones, metal spit and large pot over it, a number of small tents and a box latrine. A half dozen or so young soldiers stand up solemnly as you approach and you see the King's crest flash on their cloaks.
They scrutinize you closely, but make no move to hinder your approach. They nod you past without incident, then sit down again slowly and return to their vigil.
As you draw closer to Thorngate, there is a queer smell in the air that you cannot quite place, thought it is soon overcome by the usual city smells: sweat, urine, animals and smoke.
Small wood and straw huts surround the town walls and these appear to be mostly poor farmers and lower tradesmen. The walls are heavily manned by both King's men and what you assume are the city's watch. They keep a sharp lookout, but do not stop or question you.
Once through the walls you are finally into the city proper. Here the architecture is quite different as the vast majority of the buildings look to be constructed from grey brick slabs topped with reeds and wood. Most are only a story, though some rise to two or three. The buildings are packed tightly together at odd angles and the streets are narrow, making navigation difficult. Added to this is the mad buzz of activity associated with a larger town: peddlers selling fruit, women selling themselves, children chasing dogs and picking purses, back-alley alchemists hocking potions, lads in clean leather falling over one another to catch the eye of girls in pretty dresses, horses, farmers, etc.
Suffice to say, it's a jumbled mess to those who aren't familiar with it. From the look on Godrick's face, he's not familiar with it.