The Darkness Steals The Light - The Elim Chronicles

The Planks

"Good morning, Danan." Lord Varesh gestures for Danan to sit.

Danan squeezes onto the narrow bench, pushing Jain aside. "Good morning, Lord Varesh. Is he well?" Danan wrinkles his nose at Jain in disgust.

"I expect so; granted, it's hard to tell. Cecil found him sprawled out on the tavern floor, unconscious and out of coin."

"He spent ten thousand Drakes in a couple of turns." Danan's whisper verges on a squeal.

"Gambled, whored, drank, and smoked it. Alas, some breeds have a remarkable tolerance for debauchery," the mage shakes his head in disappointment.

"You seem in very high spirits, Lord Varesh." Danan finds a smile.

"Yes, master Danan. It has been far too long since I explored beyond our fair shores." Lord Varesh's fingers drum impatiently on his legs.

The outside world rushes by as the carriage hurtles through the western gate into an endless landscape of glorious green, fertile fields. Danan and Varesh talk of small things—Thielian society, royal scandals, food, and wine. Danan contributes little, offering somber anecdotes of monasterial life.

The journey proceeds without a hitch, except for a brief stop to relieve themselves by the roadside. The guards snigger as Danan squats to piss beneath his robes.

The journey continues, and the second sun is high in the sky. Thiel is a tiny dot in the rear distance, a speck on a carpet of lush and rich green fields. A new scent blows on a strong breeze: fresh, green, raw, rich, and savory. A new sound accompanies it—the hollering of gulls flying overhead from the carriage.

Danan gazes from the carriage window, marveling at the lush green marshes dotted with herds of grazing livestock. Plump dairy cattle and long-horned sheep coexist with wild hares. The fertile land gives birth to wild marshland flowers in whites, purples, pinks, and violets, nestled in the deep carpet of lush green.

Stone farmhouses line the single track, a road leading from Thiel to the ocean. Rows of beehives, rich with Thielian golden honey, adorn the roadside. The honey's color is as rich as the sun, and its sweet scent is a breath of wildflowers.

"The Thielian plains. Beautiful, aren't they?" Lord Varesh wears a contented smile.

"Yes. I've never imagined such green." Danan falls into daydreaming as time races by. A fine layer of dew glistens on the green marshes.

The golden smile of the first autumn sunrise baptizes all with warming hope. A bright new day emerges as Danan gazes out to endless pastures of wild green.

˜ ˜ ˜

Half a turn seems to pass in the blink of an eye until a fresh assault hits Danan's senses—the scent of apples and fish baking in the sun. The whiff of ocean brine carries the pungent nose of savory seaweed.

"We are here. Rouse our friend if you can." Lord Varesh sits up, puckering his nose.

Danan gawps from the carriage window to a tight mass of close-fitting ramshackle stone buildings, covered in barnacles and dried seaweed, knitted together by sun-bleached white stones and reclaimed ship timbers. The bedraggled, thatched roofs are covered with old seaweed and weathered moss, crowded with obnoxious gulls. The houses' chimneys bellow acrid smoke and are surrounded by lobster pots, fishing nets, and timber landing boats in a state of repair. The town stinks of the sea, where winding alleyways weave between grain houses, stables, and busy cargo holds. The narrow lanes are lined with fish mongers, bakehouses, and bustling taverns. The wet floors are littered with seaweed, fish guts, seashells, and the occasional sleeping drunk.