The gang spends the rest of the day approaching the city, reaching its cobblestone streets at dusk. Warm light spills from open taverns as people hurry about, driving goats and pushing barrows. Despite the gang’s haggard appearance from days on the road, nobody gives them more than a passing glance. The glowing sphere bobs and weaves, but attracts no attention.
Jaunty music reaches the party’s ears from a two-storey wooden building with simple stained glass windows.
“My thirst is suddenly overwhelming,” Cang announces.
“My throat, too, is parched!” Fassn adds loudly.
“Yeah? And when we can’t pay the bill?” Shyan asks.
“I don’t want to run,” says Abia.
“But perhaps we will strike up a contact, someone who will know where we can sell our goods,” Cang adds with a placating grin.
Shyan shrugs. Marching through the tavern door, she says, “Well it would be nice to sit down.”
Logan Bright — Works 