They pressed deeper into the city, leaving behind the salty, metallic tang of the harbor, which steadily gave way to scents that were infinitely more intense and exotic.
The streets of Gray Water were narrow, winding, and clearly designed for beings significantly smaller than the towering newcomers.
The crowd thickened with every step.
The locals; mostly stout, broad-shouldered humans, halflings in wide woven straw hats, and petite elves with sharply slanted eyes; parted before the crew like water breaking against a ship’s bow.
Taking the vanguard was Duria, cutting through the dense throng with the soundless, predatory grace of a hunting cat.
The vampire effortlessly read the erratic rhythm of this cramped, chaotic city, and her exotic, deadly silhouette fit the scenery perfectly.
“Ikou!
(Let’s go!) Try to keep up,” she tossed over her shoulder with a frosty smile, executing a sharp, precise hand gesture.”The inn I mentioned is just up that rise.”
The sheer physical contrast was jarring.
Lengos and Yerga, who had gained an additional few inches thanks to her haughty levitation, easily towered a full head above the locals.
But it was Perval who constituted a true, undeniable anomaly.
Standing nearly seven feet tall and built as broad as an ancient oak, the monk was forced to constantly duck his head just to avoid snagging on the low-hanging shop signs and drying lines of gutted fish.
His massive torso, gleaming with olive oil and sweat entirely unbothered by the freezing temperatures, elicited a potent cocktail of deep dread and blatant fascination from the locals.
Amidst the petite crowd, he looked like a wild, primitive god of war who had accidentally tumbled into a mortal village.
“Pardon me…
excuse me…
watch your head…” he rumbled politely, gently shifting an elderly woman clutching a basket of turnips who had been staring at his biceps so intently she nearly marched straight under his boots.”Figlin, stop stepping on their heels, they may be small but there’s a bloody army of them.”
The fish market they waded through resembled a gallery of nightmarish horrors.
Slumped on the wooden tables, which dripped constantly with black water and thick gore, lay monstrosities dredged straight from the Sea of Iron Waves.
There were no ordinary cod or herring here.
There were armored crustaceans the size of mastiffs, fish with sickly, translucent skin and jagged, needle-like teeth, and colossal squids whose ink actively steamed in the frost, emitting a biting, chemical smoke.
Lengos advanced slowly, his cold eyes lingering not on the merchandise, but entirely on the tools being used.
“Look at those knives,” he murmured quietly to Zedora, subtly nodding toward a thick-necked fisherman aggressively gutting an eel.”Those aren’t kitchen cleavers.
Those are perfectly balanced short blades.”
The barbarian snorted, evaluating the steel with the practiced eye of a seasoned killer.
“Good steel.
And the bastard holds it like a man who cuts throats significantly more often than he cuts gills.”
Further down, the vegetable market was dominated by bone-white radishes the exact size of a human thigh, stacked high into defensive-looking barricades, alongside clay jars filled with fermented pickles that reeked so intensely even Void sneezed from Yerga’s shoulder.
The architecture looming around them was alien to most of the crew, simultaneously fascinating and unsettling.
The houses were squat and constructed of dark wood, crowned with slate-black roof tiles that looked exactly like overlapping dragon scales.
The front walls weren’t made of solid timber, but rather of a thin, semi-transparent paper stretched tightly across delicate wooden lattices.
A warm, diffused light bled from within the homes, offering a deceptive illusion of coziness.
“Pay attention to the foundations,” the paladin instructed in a low voice.”They are built of solid, dressed stone, at least three feet high.
That isn’t merely for damp-proofing.
It is a defensive perimeter wall.
And those decorative grates over the windows?
The lattice is far too dense to properly vent smoke, but perfectly spaced to loose a crossbow bolt without ever exposing yourself.”
The entire city was a labyrinth of death traps.
Every single intersection was a deliberate chokepoint; every long, straight thoroughfare terminated in a blind alley or a violent, ninety-degree turn, specifically engineered to instantly shatter a cavalry charge.
This wasn’t a humble merchant town.
It was a fortified bastion actively masquerading as a bustling marketplace.
“This way!” Figlin suddenly bellowed, sniffing the air loudly.”I smell something sweet!
Maybe they’re handing out jelly donuts!”
Before anyone could possibly stop him, the dwarf veered sharply into a narrow side alley that constricted , feeling more like a dark, claustrophobic canyon than a street.
The rest of the crew reluctantly followed.
The contrast in scale here was staggering.
Perval had to slouch aggressively just to avoid cracking his skull against the densely packed hanging signs and the low, protruding wooden balconies that nearly kissed above his head.
His towering, scarred silhouette acted like a magnetic force field on the locals; people instinctively pressed themselves flat against the walls, staring at him with a mix of stark terror and deep fascination, as if a mythical titan had been wedged into a cage far too small for it.
The scent had indeed shifted dramatically, but Figi was to be very disappointed.
The raw, metallic stench of fish guts had completely vanished, forcefully replaced by cloying perfumes, the rich aroma of expensive tobacco, and the sharp tang of hard alcohol.
The paper lanterns strung above their heads abruptly changed color, shifting from a funerary white to a deep, suffocating crimson.
The ground floors of the buildings lining the alley lacked solid walls altogether.
Instead, they featured endless rows of thick wooden bars, which, rather than resembling a grim prison block, looked exactly like macabre shop windows.
Seated securely behind them, put on blatant public display like incredibly fragile, expensive porcelain, were women.
They weren’t motionless mannequins.
This was a thriving, bustling flesh market.
Some fanned themselves with slow, lazy elegance, others meticulously adjusted impossibly complex, towering hairstyles, while still others puffed on long, impossibly thin pipes, blowing thick plumes of sweet smoke directly into the faces of the passersby.
Their faces caked in thick, stark-white paint, contrasted with their vibrant silk robes, which slipped off their shoulders a fair bit further than common decency typically dictated.
They watched the street with the bored gaze of seasoned merchants appraising the precise weight of their clients’ coin purses.
The moment Perval’s colossal frame stepped into the lantern light, the stir behind the bars was instantaneous.
Several pipes paused midway to painted lips, and a number of fans abruptly stopped fluttering.
“Oho…” he paused, casually flexing his pecs and offering a blindingly wide, roguish grin to a courtesan who had just ostentatiously dragged a tongue over her carmine lips at the sight of him.
“A highly friendly neighborhood.
Do you see that?
That lovely lady just gave me a wink.
Either that, or she has a terrible nervous tic.”
“Those aren’t donuts…” the dwarf groaned in disappointment, aggressively pressing his bulbous nose against the wooden bars that housed women rather than pastries.”Everything in here costs more than a brand-new cannon.
Let’s get out of here before they start charging us a toll just for breathing the damn air.”
Duria appeared utterly enchanted.
She skipped past the wooden lattice with a dancer’s grace, offering a theatrical bow to one of the courtesans.
“Konbanwa, onee-san!
(Good evening, big sister!)” she called out brightly.”Beautiful kimono!
Spider silk from the Isle of Mists, isn’t it?
Sugoi!
(Amazing!)”
Yerga elevated herself a few inches higher on her shimmering cushion of magic, refusing to meet the eyes of the local “merchandise.”
“A dreadfully vulgar shade of crimson,” she evaluated the lanterns with biting critique.”And far too much powder.
They look as though they tripped face-first into a flour barrel.
Though I must admit…” she cast a sidelong glance at one woman’s gravity-defying coiffure”…their choice of setting lotion is absolutely first-rate, darlings.”
Neira, walking dead center in the group, suddenly ground to a halt and drew a deep, shuddering breath.
A week at sea, completely cut off from any source of life-giving energy, had drained her to the dregs.
For a Priestess of the Goddess of Lust, this red-light district was no graveyard of broken affections; it was a lavishly set banquet table.
The fare here might be cheap and greasy, but a starving creature rarely nitpicks her meals.
The thick, stifling atmosphere that the others found cloying and sticky smelled like freshly baked bread to the succubus.
Her serpentine tail coiled tightly around her own thigh, and a ravenous hunger that had nothing to do with food ignited in her abyssal pink eyes.
“Go on ahead,” she murmured, her voice dropping an entire octave, becoming heavy and velvet-soft.”I shall meet you at…
the inn.
My vessel is running on empty.
I must recharge before I mingle with the crowds.
I would be entirely useless in a fight or a negotiation in my current state.”
Her gaze swept the wooden cages with the lethal precision of a hunting predator, coldly appraising the energetic potential of the souls gathered within, until she finally locked onto one specific establishment.
Behind the lattice sat a young girl with wide, dark eyes that radiated a melancholy so thick it could be carved with a knife.
“Oh, this one will make for a perfect…
pick-me-up,” she purred with a faint smile; a smile that promised the mortal girl sheer, unadulterated ecstasy, immediately followed by total spiritual exhaustion.
The rest of the crew, spearheaded by Lengos, didn’t break their stride, eager to put this suffocating alley behind them.
That was when Perval skidded to an abrupt halt.
“Hold on a minute!
We cannot simply leave our dear priestess alone in such a dangerous locale!
That would be the height of irresponsibility!” he boomed toward the retreating back of his commander.”I shall stay behind.
For her personal safety, naturally.
Someone has to…
secure the rear!”
Lengos merely waved a dismissive gauntlet without even bothering to look back, his silhouette melting into the shadows of the next cross street.
The very second the rest of the crew vanished around the corner, the noble mask of the concerned guardian slipped seamlessly from the monk’s face, instantly replaced by a broad, roguish grin.
Perval spun toward the nearest lattice window, and with a single sweep of his arms, gathered up two giggling courtesans.
“You two,” he threw out, shooting a conspiratorial wink at Neira, the sole witness to his little performance.”You’re going to help me stand guard.
Very, very close guard.”
The doors of the establishment clicked shut behind them, neatly severing them from the biting frost of the street and the prying eyes of the rest of the world.
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