Having rested for the night in The Mangled Mill, the inn he and Drun often bunked in during hunts surrounding Endhsam, Welt sat himself up in his bed. The bed creaked uneasily as its unnaturally heavy occupant shifted and stood upon similarly creaking wooden floorplanks. The room seemed nervous under the strain of holding up such a heavy person.
Welt, who still struggled to get used to the weight pressing down on him, put some clothes on - some undergarments and baggy hose - and walked out of his room to begin the day.
Welt took some time sitting in the inn's downstairs tavern to decide on his plans for the next few days.
He took stock of all of the necessities he'd need to acquire for his continued journey East. At his best estimate, it would total a hundred silvers to get the essentials, with another hundred to acquire more luxurious items that would make the journey far more bearable.
The most essential, of course, were clothes. And more than just the ones he'd be wearing on his back. He'd had additional clothes when he set off, but all of his wares were lost in the attack of the bird at the southern Fog, so he needed to reacquire reliable clothing.
Ontop of that, Welt felt the need to get better equipment for defense. While there was a higher knights presence the further East he travelled, there was still the chance of danger.
Bodyguards and mercenaries were set up all over the town during this time, hired to keep farmers, but more often wealthy merchants and their goods-filled caravans, safe in their travels through the Deadwood, back towards the busier areas of the Kingdom.
It was a good strategy, too. Welt's skill with a blade would give him a considerable chance of being hired for a journey Eastward, providing him a reliable way to travel while earning some money. At least, for the duration of his time as a bodyguard. Afterwards, he would need to make his own way.
Scouting such merchant journeys was one of his tasks for the day. There would likely be several caravans crossing the Deadwood on their way back from the Harvestlands within the weeks to come, and Welt would need to put himself forward for the chance to be hired to a handful of cohorts, in case of misfortune with any one merchant.
There was the matter of research, too. Welt was deeply interested in understanding the events of the recent Fog in more detail, and so craved the chance to read some books relating to both monsters and general history.
There was a library in Endsham, with an impressive number of books. Somewhere for the wealthy to pass their time in the busy city, without the need to be amongst the busy crowds of buyers, sellers, tanners, farmers, millers, coopers, blacksmiths, soldiers, ...
Welt stopped himself at that. Professions were far vaster in these lands than he'd considered before, labelling most everyone as a farmer of some kind.
Seemed like the kind of mindset Drun would scold him for having.
Welt shook his head, standing abruptly caused his chair to make a shrill noise - as if squealing in relief. And, as he walked, with the first few steps looking as though he was truding in mud, the floorboards of the Mangled Mill sung similarly.
Lowering his head in slight embarassment, Welt left the quiet Inn and emerged onto the busy morning streets of Endsham.
***
Welt looked around the busy markets with staisfaction. A new, black tunic covered his body, and a brand-new strung bag was slung over his shoulder, housing a spare tunic and some simple travel utensils.
Endhsam's streets were just as Welt remembered them. Buildings with several floors lined wide, cobbled streets that were well worn and trodden, creating a suprisingly even surface for what you'd expect to be a bumpier road.
These streets were packed on both sides with carpets littered with wares, which competed with the larger stalls lined with wares, which competed with the buildings filled to the brim with wares.
The ways of getting ahead in this busy environment were numerous: actors performing staged plays involving their goods, enormous carvings and statues of monsters and heroes serving as many shops' iconography, and bright colours, and many owners shouting and accosting at the passersby to come and view their goods.
Needless to say, all the people and shouting were a nightmare for Welt. He couldn't tune it out as he used to by just focusing on following Drun around, but stille tried to filter all the noise a little bit by paying attention to the scenery instead of the people.
Colours were everywhere you looked in Endsham, from the inricate patterns of the less-established carpet merchants, to the coated and glossy woods of various carts that reflected in vibrant greens, reds, pinks, purples, and every other colour you could see in a Rainbeast's eyes as well.
Dyes were one of the biggest imports for Endsham, especially at this time and, after walking through the busy, vibrant markets for a while, Welt began to doubt there'd be any dye left for the rest of the world.
Entering a square in the town's center with a simple stone fountain placed in the middle, Welt walked toward a small crowd gathered around one side of the circular basin. There, he saw a congergation of families all carelessly admiring a small puppet show being performed by a woman in a bright blue cloak.
Welt stood near the back of the crowd, trying to gleam the details of the show's plot through the gaps between the parents' shoulders, and the excited chatter of the children enthralled by the story being told before them.
"Oh, gods! Oh, mighty of the world, please! Might I escape your ire for but a moment? A single night, mightn't you turn your eyes from the stars for me?"
The puppeteer sang the words through a shaking voice, filled with enough hope and longing to pull one from the depths of the world and back up to the surface.
It was the story of The Prime Meteor, the supposedly first Monster of the world. The cunning beast begged the cardinal gods for a night to fly freely above the world, and with this freedom went and stole the stars from the sky, plummeting the night into darkness for thousands of years.
The puppetteer showed this act of betrayal through an impressive display of aerial marionette control: pulling the strings taught for the launch into the sky with impressive force, and then pulling their cloak infront of the small, handcrafted stage, to signify the dark night, with some form of candle or kindling lit behind to cast shadows onto the fabric.
The long, flowing cloak notably shined for a moment with sparkles underneath it before dimming, as the shadow of the Monster puppet cast on the draped cloak - moving back and forth fast enough to blur. As the light faded, it dimmed the scene behind the fabric veil more and more until it turned completely opaque and dull.
The parents all gasped, a combination of their rehearsed surprise at the turn of the story, and their genuine surprise at the impressive puppeteering before them. The children had a mix of reactions: from clutching one another to hugging the legs of their parents.
A great cackle leapt though the square as the woman played the part of the mythical monster with zeal. A larger crowd was drawn from the showmanship, and Welt found himself pushed more and more towards the back, struggling more to make out the details of the show.
It's not as though he didn't know the story, though.
"Oh, the guidance is lost! We are stranded, strangled by the dark!"
"We must find a light, one strong enough to guide us through the dark when the sun is away!"
Two new voices came from the woman. A woman with a deep, gravelly tone, and a man with a more mousey squeak to his voice. Each of them pleaded openly, widely, as the crowd waited for the fabled, third voice to come.
"I will become that light."
All eyes turned within the crowd, facing Welt.
Wait, not quite.
They were looking just past him, behind him. He turned, too, following where the voice had come from.
A boy, with a frilled and understated white tunic covered by a white-fur-lined robe, and with matching, black-stained leather boots and gloves. His eyes were a bright red, and their hue dully shone from his brown, but red-tipped hair, which flowed in a short-cut, tousled style.
The boy looked just as surprised as the rest of the crowd. And, the voice was clearly feminine, aged, in tone. Nothing a boy who wouldn't be much older than 12 could create.
He turned around in confusion, trying to find where the voice had come from.
A few gasps came from the crowd, and some stifled laughter, as the crowd saw a small figure clung to the boy's robe. A wooden puppet, with jade-white, almost porcelain, skin, and a robe that flowed and hung from her body with considerable length, as if it would trail the ground for twice her bodylength as she walked.
She flew from his back, pulled through the air through some method Welt couldn't figure out. The strings were either non-existant, or far too thin for him to catch them in the light of the day.
As the puppet flew, it cut a large arc over the heads of the crowd, spinning and pulling her arms out wide at the beginning of the dive down. She spun more, this time in on herself, curled up in a ball, and , just as she was to reach the stage, stopped in the air. The draping fabric of her white robe was all bundled and bunched from the spinning, folded and tucked in on itself, obscuring her face, arms, and feet as she became the moon.
Slowly, the woman pulled her own draping sleeve up, the light of the world revealed from the veil of darkness.
Her show was promptly stopped by a storming unit of Royal Guards, as they all hurriedly checked on the red-eyed Crown Prince.
His mother, the Queen of Dwyra, held her hand to her forehead, anticipating a headache.