Rolling into the churning cauldron named Valthar, Valen, Lyra, and Zack stared wide-eyed at the multitude of sights before them. Emerald eyes darted to and fro, taking in the meandering crowd of the bustling market. Sapphire eyes widened at the gleaming plate armour displayed on a few stalls, catching the sunlight in sharp flashes. Zack's round eyes bounced between smoking stalls, the smell of stews making his small nose twitch in anticipation.
"You look like you've never seen a few shops before," Argon said, clearly enjoying himself, quietly pleased the three younglings had not yet lost their smiles. "Ahh, adorable, the lot of you." His frame seemed to broaden with every furtive glance cast toward the pretty Lyra, eyes betraying a protectiveness only an adventurer could feel.
"Now, now, it's not the time to be distracted. We'll lose sight of the caravan at this rate." The tired voice of their mother shook them from their reverie, and the group pushed through the hog-pot of men with renewed focus.
Approaching the front of the long, fortress-like caravan, a hushed whisper floated to their ears.
"You still offer trade to those brutes? Even after the massacre of Ironfell?"
"We have to make a livin'. Can't just be trading with ye."
"Better yet. Match the stonebrains' prices and we might just stop."
A young soldier blocked the caravan's path. His face struck a faint chord of memory in Lyra, though she couldn't place why.
"Ahh, the tension between dwarves, humans, and those pigskinned brutes has never changed," Argon remarked to the nun. "You'd think after all these years, decades, if not centuries even, they'd loosen up."
"Oh, they have. Or at least they tried. But all it takes is one prideful king to restart the cycle." Elara humoured Argon's rambling for once. "They say the two races are cursed, cursed to war for as long as Gaia breathes."
"That is why we worship Solara. She is reliable. Every morning she rises, every night she sleeps. From the dawn of time till now, unlike Gaia."
"Ahh, I'd have to disagree. We live, eat, and sleep with Gaia's blessings. To say she is unreliable is harsh. I think she's trying her best."
Argon's eyes flicked to the pair of heroes walking toward the soldier. "See? Proof right there."
"What seems to be the problem here?" Valen's broad frame dwarfed the young soldier immediately. His body positioned itself between the dwarves and the soldier, muscles taut.
"This is none of your business, young man."
"My business is what I say is my business." Valen's eyes bored into the steel-clad warrior. The scene echoed the treatment Lyra had once endured as a child, igniting a fire in his chest. "Do you have an issue with my friends here?"
The soldier stumbled back, unsteady. "N… No. No issues here. Just… pink skies and flickerflies."
"Great! Now, on your way." A wide smile blossomed across Valen's grim face. "Never abuse the power entrusted to you." The words echoed a lesson drilled into him by his father.
What Valen didn't know was that Lyra had already unsheathed her blade, standing silently behind his broad shoulders. Argon's approach only added weight to the display. Faced with three subtly wild travelers, the soldier had no room to continue pressing. Real warriors, he thought, glancing between his polished steel that had never felt blood, and the dented plate and scuffed leather of the groups.
Swiftly, the greenhorned soldier retreated to his group.
Soldiers of Cambria, huh? Jonathon must be getting reinforcements, Valen thought, stance still alert.
"Ye' little lad! Appreciate it. Saved us a night in a jail cell," Brakka's boisterous voice rang out across dozens of stalls. The soldier's shoulders jumped in response, sparking laughter from both dwarves and onlookers.
"Truly, life savers!" Hargrim added. "Since you consider us friends, I won't stand on gravel. Here, take these." In his wide, thick hands lay five granite tokens, their white bodies outlined with copper frames. One was smaller than the others, dusting of stone still clinging to its grooves. Across each token, a hammer was carved, the head intricately detailed.
"Those beauties are our crest. A symbol of the dwarven kingdom," Torin explained, fixing a misplaced stone on the floor. "Without it, 'etting into our caverns is as hard as bedrock." He strode toward Argon, head craning slightly to meet his eyes.
"This is for you." Torin laid an intricate ring flat on his blackened palm, the metal catching the sunlight in a tiny gleam. "It's an invite... No, a declaration of acceptance into the Association of Builders. One of Elyndria's most exclusive and revered guilds, our members have raised cities, carved fortresses from the bones of mountains, and crafted works that survived the march of centuries." Pride and expectation radiated from Torin's voice, each word weighted with the authority of a lifetime spent shaping stone and steel.
Argon's lips trembled slightly at the sudden honor, a lump forming in his throat. This was more than a token or a gesture; it was a recognition of skill, of reputation, of trust. A place among legends. "Thank you," he breathed, voice tight with respect. "I will not disappoint."
Torin's eyes softened briefly as he nodded, the sternness giving way to a hint of a smile.
"Ahh, nightmares and dreams are two sides of the same coin," Argon murmured, a statement heavier than it first sounded. Dreams built the world; nightmares tested it. And now, Argon's hands, and heart, held the proof that he could walk among the builders who shaped it all.
"Travellin' with ye' lads was great, ain't never had the earth behave so well." Hargrim spoke. "But alas, we must part ways here. A tight schedule ye' see."
"Likewise, was a pleasure to meet you." The group nodded along with Valen's words.
"Here, payment." The old dwarf dropped a leather pouch into Valen's palm. "Should be enough for ye rocks and pebbles for a week or two."
He finished his sentence with a playful wink, and turned back towards the caravan, "Let's move. We must make it past the ridge before the storms pick up again."
With that, the dwarven caravan swiftly left the market square, leaving nothing but a faint smell of steel and raw ore, and the sound of wheels sending loose stones clattering against the ground.
Watching the dwarves leave left a faint melancholy hanging over the party of travellers, but they quickly shook it off and continued their walk.
Soon they left the bustle of market stalls, to Zack's dismay, and wandered through quieter roads. Here the stores stood, made from brick and mortar. Faint moss dotted the exposed grey brick, adding a touch of colour to the otherwise monotone buildings. The grey stone crossed with brown timber, making a surprisingly comforting surrounding. The air was warm with the smell of damp clothes and smoked vegetables. The wind had died down from the harsh speed of the wilderness, to a quiet almost charming hum. Above, Solara rested quietly, casting her holy radiance softly between buildings and roads.
Soon the group made their way to a large building, the largest building on the square. It towered one story above its neighbours, casting a long shadow to its rear. The smell of ale wafted out of the open doors, as a sign hung gingerly from above.
The Silver Boar