Until recently, little was known of the northern wastes—an inhospitable landscape beyond the Elven forests of Gearagh. Many ventured there; few returned, telling of giants, barbarians, and dragon-like beasts.
North of Firienholt, grasslands stretch for kilometers before fading into rocky desert that extends endlessly east and west.
This land offers little water; many plants and animals are poisonous or inedible. Survival is possible, cautiously, in the northern hills. Distant, ice-shrouded mountains loom, dark clouds swirling above them.
Journey to the Market
After we crested the hills, lush grasslands vanished, replaced by harsh terrain. Sparse grass swayed in the dry breeze; cracked soil reflected the drought. The sun beat down, sapping our strength with each step.
Tharic grumbled, dragging his boots through the dust. "If I don’t see a proper river soon, I’ll start drinking my own sweat," he said, shooting a resigned look at Sariel.
Sariel adjusted her hood, rolling her eyes before replying, "Perhaps you should save your strength—and your complaints—Tharic. The sun’s not going anywhere."
Tharic glared but fell silent. None of us had the energy to bicker. I looked at the others, feeling my heart ache at the unspoken name on all our minds—Grimold Heartbreaker, our Dwarven cleric and the reason we survived so many hardships. Now he was gone. His absence pressed on us, not just heavy but suffocating, an emptiness that gnawed with loneliness and guilt.
“May he rest in peace,” I murmured under my breath, not for the first time. Pain tightened my throat, a sharp ache that blurred the lines between grief and thirst. My eyes burned, yet no tears would come, the loss raw and silent inside me.
By luck or divine intervention, we found a road winding through the barren terrain. Its cracked surface was unmistakably man-made. Relief flickered across our weary faces as we saw it led where we needed to go.
“What do you suppose these are?” asked Sariel suddenly, gesturing toward a series of markers spaced at intervals along the roadside. They were crude stone pillars, no taller than my waist, each etched with unfamiliar symbols.
“Could be warnings,” Tharic grunted, leaning closer to inspect one. “Or directions.”
“Directions to what?” I asked warily.
He shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
A strange sensation prickled my neck, as if watched. I dismissed it as exhaustion until I saw large men, their skin blending with the rocks. They unsettled me not by hiding, but by their indifference to being seen.
“Anyone else noticing our… audience?” Sariel whispered, her hand drifting toward the hilt of her dagger.
“Keep walking,” Tharic said lowly. His tone carried a warning edge. “Don’t look too long.”
I kept my gaze fixed ahead, my grip on my pack straps so tight my knuckles ached. Every muscle trembled with the effort not to look back. Panic fluttered in my chest each time I caught a glimpse of movement, convinced that more figures shadowed our path than I dared count. The weight of their eyes pressed down like a threat I could not shake.
Days became nights as we trudged along the road. Heat by day yielded to frigid winds by night. We saw no end until signs of life appeared on the horizon.
It began with scattered travelers appearing along the road: tall figures with powerful builds and skin tinged faintly blue under the sunlight. They moved with purpose and precision, their strides confident but guarded. Some carried weapons slung across their backs; others pushed carts laden with goods I couldn’t identify from afar.
“Look at them,” Tharic muttered under his breath as one particularly imposing figure passed us by without so much as a nod.
“They’re huge,” I whispered back.
“And quiet,” Sariel added warily. “Too quiet.”
These travelers spoke to neither us nor each other. Whether their silence came from a language barrier or something else was impossible to tell.
One evening, as we set up camp, I knelt to stack kindling while eyeing a pair of travelers who stopped nearby. They sat apart from us, hands resting on their knees, eyes trained on the fire as they murmured quietly to each other.
“Hail!” I called out cautiously. “Do you understand me?”
One of them glanced my way briefly before turning his attention back to his companion. Neither replied.
“Well,” said Sariel dryly after a moment, “that went well.”
“They’re hiding something,” Tharic grumbled.
Sariel shrugged, giving Tharic a sidelong glance. "Or maybe they’re just better at avoiding us than we are at avoiding them."
Tension grew as more travelers joined, each keeping distance yet all moving in the same direction. Suspicion lingered like smoke in the air.
Then came the moment we reached the crest of a hill and saw it: a walled village sprawled across the valley below. Its stone walls stood tall and imposing, their surfaces etched with intricate carvings that glinted faintly in the fading light of dusk.
“What is that?” Sariel breathed.
In the center stood a stone tower, its surface seamless as if carved from a single rock. At its peak pulsed an otherworldly blue light, rhythmic like the heartbeat of an ancient beast.
“To the west,” Tharic said suddenly, pointing toward a line of wagons trundling toward the village gates. “First wagons we’ve seen in days.”
As I saw this strange convergence point, anticipation and unease battled in my chest. People from all directions gathered for reasons unknown.
“Well,” Sariel said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen over us all. “Shall we?”
Her question hung in the air like a challenge—and with little choice left before us, we began our descent toward whatever fate awaited within those towering walls.
Each moment here is expanded, with dialogue breathing life into the characters’ dynamics, while vivid descriptions help bring the world to life. Let me know if you’d like further refinements.
The Market Village
The village unfolded before us, teeming with energy. Winding streets crisscrossed the settlement, lined with makeshift stalls and colorful canopies. Aromas of roasted meats, spices, and livestock mingled in the air. Merchants shouted, voices blending in a chaotic symphony. Children darted through the crowds, laughter and dust trailing behind.
We paused at the edge of the market, surveying the spectacle. My companion pointed at stacked baskets on a cart. "General market," I murmured, piecing together what I could from the chaos. Goods overflowed: dyed fabric fluttered, metal trinkets glittered, and crates brimmed with unfamiliar fruits and vegetables. The region had truly gathered here to trade.
Unable to communicate, I gestured to a vendor, miming hunger and thirst. Sariel drew quick sketches in the dirt, frowning as she negotiated with exaggerated nods. After tense exchanges, Tharic bartered bread for a carved trinket from his pack. When the innkeeper finally beckoned with a smile, Sariel and I followed, relief sagging our shoulders as we collected the food and water.
Wandering deeper, curiosity tugged at us. Most people were human—bronzed by the sun, of varying builds. Among them loomed scaled figures, clearly draconic. Their scales shimmered in hues from black to gold; they moved confidently, heads high, eyes watchful.
Though humans gave these Dragonkin a wide berth, there was no open hostility. Subtle signs revealed tension: quick glances, hushed conversations. "Fascinating," I muttered, watching a farmer avert his eyes as a crimson Dragonkin passed.
My companion raised an eyebrow at me. "Fascinating, huh? I find it a bit unsettling myself."
Our luck turned when we found colorful wagons belonging to gnomes, who greeted us with curiosity that turned to warmth. Their leader, Jules Tinkerton, was wiry, with wild silver hair poking from his floppy hat.
"Ah! Travelers!" Jules exclaimed in heavily accented Common, twisting words into something almost unrecognizable yet strangely endearing. "You’ve got luck on your side finding ol’ Jules Tinkerton!" His grin stretched wide across his face as he gestured for us to join them around their campfire.
Grateful for their hospitality and for finally finding someone who spoke a language we understood, we shared stories late into the evening. Jules proved to be an animated storyteller, his hands moving as much as his mouth while he described life here at this biannual market.
"This village," he began grandly, waving his arms to encompass everything around him, "is *the* hub for trade in these parts! Twice a year, folks come from all over, north, south, east, west, bringing goods you wouldn’t believe! And best part? Peace geas." He tapped his temple knowingly. "Magic keeps everyone civil-like, no fighting allowed within the village or on roads leading here."
"That explains the lack of conflict," I mused aloud.
"Aye," Jules agreed with a solemn nod before leaning closer conspiratorially. "But don’t let that fool ya into thinking all’s rosy here." He tilted his head toward where several Dragonkin loitered near a stall selling gemstones. "Them? Strange lot they are, claim ties to dragons of old." He scratched his chin thoughtfully before adding, "They’ve got powers too, not just looks! Fire breathers…, ice blowers…, nasty stuff if you ask me."
I followed his gaze but said nothing as unease prickled at the back of my neck.
"And them?" Jules continued without prompting this time, nodding toward another group clustered nearby: tall figures with blue-tinted skin that gleamed faintly under lamplight; their muscular builds made them appear almost statuesque despite their ragged attire.
"They hate Dragonkin," Jules explained matter-of-factly. "Can’t stand ‘em! Only thing stoppin’ bloodshed is that peace magic I mentioned earlier." He chuckled darkly before adding cryptically: "Stick around long enough, you’ll see what I mean."
Later that night, around flickering firelight, shadows danced across our faces as Jules shared warnings about venturing northward, territory ruled by Dragonkin, according to him.
"Bad idea," he said flatly when we mentioned heading that way. His jovial demeanor vanished entirely, replaced by something colder… grimmer. "You go north without permission? You don’t come back—not free anyway."
The weight behind those words settled heavily over us, leaving no doubt about their veracity—or the danger ahead.