Mourtop

A wispy mist clung to the ground as the first few streams of light slipped through the branches, coating the grass and moss in a glistening dew. Cyrus yawned, and rubbed the heavy bags beneath his eyes. Sylven glanced over from the fire, and gestured towards a bowl of steaming porridge with a wooden spoon. 

"Eat while you get ready. We're leaving as soon as I finish taking care of the camp site."

Cyrus scowled as he grabbed the bowl. "You know, I'm looking forward to having a real meal. This porridge is the blandest thing I have ever tasted."

"Well, it's what we have," Sylven said. He gathered water from the stream, and doused the fire. "If you want to purchase spices in Mourtop, that's up to you."

Cyrus frowned as he took another bite. "I don't have any coin."

Sylven grunted as he finished packing, and rolled up his mat. His sword sat beside, returned to its sheath. The leather hilt was well worn, but the metal was polished, and well-kempt.

"Where did you learn to use a sword?" Cyrus asked. "Were you a squire before you met Myrel?"

"No, not quite," Sylven said. He picked up the sword, and ran his fingers down the sheath. "The lessons and the sword were a gift to me from one of Myrel's old friends. He always said that if magic ever failed me, I'd need to know another way to defend myself."

"Are you any good?" Cyrus asked. He finished his porridge, and threw his bowl into his pack. 

"I won't claim to be the best, but I'm decent enough," Sylven said. He strapped the sword to his waist. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Cyrus said. He grabbed his stuff, and followed Sylven back to the road. A grey dove flew over their heads, softly cooing as it flitted from branch to branch. 

The day grew warm as the sun rose over the forest, brightening the lush green leaves, which now were dyed with tints of red and orange. The branches shook as squirrels darted past, scurrying to gather food for the coming winter, while hares and rabbits hopped over the roots to get back to their hovels.

Along the way, Cyrus practiced his magic by growing vines and bushes, or stretching out patches of moss, to cover rocks and logs. Sylven took the time to point out different ideas, or changes in the way Cyrus used his magic. 

This continued on until Mourtop was only a league away, and the road became busier with wagons and people. The village itself was about three times as large as Withro, with a large road down the middle, which led to the pass between the mountains. 

As they passed through the gates, Cyrus studied the bustling village. Each building was evenly spaced, and well maintained, without a rotten shutter, or crooked door in sight. Most of the men were fine tunics, while the women were dressed in long dresses made from silk and cotton. A number of wagons and carriages, filled with goods, crowded the sides of the street.

"It's bigger than I expected," Cyrus said. He stepped to the side as a group of children ran past, chasing a leather ball.

"It's one of the only ways merchants can transport their goods through the mountains," Sylven said. "Unless they want to pay for a ship, and go around, they have to pass through here."

"It looks like the villagers took advantage of that," Cyrus said. He glanced around. "Where are we going first?"

"I wanted to purchase some goods, and ask around to see if there's been any news on the stone plague," Sylven said. He gestured towards a tower in the center of the village. "Why don't we meet back here when the bell strikes four."

"Could you lend a bit of coin to get something to eat?" Cyrus asked. His stomach rumbled from the honeyed aroma floating through the air. 

"Alright, but don't waste it. There's a few decent stalls down this road, which I've eaten from before," Sylven said. He handed Cyrus a few coppers. "Why don't you go try them?"

"Thanks," Cyrus said. As he made his way down the street, the bell tolled twice, signaling the change of the hour. 

Cyrus grinned, following the scent of food down the street. The number of stores and shops rivaled the ones in Galeden, brimming with fresh meats and steaming loaves. A particularly busy stall caught his eye. A red banner draped from its roof, depicting a dragon.

'I wonder what they're selling,' Cyrus thought. He joined the crowd, waiting for what felt like an eternity until he reached the front. His mouth watered as he stared at a display of glistening meats and vegetables. 

"What'll it be?" A large man stood behind the stall, with a thick head of black hair, and full beard. His tunic was stained with grease and oil.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Cyrus asked.

 "What do you want? Come on, I don't have all day," The man said. 

"Oh, I'll take…" Cyrus glanced between the variety of meats. His gaze finally stopped on a thick leg, glazed with honey, and dripping with grease. A single bite looked like it could feel his stomach. "I'll take a turkey leg. How much?"

"Four copper." The man grabbed the leg with a rag, and traded it for the coin. He didn't give Cyrus a second glance as he moved onto the next person. 

Cyrus dug into the meat as he walked away, groaning as the juices flooded his mouth. Wiping his face with the rag, he glanced down at the remaining two coppers in his hand. 'Lets see. What else can I buy?'

Cyrus wandered down the street, making his way from stall to stall. Most sold different tools, or everyday household items. There were oak bowls and plates, wool rugs, and iron pots and pans, among other things throughout. He spent the most time at a stall selling clay pottery, drawn in by the myriad of colorful swirls.

After almost dropping a vase, he hurried on his way, wandering the street until he stumbled into the village square. As he looked around, he spotted a strange shrine, built off to the side. It resembled a withered rose, wrapped around a broken sword. 

Cyrus shivered as he realized it was the idol of the Dilthane. A small group of people surrounded it, bowing their heads as a man with a sharp chin raised his hands over them. His thin brown eyebrows rose as he spoke, but Cyrus was too far to hear what he said. 

The people then raised their heads, rubbing the base of the shrine before they left. As a new group of people approached, the man glanced at Cyrus, and smiled. Cyrus felt his blood run cold, and hurried on his way.