Ruling Body

On the way to the giant Cathedral, Cobobles, with a spring in his step that belied his girth, pointed out various establishments with an easy familiarity. "Over there, Adrain, that's where the finest textiles in Klen are spun and dyed," he rumbled, gesturing with his pipe towards a building adorned with vibrant swathes of shimmering fabric. "They use threads from the Silk-Weavers of the Whispering Woods – strong as steel, soft as a cloud."

A little further down, he pointed to a stall overflowing with exotic meats and dried provisions. "And that, my boy, is 'The Hunter's Bounty,' run by a gruff but fair Eldrin named Faelan. If you need to restock your supplies on your travels, he's the one to see. Always got fresh Grim-Hide meat, among other things." He winked, a silent acknowledgement of Adrain's recent kill.

As they rounded a corner, a rhythmic clang of metal on metal grew louder, and Adrain saw a large, open-fronted building belching sparks and the smell of hot iron. "Ah, 'The Forge of Asha,'" Cobobles announced, his voice tinged with admiration. "Run by the Dracaeni, a family of master smiths. If you need a weapon that won't fail you in a pinch, or armor that can turn a beast's claw, that's your place. Their blades hum with elemental magic."

Finally, as the spires of the Cathedral loomed even larger, Cobobles inclined his head towards a smaller, more discreet building nestled between two larger merchant houses. Its facade was austere, but a faint, golden glow emanated from within. "And there, Adrain, is the 'Veiled Truths Appraisal Office.' If you ever come across something… rare, or of uncertain origin, they're the ones who can tell you its true worth, both in coin and in purpose. They deal in ancient artifacts, magical curios, and even the occasional lost legacy." He paused, his gaze lingering on the building for a moment before returning to Adrain. "A useful place to know, for those on extraordinary paths, young 'un. But be careful they set their own prices in more ways than one"

 "After you," Cobobles rumbled, gesturing expansively with his pipe towards the immense, intricately carved wooden doors of the cathedral. Two guards, massive figures clad in polished armor that gleamed with faint luminous runes, stood at attention on either side. As Cobobles and Adrain approached, they simultaneously snapped to a crisp salute, their armored gauntlets thudding against their chests, and then presented their halberds in a synchronized display of respect. The massive doors swung inward with a low, resonant creak, revealing a vast, echoing chamber within.

The interior of the cathedral was even more breathtaking than its exterior. Sunlight streamed through towering stained-glass windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the polished stone floor. The central aisle stretched seemingly endlessly towards a distant, grand dais at the far end, flanked by rows of carved benches that stretched upwards like a silent forest. But Cobobles didn't head for the dais. Instead, he led Adrain towards a massive, heavily embellished door set into the wall to the left of the main aisle, a door that seemed far too grand for a simple antechamber, more akin to the entrance of a monarch's private chambers.

Cobobles reached the imposing door and, with a casual air, tapped the bowl of his pipe lightly against its surface. There was no immediate response, but after a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible hum resonated through the stone, and the doors swung silently inward, revealing a sight that completely redefined Adrain's understanding of this world.

It was a throne room, undeniably, but unlike any he could have ever conceived. Every inch of the soaring walls, from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, was covered, not with tapestries or grand paintings, but with books. Thousands upon thousands of them, stacked on intricately carved wooden shelves, in every conceivable size and color, some ancient and bound in worn leather, others sleek and vibrant. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and dust, mingled with the faint, sweet aroma of Cobobles' pipe. In the center of the far wall, a massive throne of dark, polished wood stood, not imposing or ornate, but comfortable, almost scholarly in its design. And on the wide, sprawling armrests and across the seat of the throne itself, more books and scrolls were piled, along with scattered papers and a quill.

Cobobles, without a word, continued his unhurried stride directly towards the throne. Adrain watched, dumbfounded, as the portly vendor, with his pipe still emitting its fragrant smoke, settled himself onto the throne, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and with a casual flick of his wrist, waved a hand towards the vast, book-lined walls.

"Welcome, Adrain," Cobobles rumbled, his voice now imbued with an authority that had been absent moments before, a deep resonance that vibrated through the very air. "Welcome to my humble study."