Chapter 112: Generous employer
The town of Wyrm’s End didn’t have an ordinary gate. Instead it had a toll booth made of piled ogre skulls.
The Iron-Horse Mark II rumbled to a halt in front of the barrier. A group of desert bandits, wearing mismatched armor made from giant scorpion chitin, blocked the path.
"Halt!" the leader shouted, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco onto the dry ground. He eyed the sleek, black metal of the carriage with naked greed.
"Entrance fee. Five hundred gold coins. And... we need to inspect the cargo. Safety regulations, you understand."
Inside the carriage, Leona growled, her hand reaching for the door handle. "Damn bandit! He wants to rob us.."
"Relax, Leona," Damien said, adjusting his collar.
He smoothed out his expensive black coat and put on a pair of sunglasses he had commissioned Brokk to make.
"We aren’t warriors today. We are tourists."
Damien kicked the door open.
He stepped out into the heat, not looking at the bandits, but looking past them at the dusty, sprawling shantytown.
"My, my," Damien drawled, his voice pitched slightly higher, carrying the haughty arrogance of a capital noble.
"What a... rustic establishment. Is this really the famous Wyrm’s End? It smells like wet dog."