Aldmoor
**Aldmoor Mayor’s Office**
The City of Aldmoor was built on what were once just a few mud huts in a swamp. During the days of the ancient kingdom, the ruling king conscripted all water and earth magicians in the kingdom to create a small city in the Surinam swamp. The town was meant to serve as a Halfway point for traders and nobles who demanded safe travel through the area. It took a long time to dry out the swampland, but soon the ground had dried up, and the rivers had been redirected. The land was ready for farming. Many small rice paddies now surround the city, creating a kaleidoscopic effect. Now, nothing but the city’s name recalls the once-tiny swamp village built out of mud huts.
Generally, at this time of year, the whole city would be in preparation for the rice harvest, but for four weeks now, they had not dared to step outside the town. The few who did never returned, and the few Merchants who reached Aldmoor had been robbed clean.
They had been murdered, robbed, or worse. The city streets were empty, and no one was in the mood to celebrate the canceled Harvest. Except for the market, where the prices rose daily, and in front of the Mayor’s Villa. In front of the Villa was a gathering of angry Civilians and merchants who wanted to speak with the Mayor. They demanded an answer to their peril, a solution, justice.
In the Mayors Office, a bleak, fat man could be seen walking up and down in front of a window, his many chins bobbing up and down, sweat rolling down from his perfectly white toupee over his powdered face. He scratched the itchy toupee, swept the sweat from his face with an already damp handkerchief, groaned, and peeked between the curtains only to see the angry townsfolk. This jumpy behavior only ended when he heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said, his voice filled with anxiety. Through the door came a happy young butler who immediately started talking.
“Hello, my lord, how are you today?” but the young man couldn’t even finish his greeting before his impatient Master interrupted him,
“Cut the formalities, Ernst. Just tell me, has there been an answer from Duke Winslow?”
His Lord, Baron Karl Morenberg, the Mayor of Aldmoor, looked at his butler, Ernst, with pleading eyes.
“Yes, his Lordship Duke Winslow has sent an answer,” answered Ernst before handing the still-sealed letter to the Baron.
Baron Morenberg broke the seal with trembling Hands and began reading the letter. When he reached the end, he couldn’t believe it.
“Just ten men! And they are just a bunch of mercenaries!” he exclaimed in rage while crumpling the letter. The last word mercenaries in particular left his mouth akin to a curse.
Baron Morenberg was Furious. He had sent a letter for help right after this accursed Priest and his entourage arrived. The only good news in the letter was that Duke Winslow had sent more letters to other Nobles in the region asking for help. Essentially signaling to every noble in the surrounding fiefdoms that his land might be up for grabs soon.
Baron Karl Morenberg lives an opulent life not because he extorts his people but because the town does very well. There are no slums and barely any beggars. The streets are clean, and the guards are doing their jobs.
Baron Morenberg has done nothing wrong. No one could have guessed there would suddenly be this many Bandits at their gates. It had always been very safe in the Far East, but since that Priest arrived, bandits were buzzing around the city like flies on a dunghill.
*Knock, Knock*
“Just open the damn door!” he didn’t mean to yell at the new visitor, but he was very on edge.
A petite maid pushed her head through the opening and stammered, “T-There is a group of K-Knights at the G-Gate who want to enter. They say they are from Fort Rosedorn.”
A shimmer of hope.
**Janus**
Even from afar, we could see that the City Walls of Aldmoor were barely 3 Meters tall. They had recently been reinforced by several wooden boards and a ditch filled with wooden spikes, but they still had the same old rusty gates.
We still had the same formation we had in the forest, except for the mother and daughter who followed in the center.
When Collin and I reached the front gate, we heard a command.
“State your Name, allegiance, and Purpose.”
We saw a withered man in his forties sticking just half his head out between the Battlements. A kettle hat on his head.
“I’m Janus Yuwen with my Brother Joel Yuwen. We come from Fort Rosedorn and wish to talk to Baron Morenberg.”
“With the Baron, you say. You will have to wait for your identity to be confirmed. I hope you understand.”
“I do, we will wait.”
“Could you tell me what the situation is like?” But there was no answer. I turned around and walked up to Joel.
“What do you think of this?”
“They are being cautious. It seems they already had to deal with disguises and leaked information.”
“Looks like it, yes. Do you reckon there could be a spy?”
“We should assume so, or we will later burn ourselves.”
“Okay, but what do you think of the defenses?”
“Defenses? I alone would be enough to topple their flimsy walls. I really don’t know what the People behind this are thinking. It looks almost too easy. But still not something a bunch of Bandits could break through.”
“Same. There must be something more we haven’t considered yet.”
“Like what?”
“Like a hidden Force.”
“Oh, please. Ever since Ruby escaped her slave master, you started to see People like her and us under every stone.”
“We don’t know that, and didn’t you just say you could take the city by yourself?”
“The city, yes, but not our men protecting the Priest. Rodrick, maybe, but there is no way I could beat Titus.”
Titus had been our father’s long-time childhood rival and the only one who could match him in battle. The giant could casually lift an Ox or pull a Carriage at full speed.
“Exactly my Point. The Enemy had to know about Titus. So, either their plan to deal with him failed, or there are…?”
“People like us or ruby with the bandits *sigh* I know you are right, I just wish you were wrong though. It would make this so much easier.”
“You know, now that I look at you, have you lost weight recently?”
After half an hour of bickering, the Messenger finally returned. But he was not alone. A chubby powdered creampuff was now wholly occupying the gap between the Battlements.
“Ah, Baron Morenberg. I saw you two years ago in the capital during the summer solstice.”
“Janus and Joel, right, you really look just like your father when he was young. Come, come, inside. Open the gate already!”
The sweaty Creampuff grinned from ear to ear like a maiden on her wedding day, impatiently urging his guards to let us inside.