Rynth: Four Beats

| 9th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |

A few details immediately struck out once they passed the gates.

With the looming giantness of the aforementioned King’s Mountain layered with the early morning glow of Pneficus Kadore toward its rise in the east, the parts of Vonas—namely the streets situated at the base of the plateau—were drenched in a dreary darkness that likely wouldn’t fade until the midday when the sun was at its peak. In general, much of the city was dim, if only dim enough that it didn’t outright strike any odd chords in visiting travelers. ‘Oh, I see why it’s that dark.’ Many a caller likely would have uttered such a phrase.

People in the queue quickly split up. The gates opened into a sprawling center dotted in dozens of makeshift stalls manned by equally as many merchants and news hawkers, each one having set up shop in whatever spot they could find was free. All were shouting into the swarming buzz of crowds passing by, offering to shell out the best of their product for *supposedly* cheaper prices.

Fruit, vegetables, fish. Most likely harvested from the fields outside the city walls or in the ship-ridden dock waters. A few stood out from the standard. They were the ones that carried the more expensive trinkets. Artifacts, magic items, scrolls. Cheaper than one could buy from established academic institutions or temples of Mysjati and other magic-related gods, but without the added certainty that they would actually work. Still, no one stooped to actually personally stopping those that got too close. With how many slid past in the packed heat, there was no use in spending time trying to convince someone who would likely not buy anything—or worse, just window-shop—when the alternative was finding those that actually wanted to spend their coin.

Layered apartments rising past four stories kept to the background, all established in the same polished, smooth stone and wood that the city had adopted. The craftsmanship was worth the second look, having taken from the Great Bridge’s arches and used the inspiration to draft and carve long, flowing cantilevers and overhead capitals. Clothes ran the empty length of distance between the higher floors of balconies, hung and connected via braided cotton and hemp clotheslines. Their colors added a weird sense of vibrance to the atmosphere, creating a little ‘welcome’ that, while silent, managed to make the general noise a bit more bearable.

“We’re at Lak-Alas Street currently, if I recall,” Avil mouthed, running his eyes all over the populated square. “It’s one of Vonas’ more crowded areas ‘cause of the merchants that set up shop here early in the morning.”

“It is regarded as the proper market district,” Cali added. “The shouting begins before the sun rises. Many of the merchants wake up before the rooster crows all so they might find the perfect spot. The city also does not care to mediate until a fight or altercation breaks out, and as such it is regarded as a rather lawless place.”

Raoul raised an eyebrow, bringing both his palms to lightly cover his ears. “I would respect their dedication to their craft, but it’s getting really noisy. The crowds are also really jarring. We should probably find the tavern before we do any exploring. Idri, do you want anything once we’re set up?”

A few seconds elapsed—no response. She most likely didn’t hear him. People were practically pushing past each other, forcing the Batan to keep close so as to not get separated. He turned and called out again,

“Idri?”

Again, there was no response. He turned back to Avil and Cali. Backs turned, they kept themselves busy and recounted the details of their last trip here. They didn’t seem to notice the lack of one white-haired girl. A frown struck his face.

He reached over, tapping the both of them on the shoulder. “Guys, Idri’s gone. She was holding my hand a little while ago, but I must’ve let go accidentally. She might’ve gotten separated from us somewhere along the way.”

“Oh… oh, that’s bad,” replied Avil. “She probably can’t navigate the area well.”

Calliope nodded along. “Her blindness restricts her to mostly relying on touch and hearing. But we should not worry too much. She is a capable woman. We will likely find her soon, if she does not find us before.” She continued. “We are set to rest in The Honeyed Tankard, yes? Idri knows that, so it will not be long before she finds herself there.”

Raoul shrugged, still looking around. “I guess I’m a little worried. She’s got good spatial perception and awareness of her surroundings—I would know, she gets around well enough without me, but loud noises overwhelm her more than it does me. And… I guess it’d be near impossible to find her in a place as crowded as this with how many people there are. Let’s make our way to the tavern now, and if she doesn’t turn up in the evening, we’ll go look for her.”

They all shared looks of agreement before continuing on, this time keeping even closer as they attempted to clear the sea of people.

Thankfully enough, they were released from the heated embrace of hundreds of people and followed the street onward. Within minutes, they found the fountain Solus had noted in his directions a few minutes prior. It was a statue of a pale-skinned woman with a bed of sea-green hair that fell over her features, visibly carved to appear as if wet. Her ears were similar to the gills of a fish, flesh-colored and spread outward. In terms of clothing—she was wearing nothing. Mostarii didn’t care much for propriety, and held little to no care for what she looked like. Directly behind her rose a perfectly curving stream of water, arcing a few feet from her neck like a scarf. A celestial raiment, of sorts. The water was not part of the statue. It rose from the small pool surrounding the base of it and poured back down on the opposite side. Many passed by, but almost everyone made sure to stop for a split second to toss a coin or two into the pool.

Raoul did the same. He eyed the statue with a neutral expression, simply comparing the features of Il-Lancasta to his mother.

Avil was right beside him the next moment. He reached into his pocket and tossed a small silver Burilan coin into the pool. Cali did the same, pressing her hands together to offer a small prayer. “You know, they say if you don’t pay tribute to Mostarii, she’ll drown you in a storm the next time you’re in the sea. There’s not a whole lot of recorded instances of that happening, but it’s probably better not to risk it. Especially since we’re in a port city and right beside the literal ocean named after her.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He relented, tossing a Burilan coin of his own into the pool. He watched as it splashed, breaching the surface, and the ripples it caused in the body. “Here’s hoping she doesn’t drown me the next time I decide to go swimming.”

“Here’s hoping.”

They passed the fountain quickly and found the tavern in question. From the outside, it was a simple building. Two stories. An inviting sign of a wooden tankard filled to the brim with foaming beer. The Honeyed Tankard in italics and a thick yellow font. Raoul peered inside, and true to what Solus said, the first floor was largely occupied with numerous patrons drinking and chatting up a storm. The scent of alcohol penetrated the once-clean air, threatening secondhand drunkenness.

He hmm-ed, pushing the door open and gesturing for his two friends to follow. A ringing bell echoed to signal his entry, but the people inside—save for the bartender at the counter—didn't pay them any mind. Raoul forced himself to ignore the rampant smell and brought himself to the front.

“Hey… Two rooms, please.”