In the Valley of a Thousand Footprints

[xiii] Law of Supply and Demand

At the Northern gate of Thimbl a small troop of a dozen horsemen marched in, scattering the gathered crowds of people milling around various shops and stalls. Matching brown geldings bore the men on through, as they made for the center of the city. They were accosted by looks filled with fear and intrigue all along their route. The Spargreaves faction they were called. Ruthless men who kill for money. They expected their foray into Thimbl to be a prosperous one. 

As they neared the road leading to the temple, they saw the visage of a cloaked man riding up in their direction. One of the horsemen picked up speed and went forward to meet with the oncoming man.

"Are you the fella they said would meet us out here?" said the man who appeared to be the leader of the group. 

"Tha' I am," the cloaked man replied, bringing his horse perpendicular to the mercenary's. "I was asked to show ye to the boss." 

"We need some proof," the mercenary replied, flashing a smirk back at his companions. "I ain't just accepting your shit at face value."

"Will the letter you lot sent me suffice?" he questioned, reaching into his horses saddlebag to fish it out. His gloved hand dug about then came out holding a letter with a scarlet seal. He passed it to the mercenary leader deftly and waited while he authenticated it.

"Alrigh' then, this'll do," he confirmed, handing the letter back to its owner. "Lead on -oh, um, mister. . . ?"

"Best if my name don't get spoken out 'ere. . ." he stated, reining his horse around and trotting off. The mercenaries exchanged looks before following behind him in an orderly fashion. 

There were less people milling about on the road now, probably due to the darkening sky. The first few droplets began to fall as the troop of riders trotted on through the city. They were heading Eastward through the many roads, it was a winding maze to the inexperienced traveler. Their steady march East was smooth and uninterrupted. The cloaked man led them through various byroads, so as to not draw attention and to avoid any traffic. The company didn't speak a word the entire length of their trip.

A long while later, they came within view of a large tavern, more of an inn or hotel but it served it's purpose nonetheless. The group hitched their horses, dismounted and trudged up to the large door. There was a steady drizzle coming down upon them, and slowly all the mercenaries filed into the tavern, out of the rain and into the safety of ale and merriment. 

There were three customers and two waiters waltzing around. Ignoring them, the cloaked man led the assembled group to the back and up some stairs into an upper room. Upon entering, the cloaked man gently closed the door and stood to the side. It was a large room with a table taking up central space. On a raised dais to one end was an ornate chair, on which sat a grizzled man. He wore a fancy robe over a muted gray shirt. A lengthy black cloak made of prized silks and expensive furs sat upon his shoulders.

"Gentlemen," he growled, his voice deep and strong, "Its good to see that your journey was a safe one." He reclined on his raised chair and indicated for the mercenaries to take a seat at the large central table. "It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to my humble city, I trust your entry wasn't interrupted." His expression was flat and bored while his voice betrayed false concern. 

"We thank you for your kind hospitality, sir -"

"Oh please, call me Aelieystr -the sir business is a bit much," he said with a smile. "um. . .  Arth, could you please tell the waiters to -uh, bring something up for our guests to drink. Preferably not ale." He nodded at the cloaked man who promptly left. 

The gathered guests were looking around the room which was lifeless and dull, its wooden walls barren of pictures and décor. Aelieystr glanced over each gathered mercenary in rapid succession.