Pillars of Age

A Fair Encounter

HARLAN

The sky over the Trade City of Fehir was an unbroken expanse of blistering light, forcing mortals to seek shelter beneath tiled roofs or the verdant canopies that lined the bustling streets. Only those with pressing business—trading caravans and market porters—braved the oppressive heat of the day.

Fehir, the largest land trade city in Southern KuvnarMal, stood at the northern edge of the vast Adghar Forest. Strategically nestled at the crossroads of the Southeastern and Central Trade Highways, the city thrived on the lifeblood of the DerijCal River. Its waters were alive with merchant vessels navigating the trade routes of Southern KuvnarMal. Massive bridges spanned the river, each one lined with bustling shops and thriving businesses. These bridges formed the heart of Fehir, their tolls a steady source of wealth for the city. Here, prosperity wasn't merely a byproduct of trade—it was the city's lifeblood.

"At last, Fehir!" Cirro exclaimed, his voice full of relief as they approached the city gates.

"Indeed," Harlan replied, his tone measured, though his posture betrayed a weariness.

"Weeks of those bland Khuzma leaves nearly did me in!" Cirro grimaced, the memory of their recent meals souring his expression, though a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Unpleasant, to say the least," Harlan agreed, his face unusually stern.

"Why are you acting so aloof?" Cirro snapped, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Why? Because those Khuzma slipped sleeping potions into our food!" Harlan's voice sharpened, breaking through his usual calm demeanor.

Cirro paused mid-step, realization dawning. "No wonder my head is still spinning..."

"...and we woke up late on the edge of the forest with the Khuzma nowhere to be found!" Harlan added, his voice tinged with irritation.

"You didn't expect them to do this?" Cirro asked, astonished.

"I thought the emergence of the Light in the Sea would force them to focus on that rather than hoarding their ancient secrets!" Harlan explained, his tone softening slightly.

Cirro shrugged, his grin returning. "So, you were careless."

"No. They were too secretive!" Harlan retorted, his voice rising again.

Cirro raised his hands in mock surrender, taken aback by the rare burst of anger. "Seems like you're irritable because you're hungry. Let's find a food stall and wash away the blandness of Khuzma's cooking."

As if in agreement, Harlan's stomach let out a loud, grumbling protest. He sighed, relenting. "Fine. Any decent food stalls in southern Fehir?"

"Of course! Marugh's roasted duck stall!" Cirro replied with enthusiasm.

"Marugh? The former Orc soldier? You're suggesting we eat Orc food?" Harlan asked skeptically.

Cirro nodded. "The duck's a little rare, but it's fresh DerijCal swamp duck. Marugh hunts it himself!"

Harlan arched an eyebrow. "That means he's no ordinary former soldier. Perhaps a War Chief's Companion?"

"Where did you—Ah, never mind!" Cirro said, shaking his head. "My taste buds need rejuvenation as soon as possible!"

With that, he strode energetically toward the market by the bridge gate, leaving Harlan to trail behind, his shoulders slouched and weariness apparent.

MARUGH'S ROASTED DUCK STALL

The market was alive with the sounds of traders bartering, cooks shouting orders, and the clatter of carts. As they entered Marugh's food stall, Cirro exchanged a familiar gesture with a plump Orc whose green skin glistened in the sunlight. Despite his missing right hand, Marugh moved deftly, orchestrating his staff with practiced precision.