Dragonworld: The Drive For Power

Part 27: Filth

Filth

Keleran's mornings were often touched by a chill wind from the north, carrying with it pieces of fine dust that swirled through the streets. The dust, stung the eyes of both men and beasts, a small, daily torment for the inhabitants.

The dancing dust was a fitting reminder for what Keleran had become. A city in decline.

There was a time when Keleran had been called the Shining City, its whitewashed buildings gleaming in the sunlight, its streets reflecting the brilliance of a place proud and prosperous. But that was long ago, before the slow decay had set in, before the white walls had faded to a sullen grey-brown, the paint peeling away in great, jagged strips as if the city itself were shedding its skin.

The city wall had formed large cracks. Some were being hastily repaired, but most were left in place. A few laborers worked under the harsh elements, their tools clanging against the stone as they patched the worst of the damage, but their efforts felt hurried, driven more by the need to appear as though something was being done rather than by any true belief in the necessity of the task.

The temples alone, still gleaming in the morning light, were tended with any real care. It was as though the people of Keleran believed that by keeping faith with the gods, they might somehow coax a fragment of their lost glory back into the present. The offerings continued, the incense burned, even as the city withered around them.

There was a time, too, when the ruling families of Keleran had dared to dream of greatness. They had believed their city could stand as an equal to Mazran, the emerald jewel of the east.

In those days, they had painted their walls as white as the clouds in the sky, imagining that purity could rival the rich green of their neighbor's city. But those dreams had long since turned to dust, scattered by the winds of time and the harsh realities of the world.

The trade routes that had once filled Keleran's coffers had shifted, leaving the city stranded, a relic of a past age. Mismanagement and greed had done the rest, the ambitions of the city's leaders collapsing under the weight of their own hubris.

Nepotism had choked the life from the city, arrogance had blinded its rulers to the changes unfolding around them, and now all that remained was a city whose name still whispered of brightness, even as its heart grew dimmer with each passing day.

"What does this beggar want from me?" A man dressed in silk swatted away at the hand of a stumbling man dressed in torn up clothes. "Get away before I hurt you."

A guard grabbed the beggar and pushed him against the nearby wall. The wretch mumbled something in protest, but scuttered away quickly.

"Filth. So much filth," said the man dressed in silk. "They are everywhere. These vermin."

"Such is the state of affairs, Edmund," said the man walking next to him, also dressed in silk. "Back in the old days, we used to distribute free bread to the poor. This would keep at least some of them off the streets, but now the treasury is nearly empty."

"Yes, the treasury," sighed the man named Edmund Lesteren, while looking around at the three other men dressed in silk walking next to him.

Pafe was following behind them, spear in hand. As were some of his other fellow mercenaries. They formed the armed escort of the men in silk.

For Pafe, this was something new. He had been used to being in the field. However, recently his mercenary unit had been tasked with guard duty for important events around the city.

The men they were guarding were the scions of the wealthy oligarchic families, the ones that were ruling the city-state of Kelenar.

"Everything is going downhill in the city. I remember we used to have patriotic citizens joining the army, and defending the state," said Edmund.