This is a CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE BOOK.
That way, you can manipulate the story by choosing what the main character, Ivar, does. Each choice matters, so choose carefully.
Ivar, an enchanter mage, must survive the perils of being accused as a crimin...
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I have decided to go to the city of Kritiks. The walk will be worth it. If I can get to Kritiks, I have a better chance of healing properly without any infection. There is always a risk of being caught by Geraim's city-guards, but I figured it was worth it.
The city was small, on the outskirts of the island of Tarrendale, but it had a very reliable marketplace. Each morning and each evening, the city market center was raving with people. The sheer amount of people there when I will arrive will be a good disguise, I hoped.
I recalled the tattered yellow, white, and blue striped cloth and fabric draped over the chipping, wooden shop stands. The amount of items scattered around each table was captivating, and there were enough fresh foods to feed a family for a lifetime.
Each stand in the city was clad with colors and patterns of all types, surely to attract someone. The city of Kritiks was beautiful, and filled with hard working people. It was a shame that I couldn't live there, as even if I tried, I would be executed sooner or later.
As I wrapped up my thoughts, I set off in the vague direction I knew the city to be in, with a bit more hope than I did before.
Geraim would be after me, no matter where I was. I was never safe, even if I was miles away from him. My guard is always high, and if I let it down, who knows what would happen.
As I continued walking, I noticed a feeling of being watched, observed. It was disturbing, to say the least. As if a pair of eyes could burn holes into my back. Well, that isn't so impossible, knowing the power some mages have.
I felt a little more anxiety as I walked, carefully looking around for any sudden moments or change. My hand felt for the holster of a dagger on my thigh. I didn't draw it, but I was ready.
Geraim's words rang in my head just then, "We're watching you, Ivar."
. . .
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