Deathless

Deathless Chapter Twenty-Four: Moonlight

Chapter Twenty-Four: Moonlight

Southport. The great bastion of Southern Arlenian trade, stretched out before the foursome as they entered the once powerful harbour, now torn apart by the shades of war.

Great stone pillars rose up from the ground at seemingly random areas as they passed through its outskirts, the ruins of the buildings that the Luartians left while they still occupied Southern Arlenia, now razed to the ground by the slow passage of time.

The main part of the city lay past the old columns and ruined marble walls, built of wood and bits of gravel.

Most of the buildings here were made of old oak wood, taken from the scattered patches of forest in the Pass, which was about as much as the people in Southport could afford.

Despite the South’s wealth in metals and natural resources, recent events have brought the place to ruin.

The Pirate Uprising was the event that took the greatest toll on Southport, when nearly all of the stone buildings that were there were razed to the ground, save the port. The Arlenian Trade Crisis and the recent wars in the south, the Mage War, namely, as well as several less significant revolts that were quickly put down, kept the citizens from rebuilding properly, and now they were forced to live in simple wooden hovels, which did little to protect them from the sharp cold that ruled the southern regions of Arlenia, especially in the winter.

Nevertheless, because of Ashmur’s iron fisted rule, people were forced to persist in Southport, if only to serve as a port for Ashmur’s ships as they came up from the Frustum from his shipyard at Ictus City.

Sirya felt sorry for them. They skirted from the edges of the main city for favour of heading to their supposed meeting place with their contact in the city.

“So where is this contact supposed to be, Risselyn?” Sirya asked Risselyn.

“The emperor told me he’s to be found in a small forge by the sea, on the eastern outskirts of the city.”

“A blacksmith?”

“Of sorts.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Sirya demanded, irritated.

“It means that he can be trusted,” Risselyn said simply. “He’s been spying for the Imperial forces for years now.”

They continued on through the early evening, the stars just beginning to shine above their heads.

Just as the moon was close to completing half of its arc across the night sky, they came upon a tiny, one story wooden shack with a small fenced out foyer off to the side containing a forge, a grindstone and a workbench. Bits of metal, unfinished swords, scraps of breastplates, axe blades without handles, were strewn about, with finished weapons displayed neatly on the wall of the cabin, on a weapons rack.

As they approached, they noticed some things that were odd about the house.

The polished glass windows were dark, and no light came from the forge as well. They got closer, stepping onto the sturdy oak panels that made up the house’s porch.

Lindale strode with caution over to the forge, and bent over the coals. They were darkened, black. That was odd. Typically, when you found an active forge, the coals in the furnace would never be a pure shade of black. Usually, there would at least be some cinders left to burn overnight.

He decided to examine them further. Cautiously, he pulled off his glove and pressed the tip of his finger against the coals. He decided to take this nice and slow. You could never be too cautious. Lindale had known men who had had their skin burned off from handling coals from a forge’s furnace without proper caution.