This is an earlier addition...sorry for it being out of order.
“First time in Bloodcove, eh?” the vendor called as the group made their way past without pausing to sample the wares being shown.
“Why do they all keep saying that?” Durvil asked.
Jessup glanced up at him incredulously, then shared a look with Elsbeth. “Is he serious?”
“Quite,” Elsbeth replied.
Dodging their way through the narrow boardwalks of Bloodcove, the group was doing its best to appear as though it belonged amongst the scoundrels, loud mouthed street vendors and thugs that thronged the public walks. Considering Durvil’s swagger, Ixilplith’s wide-eyed studying of everything around him, Lothar’s near-drunken happy hum, and Selah’s obvious concern for anyone coming near her, the challenge was nearly insurmountable.
Everywhere around them, huge banyan trees rose out of the murky red waters, obscuring the sky with a canopy of leaves. Built among the massive roots and trunks were the buildings of the city; often ramshackle, most of them constructed of wood, and always bustling with trade. Beyond the cover the banyans provided, the heat of the jungle was oppressive. Here, it was dampened to a point that was almost comfortable, and the city thrived on constant commerce as a result. Everyone, it seemed, had something to sell. If they weren’t actively soliciting customers, they were moving goods from one point to another within the city. If that short movement wasn’t their activity, it was the more serious business of bringing lost artifacts and goods out of the jungle and preparing them for transport across the sea. Nowhere did anyone stand idle. Only the Snakes seemed to have anything to do besides buy and sell.
Those groups all seemed involved in the wider commerce of taking advantage of the locals. They operated in gangs, always with a clear leader. That one would be leaning in close to the object of his interest, baring his teeth in what could only be called a grin, all while his thugs pocketed the things that took their fancy. Never did anyone question their right to do so, and often the group would be sent on their way with praises for the protection they offered and well wishes for their health. Interestingly, petty thievery was nonexistent, and many people went about unarmed, seemingly little concerned for their safety.
Durvil huffed loudly. “It seems as though the nobility has been completely leeched from everyone in this city. I wonder that anyone even has direction, here.”
“Aye, sir,” Jessup agreed. “Why, it often amazes all of us that we know which foot to put in front of which when we walk.” He adroitly dodged the cuff that Durvil sent his way, quickening his pace to put a few steps between them. Pointing, he distracted Durvil from further attempts with an exclamation, “The guild house is ahead, sir. Everyone we’ve asked agrees that Scevola spends all his time there while he’s in Bloodcove. No one says they’ve seen him at the caravanserai in over a month, so this is where he should be.”
Across the open square a small building huddled next to the bowl of a banyan. A few windows paned with dirty glass flanked the building’s entrance, a wide door that stood open to the square invitingly.
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