Upon crossing the border between the small rural farms, he found the cityscape of Lamia in his view , before he knew it he had crossed under the gates hoping to be drawn to beauty but found himself in the middle of a deserted town, with no markets open today. A few stray children running around. The colors of the city fading, and people shut out from society as they peered behind the blinds of their windows to see the strange visitor in his wagon. An overly burly man- who had half of his face obscured, riding on a wagon with just a single horse, and no sword in sight? That smelled like trouble.
He passed through all the buildings until he found his destination, an armory where he was meant to drop off the boxed items at. It was a small building right across from an Inn called Valor's Inn Keep.
Valor's Armory, it was. It was ran by a woman, named Valor. She inherited the shop from her mother apparently, and she was ever so joyous to find someone to carry her things all the way from Frista, for no visitor ever came to Lamia and that's perhaps why it felt so alienated from the world.
"Here's ya pay, Buck. I do many thank you, for delivering. Also, your bunkers on me- I own the inn just across from here, tell them you're Valor's guest."
Valor's Inn Keep, he should've guessed they would be related. He offered to pay but she closed the money in his hands.
"Consider this as thanks for your long journey." He didn't complain.
After unloading everything he noticed one more box sitting in the back of the wagon. He recalled some strange man had at last minute request to Lamia and just dumped his box in there- throwing a few gold shillings with an envelope as a pay and promising he would be payed handsomely once he delivers the goods.
He did as told after securing his wagon in the back alley and tying the pull tie in a complex manner and having his horse kept by the local stalls and found himself on the second floor of the Inn keys kinging in his hand, a small room in the corner with the floor boards creaking with every step. There were dust particles on everything in sight, as if it had been perhaps months of no visitors coming to stay. He sat the last box down with his small bag of belongings, and took off his outer garment and shawl. He made no effort to dust off anything - he wasn't too comfortable leaving to much traces of himself anywhere.
Instead he sat on the side of the mattress feeling it dip with his weight and pushed off his boots and then his shirt, his hair falling back into place above his shoulders, sticking against his sticky back. He stood up - stretching his back muscles from sitting too long in one position.
He needed a bath. Badly.
He navigated his way to an innovative washroom nearby in the hall - with nothing but a small small cloth around his waist. He was mind boggled to find the inn had a piping system in the building that produced warm water. That was perhaps one of the more positive sides of Lamia.
After a long day he needed that shower, his body had dried but his hair had been strung up lankily, still drenched in water. He opened the window covers to allow fresh air in, and saw the city as sun down peered at them. It felt odd. Everything was contradictory to what the locals from the a few towns back had told him.
This had been Lamia. A quiet night in Lamia? The bustling city of West End was dead silent. It surely must've been a mistake because this was the opposite of the Lamia written in books and taught to children for decades. It couldn't be.
Lamia, The City of Hope.