3 Seonthar, Nautilea 1073
There is a popular adage whispered among sailors and merchants, stating that to survive in the vibrant city of Lestoria, you have to be tough and romantic at the same time.
Tough because if you're not vigilant and aware of the dangers that lurk in every corner of this city, you will get robbed or beaten or both. Romantic because everyone in Lestoria is in love with something, be it adventures, radical idealism, magic, wealth, or dreams they might never achieve.
When my ship passed the blanket of fog surrounding Lestoria that night, the first object I noticed was the outline of the Great Hesperian Cathedral. It was so majestic, lined with handsome walls of yellow lights.
Then the Orstad Tower, where the most gifted people in the continent meet and study to answer the mystery of our universe.
This city is a hub of trade and commerce. It is a chaotically crowded place inconceivable by those who have never seen it.
I came to this city with one goal in mind: to see the world from my own eyes and sharpen my storytelling skill. Many sailors frowned at me when I told them the reason why I came to Lestoria. I have to concede, it didn't sound as impressive as becoming a great demon hunter or saving the world from catastrophe.
But I believe storytellers are as important as any king, as powerful as any magician. Because stories are so powerful, those who tell them wield great power over their listeners. Kings use them to win loyalty and inspire greatness. Priests use them to instill virtue and build faith. And magicians use them to call upon ethereal powers and command them.
I have seen all three: kings rise and fall, priests preach to empty pews, and magicians' spells fail them when they need them most. And I have learned this lesson: though all have power over others, only those who command stories wield power over their destiny.
As I stepped down from the ship, I noticed how hectic this city was. Traversing through the city let me know that it is filled with chaotic interactions between greedy merchants and hungry beggars, violent guards, and sly thieves.
Further down the road to the east, I saw a small building illuminated by a great dance of light. I squinted my eyes, trying to see the words on the signage. "Drunken Ship".
Behind that signage were laughter and joyful quips. I was tempted to enter, but my heart was already taken by the tall hills to the east. I was convinced that it can be a vantage point for me to savor the entire city.
Curious as I am, my feet brought me further east, through the dark roads of the hovels, then the eastern part of the city. I was not surprised that I could weather the ache in my feet. Nothing tempts me as much as the sight of an entire world from a hill at night, no matter how tired I was.
The bridge that connected the city's eastern part and the hills were shambles. I was shocked with horror as I saw a wagon move through the creaking bridge.
After surviving a week in a ship that stank of sweat, I didn't want to end up drowning in the murky water of eastern Lestoria. I stared at the dark water again. I wondered what kind of creature lurking down there.
As I climbed the green hills in the east, I realized how perfect this hill was for me. No one cared about visiting this place under the shroud of the night. As I saw clammy flowers next to my feet, I thought about how everyone was so fixated with hustle and bustle of the city, they often forget life's true beauty.
On top of the hill, I saw Lestoria again with a new set of eyes. I looked back to the city and realized what it was from a different perspective: a city of shimmering fires, constantly moving. Full of bright sparks. I lay down and open my eyes to the sky above. The night sky wasn't veiled by the ever-moving clouds.
It was as clear as the surface of the Wylanian Crystal Lake.
Of course, the celestial objects were beautiful, but I was more taken by the spaces between the stars. The emptiness seems to be endless, bordered only by the minuscule stars that lie in the sparse distance. What lies there in the absence of objects? I took a deep breath.
I woke up to the sound of chirping birds. Sun rays sneaked through the spaces between the trees, some of them kissed my skin with lovely warmth. I felt energized, more than ever, and saw Lestoria again in a different way.
If it was outlined by lanterns and shimmering lights at night, now it was a city of moving feast where people move at a breakneck pace just to get fed before the dawn arrives.
My eyes processed the view in front of me with some sort of bewilderment. It's something I have never seen before. I climbed down the hill, in a rush of excitement to see all the possibilities in a city unexplored.
The inhabitants of Lestoria intrigued me. The first one that caught my attention was a beggar in a tattered red robe, perhaps around forty years of age. Everyone seemed to be avoiding him as if he was a deadly walking plague.
I think he's wonderful. Or he could have been because behind those jaded eyes and worn-out clothes, there was a radiance as bright as any star. If only these people realize what he could have been.
While I was appreciating the man, something called me from two directions. First was my rumbling stomach, which has been empty since yesterday. Then the luscious smell from the west.
The source of that alluring scent was a lady cooking something in a big pan under a big signage "Nadine's Aromatic Shoath". Intriguingly, she didn't use any tool to flip the thing she was cooking. She dipped her hand into the hot oil! I stood amazed at this sight, mouth agape.
"Would you like a slab of roasted shoath for ten pois, young man?" asked the woman as I approached her.
"What's a shoath?" I replied with a question. That name wasn't entirely unfamiliar to me. I thought some people did mention this name.
"Have you heard the song, kid?" A visitor interjected. Then he sang something. "Shoath. Shoath. Something that keeps our lives afloat. Shoath. Shoath. It douses off malice of cutthroats."
"Shoaths are the proof of the gods' generosity, kid," another visitor added.
Their answers just lead to more questions, but the aroma coming from the smoke captivated my belly. I paid ten pois and enjoyed the juiciest meat I've ever tasted. There was a rich explosion of savory tenderness and flavorful herbs on my tongue with each bite. I was almost tempted to get another slab.
Then I realized that I almost got no money left.
So I went out, looking around to find some odd jobs so I could get some sweet pois. I'll visit this place again later, I promise myself.
The answer came from an old fisherman in the southern dock, weary and weathered, who needed help to fix his tangled fishing nets without having to cut them. I took a quick look at his green flax net.
There were a thousand bits of kelps, seaweed, and other unseemly things stuck there, making it difficult to pinpoint what's the cause of the problem. I patiently removed each one of them, bit by bit. Behind those layers of aquatic mess, the tangle was not that hard to fix.
The old fisherman rewarded me in two ways: giving me a large fish and letting me know that the owner of a place called Drunken Ship tavern would want these fishes. I would then be paid some pois by the innkeeper. The description of that place reminded me of a certain tavern that I passed by last night.
So I went to the tavern immediately.
This tavern was unique, to say the least. Encircled by exotic eastern plants, Drunken Ship Tavern looked different from any other buildings in the market district of Lestoria. It is well-groomed, unlike its filthy neighboring buildings.
The interior of this building is surprisingly even cleaner than the outside. Snug, warm, and tidy. I wonder how the innkeeper kept the place pristine while serving those drunk sailors.
The owner of Drunken Ship Tavern, said to be famous for his ambrosial lavender sap ale, was not what I expected. Affectionately called 'old man Yon' by the visitors, he was the most amiable man I've met so far in my sojourn in this city. His smile when he greeted me was a sign of a full-hearted man.
The old man was not that 'old', though. Despite his balding head, his hair was still fiery red. Unlike most old men, he didn't have wrinkles on his tall forehead. He was full of smiles and reacted well to pesky guests.
"Here's your payment boy," said the innkeeper. Then he took a moment appraising me. "Newcomer, eh? Look, I'll be blunt with you, a naive youngster like you wouldn't last a single week in this city."
After that damning verdict about me, he asked if I would be willing to be an errand boy for the tavern. I will have to help him run and maintain the tavern. In return, I can stay in one of the empty rooms here. He also promised to teach me the art of brewing ale if I prove that I am capable of learning quickly.
I hesitated. I had planned to live freely in the nearby wilderness. I am quite fond of sleeping under the stars. But one thing I didn't anticipate was that Lestoria is not any other place I had visited.
This city is full of thieves and men with malicious intent. Besides, learning how to brew ales could be fun. I might also get to hear great stories from the drunken sailors too. I nodded and made a deal with the endlessly smiling man.
He guided me to a room under the stairs. It was small and cramped. I took some time to clean the room and smiled at the result. My room was not spacious, but at least it's tidy.
I laid my tired body in the old brownish feather bed. I stared at the ceiling. How much I've missed freedom. But as someone told me back then, worthy journeys require perseverance.
In this clean, well-lighted room in the middle of Lestoria's market district, the longest journey of my life shall begin.