As Marcellus stepped out into the bustling streets of Mythralis, the sun hung high in the sky, its rays casting short shadows on the cobblestones beneath his feet. With the envelope of his urgent letters now in the capable hands of the courier service, his thoughts turned toward securing a place to stay.
Mythralis had a distinctly different energy than his hometown of Wisbech; it thrummed with life, ambition, and most noticeably, higher costs.
Taking his dwindling purse into account, Marcellus set out to explore his options. He made his way through the tangled web of streets, skirting past merchants peddling exotic wares, monks whispering secrets for a price, and musicians serenading passersby with melancholic tunes.
Finally, he came upon a modest inn, "The Wayfarer's Respite," with a faded sign showing a weary traveller lounging in a comfortable bed. Given its humble appearance, Marcellus hoped the cost would be reasonable, especially compared to the more ostentatious inns he'd passed earlier.
He entered, the wooden door creaking softly behind him. The common room was simple but inviting, filled with an assortment of chairs and tables. A middle-aged innkeeper stood behind a counter, her face lined with years of hard work.
"Welcome to the Wayfarer's Respite," she greeted, looking up from her accounts. "Looking for a room, are you?"
"Yes, I am," Marcellus replied. "What are your rates?"
"For a single room with a shared bath, it's 15 coppers a night. Meals are separate," she explained.
The rate made him wince; it was far more expensive than accommodations back in Wisbech, but he understood that prices tended to be inflated in a city like Mythralis. With a mental calculation, he realized that staying here for a prolonged period could severely strain his finances.
"Do you have any discounts for longer stays?" he inquired, attempting to negotiate.
The innkeeper looked him up and down, seemingly evaluating his character. "If you pay for a week upfront, I can give it to you for 200 coppers in total."
Marcellus weighed his options. A discount was a discount, and the certainty of a place to stay could bring him peace of mind as he navigated the complexities he was entangled in.
"Very well," he agreed, counting out 200 coppers from his purse. His remaining funds dwindled to 11,269 coppers, but the expense was necessary.
"Your room is upstairs, third door on the left," the innkeeper said, handing him an aged, metal key. "Breakfast is from dawn till two hours after, and supper's served two hours before sunset till an hour after."
"Thank you," Marcellus replied, taking the key.
As he made his way to his room, the reality of his situation settled over him. Here he was, in a pirate city, surrounded by uncertainties and enmeshed in a complicated web of trust and deceit.
Once inside his room, he sat on the edge of the simple but clean bed. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, acutely aware of how each decision, each expenditure, was shaping his journey in ways he couldn't yet fully understand.
With 11,269 coppers left in his purse, Marcellus found himself in a peculiar situation.
The room was secured, the letters were sent, and the time was just past noon. The abundance of daylight left him pondering his next steps. His sanctuary, the room he had just rented, felt both like a refuge and a prison of inactivity.
The walls seemed to press on him, urging him to go back out into the labyrinthine streets of Mythralis and do... something.
He considered his options. Information was his most glaring need; the more he knew about the city and its Occupants, the better he could navigate the complicated situations he found himself entangled in. However, gathering information had its risks and costs, both tangible and intangible.
Another option was to train. Becoming a Sword Saint had bestowed upon him a clarity and a focus that were both invigorating and unsettling. As if his mind and body were a sharpened blade, yearning for a worthy challenge to test its edge against.
There were probably places where he could spar or otherwise hone his skills, but that too would require resources.
He also considered indulging in some leisure to ease his restless mind. Though not an immediate necessity, the psychological benefit of even a brief respite shouldn't be discounted. A drink at a tavern, a visit to a local historical site, or even a simple stroll through a park could provide a much-needed mental break.
Lastly, he pondered the idea of doing some freelance work. Though not strapped for cash at the moment, the reality was that his funds were finite.
A small job here and there could supplement his income and perhaps provide other kinds of opportunities—contacts, information, or unexpected gains.
After weighing these options, Marcellus realized that he could feasibly pursue more than one. Time management would be essential, of course, but the afternoon was young, and Mythralis was a city that seemed to never sleep.
So, taking a deep breath to centre himself, Marcellus grabbed his sword and headed for the door.
Whether it was information, training, leisure, or work that he would seek, the choice would set the tone for the rest of his stay in this perplexing city.
One thing was clear; idleness was not an option. With that thought, he stepped out into the corridor, locking the door behind him, and descended the stairs back into the world that waited outside.
With a sense of resolution, Marcellus made his way through the maze-like streets of Mythralis, each turn leading him away from the city's bustling centre.
As the buildings became more sparse and the crowd thinned out, he finally spotted an ideal location—a secluded grove, encircled by trees, that offered the perfect blend of privacy and open space.
Excitement surged through him as he stepped onto the soft earth of the clearing.
The feeling was almost sacred as if the grove had been waiting for him. Marcellus unsheathed his sword, feeling its weight distributed into his grip. A momentary hush seemed to fall over the grove; even the birds seemed to hold their songs in anticipation.