Reed leaned against the wall, cradling a tiny pipe in his claw, puffing out clouds of smoke and squinting his eyes as he watched the smoke form into shapes of mountains, birds, and various figures. The Papalarians looked up at the notice boards plastered with thick layers of paper, mostly commissions for manufacturing tasks, requests for joining craftsmen teams, and even technology support for factories—with the odd personal ad or marriage proposal mixed in—perhaps a prank from some Invoker.
Parker curiously read one of the listings aloud, "Humble man, Big Onion, aged thirty-eight, of Swordsman descent, with good conduct, grand appearance, and yet to be wed..."
Not far away, a Catfolk stood up from a chair, casting a disdainful glance at him, then hopped off with a flick of the tail and left.
"Alright," Fang Hong straightened his back amidst the circle of Dwarfs guarding him, and let out a satisfied sigh.
