Cedric made his way through the winding streets of Hohenburg, the usual sound of the city muffled by a growing sense of tension in the air. People bustled about, but there was an undercurrent of unease, the kind that comes when somthing out of the ordinary is happening just beyond the edge of your preception. Word has spread quickly about the Dwarven refugees who had recently arrived in the city—more than a hundred of them, mostly women, children, and the elderly, all fleeing something none of them dared to speak about.
Cedric's steps quickened as he neared the City Watch's headquarters. His father had ordered him to assist Captain Emeline Adler, a stern woman with a reputation for being as sharp as she was relentless. He had heard much about her, and not all of it kind. Some said she was a taskmaster, others a bit too quick to trust her own judgment. But he couldn't afford to be concerned with rumors now. His task was clear.
The watchhouse loomed ahead, a grim structure that stood as a silent reminder of Hohenburg's need for order and vigilance. Cedric entered, his presence announced by the creak of the door. Inside, the atmosphere was quieter than expected for a city in such unrest. Guards moved with purpose, and the walls were lined with maps and records of patrols.
Emeline Adler sat behind a desk, a map of the northern quarter spread out before her. She didn't look up as Cedric approached, her quill moving with steady precision as she made notes on a report.
"You must be Cedric Vaelstadt," she said, her voice cold and clipped, without a hint of greeting. "The lord Count sent you to help, I assume?"
Cedric hesitated, surprised by the lack of warmth in her tone. "Yes, Captain. He said I should assist in any way I can."
Emeline finally looked up, her sharp gaze appraising him with a mix of suspicion and disinterest. "Help, eh? You've never seen a real threat before, have you, boy? This city is full of people who think they know how to wield a sword or give orders, but when the real danger comes, they freeze. I don't need you to waste my time."
Cedric bristled at the insinuation, but he didn't show it. "I'm here to help however I can, Captain. I understand that there are Dwarven refugees in the city. I was hoping you could tell me more about them."
The Captain's expression softened for a moment, her eyes briefly flickering with something like sorrow, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She stood and motioned toward the door. "Come then. I'll show you. But don't expect any sympathy for the little Rock Munchers. They're more trouble than they're worth."
Cedric followed her through the narrow halls and out into the streets. The tension in the air seemed to grow heavier as they walked, the sound of hurried footsteps and murmured conversations swirling around them. As they neared the northern quarter, the scent of smoke and the sight of makeshift tents in the distance grew stronger.
The camp of the dwarven refugees was a grim sight. Rows of tents had been hastily erected along the outskirts of the city, far from the heart of Hohenburg, where the nobles and the merchant class resided. The refugees were scattered about, some huddled in groups, others sitting alone, their eyes dull with exhaustion and fear. The children played listlessly, their laughter a rare sound amidst the oppressive silence that hung over the camp.
Cedric's stomach twisted as he took in the scene. These were not the proud, strong dwarves he had read about in his lessons—these were broken people, displaced and desperate. His heart ached as he saw their eyes, hollow and distant, as if the horrors they had witnessed were too much to bear.
Emeline led him deeper into the camp, her boots crunching on the gravel with every step. "This is what we're dealing with," she said grimly, her tone laced with bitterness. "The munchers hide in their caves, while we take them in and help them, but for what? Some metals? We can mine our own." She spat, the disdain clear in her voice.
Cedric frowned at her words. These were broken people, not some commodity to be traded. How could she talk about them like that? They needed help, not scorn. He glanced around at the dwarves—sitting in the dirt, tending to their few belongings, their faces hollow from exhaustion—and felt a pang of sympathy.
"What drove them from their strongholds?" Cedric asked, his curiosity rising despite the unease in his chest.
Before Emeline could answer, a deep, booming voice called out from behind him. "Ye alright, boy? Ye look like ye need a few kilos to survive what's out there."
Cedric spun around to see a broad, imposing dwarf standing tall before him, his gaze piercing, his presence commanding.
Emeline scowled at the newcomer. "This midget here is Bjorin Thunderforge, the leader of this sorry tent town."
Bjorin grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, thank ye for such a maidenly introduction, my fair lady captain," he said, bowing exaggeratedly with a flourish, completely ignoring Emeline's icy glare.
Cedric couldn't help but smile at Bjorin's boldness, but Emeline wasn't amused. She folded her arms, her frown deepening as they exchanged looks.
Bjorin, unfazed, turned his attention back to Cedric. "Well then, lad, ye've got questions. I've got answers—if ye're brave enough to hear 'em."
Cedric hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, but he quickly regained his composure. "Oh, yes, I was wondering what drove you from your homes. Haven't you been defending against the Corrupted for a long time?"
Bjorin's expression darkened, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Aye, lad, that we have," he said, his voice rough. "But this time... they were different. Smarter. Much quicker to adapt. Not like they've adapted before, no. I've never seen anything like it. My whole unit was overrun in a moment. Had to warn the city of the danger, but by the time I did, they were already everywhere." He paused, a grim look crossing his face. "So I grabbed whoever I could, retreated with the rest of the lads, and we fought for another day, even though it was above ground. Wish I'd died right there on the battlefield. But I guess the Ancestors had different plans for me."
"And what had changed about the Corrupted? How could they defeat the brave dwarven legions so completely?" Cedric asked, his curiosity piqued.
He paused, expecting a response, but Emeline snorted a laugh from behind him. Bjorin immediately seized the opening, his eyes narrowing. "You got a problem, ya wench?"
Emeline's voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. "You dwarves ain't brave. You just hide behind your walls—be they shields or stone—and don't even attack the Corrupted from where they come from."
Her words struck like a slap, and Bjorin's entire demeanor shifted. He straightened, his jaw clenched as his gaze locked onto her. "From this day forth, you, Emeline, aren't welcome in this camp. Take your cronies and get out—we don't need your help."
Emeline's lip curled into a sneer. "This city doesn't belong to you, dwarf. It belongs to the Count. I'll go wherever I damn well please, and if you want me gone, talk to the Count himself—though I doubt he'll listen."
At that, Cedric couldn't help himself. "I could banish you from this part of town," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Emeline raised an eyebrow and retorted, "Boy, we both know you don't have the authority. Only your father could have me thrown out."
Cedric didn't miss a beat. "Actually, from this day on, I've been given greater privileges by my father, and I am using them right here" he bluffed, trying to keep his tone firm.
Emeline studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she huffed and crossed her arms. "I don't believe you, boy, but I'll obey for now." With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Cedric standing there with a mix of satisfaction and unease.
Bjorin clapped Cedric's shoulder with a calloused hand, the kind worn from years of swinging a battle axe. His grip was firm, like the iron of his will. "Boy," Bjorin rumbled, his voice gravelly, "I don't know if you were bluffing, but for this—" He paused, letting out a rough chuckle. "For this, you deserve a keg. Come with me."
Cedric felt a rush of satisfaction at the unexpected praise. Finally, some excitement in this life of duty, he thought, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. For once, he was not just following orders or playing the part of the dutiful son. He'd done something that mattered—something bold.
As Bjorin led him toward a nearby fire where a handful of dwarves were gathered, the weight of the day's events seemed to shift for a moment. The tension, the dread, the constant watchfulness—they all eased in the company of this rugged leader. Cedric couldn't help but feel that, despite the hardships they had endured, the dwarves still held something precious: their defiance. Their strength.
Bjorin reached the fire, where a dwarf with a thick beard and a crooked smile was tending to a large wooden keg. "I told ye I'd bring a young lad who deserves a drink," Bjorin said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
The dwarf nodded, pouring two tankards of frothy ale and handing one to Cedric. "To the lad who stood up to the Captain," the dwarf said with a wink. "Here's to knowing how to speak to a woman."
Cedric hesitated, then took the drink. The bitterness of the ale hit his tongue, but there was a certain warmth to it—something that felt earned, something that was, for once, his.
Bjorin raised his mug in a silent toast. "You've got the fire, lad," he said. "Stick with it."