16th, November 1462AD

 Today, I woke up in Lumin City, the

capital of Xaleria. I was in the Dewdrop Inn when I awoke, beams of light

flowing through my covered window after a long night of coming here. My eyes

felt heavy, like the weight of the world was trying to keep them closed, and my

bed felt like a cocoon, cozy and tight. I felt like a baby in the womb; however,

just like a baby, I, too, must adventure out into the world.

 The day was new, with the sun

freshly crossing the Dragon-Jaw mountains. Glimmers of light spark in the

distance as the sun rains light across the fresh powder that drapes the

mountain peaks. As I drink this morning's sludge, it smells earthy and pungent,

like the mud it resembles, but not quite as bitter as expected. Though thick,

it runs like silk across my tongue, but still, the taste is as unforgiving as

my mother's love; lovely but still quite rough and unrefined.

Today

is my first day back in this city since childhood. Going back 25 name days, I

was just a spit at the age of seven, brimming with curiosity and angst, to

explore this city with my father, Ruckis Grayrat. I remember back…

 The year was 1437. Though I looked

at him as a grown man old and wise, my father was not much older than I was at

this present time. He was a slender but athletic man. His shoulders, to me,

were as high as the clouds and as strong as the mightiest bulls. Though his

face was kind and gentle, he had striking blue eyes and shimmering golden hair

in the sun, now gray and dule with his advancing age.

I

remember those days, walking through the King's Gate and seeing the towering

structure as I've never seen before two large towers reaching to the clouds

with a dark iron gate five inches thick, thick enough to stop the mightiest of

armies or monsters walking through that gate my nose was assaulted with smells

like never before.

 The King Gate is closest to the Governor

Castle. At the time, it was Viscount Leon Lumin, a large and rotund man with a

love for sweets, as I recall. He rezoned the districts around the castle as a

market area, so the smell of bread and sweets would always permeate the castle

grounds.

As

we walked through the gate, the aroma of freshly baked loaves of bread,

flatbreads, and pita swirled across my nose like a ghostly kiss, an allure not

unknown but different all the same.

As

my father and I walk down Lazarus Lane, my nose still follows the smell of

baked goods. I begin to pick up another foreign aroma… Rudy, my Father,

bellowed, taking my hand." Don't wander too far from me," he asked. You might

be the son of a knight, but it won't stop anyone from taking you or hurting you,"

he said, squeezing my hand.

 After that warning from my father, I

stuck and followed him around the city's downtown area like a mouse in a maze.

I felt lost with the identical red and gray brick houses clustered together

like an unending fortress. Still, my father, with a strange familiarity, weaved

in and out of the main streets and back alleys, crossing market and housing

districts one by one until we arrived at a building an old and withered wooden

house that looked even older than any building I'd seen in this city; an aura

of foreboding was emanated from this decrepit lodging as my father grabbed hold

of me leading me to this building a vibration ran through me my heart running

faster than any animal could imitate as all my hair was sticking on end I felt profoundly

sick as we walked through that decrepit door a smell like none other hit me

like walking past that door there was an iron wall imposable to cross without

my father dragging me as my feet dug into the stone laired street we passed

that door.

 The inside of this building was dark

and sparsely lit with candle-light leaving many dark corners unexplorable; an

old spruce bar with an equally old man's face obscured, waiting there pouring a

drink for the single patron; we walked up to the old bar attendant his face dry

and aged like one of the dried plums father packed in our travel bags, the old

man spoke with surprising energy almost like a young man " Hello how are you

too fine gentlemen doing today" he smiled ominously his smile stretched ear to

ear showing off his slightly elongated teeth, " my father said yes were here to

see the goods you have it's to my understanding you are the owner of a market."

The

old man smiled gleefully, saying, "Yes, please go in through the door behind

the counter," he gestured. We walked past the old man, entering through a door

behind the counter, the subtle smell of rot flowing off him as we passed him. "Enter

through the cellar door on the floor, and you will enter the market," the odd

old man said as he closed the door behind us with a hard slam.

 As we delved below the floor, the

air began

to hang thick with the

stench of iron and decay, mingling with the greasy aroma of frying flesh. Dim,

flickering lanterns cast jagged shadows over makeshift stalls cobbled together

from scrap wood and corrugated metal. Each stall bore gruesome wares, severed

limbs dangling from hooks, torsos stacked like butchered livestock, and

dismembered hands displayed on bloodstained tables as though they were exotic

delicacies. Vendors, obscured by hoods or crude masks, shouted prices in hoarse

whispers, haggling with customers cloaked in desperation and secrecy.

The

crowd moved in hushed murmurs, their expressions a mixture of hunger and guilt.

Children with hollow eyes clung to adults who averted their gaze from the

grotesque displays. Knives gleamed in the shadows, slicing through flesh with

mechanical efficiency as vendors hacked parts into smaller portions for

bartering. Pools of dark blood gathered on the ground, mingling with mud and

the refuse of the marketplace, creating a sticky mire that clung to boots and

sandals alike.

A faint moaning

could be heard from somewhere deeper in the market—a haunting reminder that not

all the meat on sale had been willingly harvested. The pervasive darkness was

both physical and moral, casting the entire market in a sinister haze that felt

more like a descent into damnation than a transaction for survival…

 This was where I realized earlier when

my father yelled out to me not to leave his side.

 "You might be the son of a knight, but it

won't stop anyone from taking you or hurting you." he was scared I'd end up

in this kind of market…

We

eventually left for home with a large quantity of … sadly, I now know the harsh

truth of my family and how badly this famine has affected us. I'll never forget

my first day in this city.