Lilliebore was an attack on Ryckel's senses.
The heavy, damp air was thick with the stench of raw sewage, decomposing organic matter, livestock, and the sharp, sourness of ermented rice wine.
The main thoroughfare was a chaotic swarm of life. Vendors shouted from stalls, hawkers trying to hawk goods, while some children, some elders weaved through the crowd, thrusting wares into the faces of passersby.
Hortes and Tizheruks, the beasts of burden, trudged along, pulling carts filled with things or rested in the shade of the stilted buildings.
Many of the locals wore the same mix of animal skins, discarded leaves, and tattered human clothing that Ryckel had seen outside the walls, blending into the filth.
While others wore more normal clothes, tunics, trousers and gowns made of cloth that Ryckel was used to seeing.
Hawkers nearly collided with him, offering roasted chestnuts and eel. Ryckel's stomach betrayed him with a loud growl, his mouth salivating, but he ignored them.
He didn't have a single Barca left to his name, thanks to the extortionist Hussars at the gate. He kept walking, munching on the last few bitter berries from the forest to stifle his hunger.
The houses were raised on stilts with air gaps underneath, roofs made of straw and walls of wood, identical in style to his own hometown, yet somehow filthier, looking discolored and caked in mud.
He needed information, and he needed a job. Fast.
A pub seemed the most logical place to find both. He asked a passerby for directions, noting the distinct, guttural dialect of the locals, and how they wore shorter clothing to avoid dragging their hemlines through the mud.
They pointed him toward Geros' Pub.
When he arrived, the scene outside was chaotic. People were laughing raucously, while others were doubled over, throwing up into the sludge of the street, which was a mix of mud, human waste, and tracks of either Zhenren or wagons.
Just as Ryckel approached the door, a hefty man threw a drunken patron out of the pub, sending him crashing into the muck. The crowd around them didn't blink.
"C'mon, what's so wrong with a free drink?" the drunkard slurred, dragging himself up.
"This isn't a charity," the hefty man spat.
"Geros has a business to run, not to mention with the recent Weeding that happened and with the damn Middle-man for the Herkos still taxing us."
"Talking as if you're some high establishment," the drunkard scoffed.
The hefty man shook his head, went back inside, and slammed the door.
Well, there goes my plan for info.
Ryckel thought, frustrated.
The drunkard began wiping mud off his tattered clothes, revealing a mixture of leather, leaves, and fabric underneath. His face still covered in a bit with mud as his medium lengthed auburn hair stuck to his face.
He looked over at Ryckel, raising a cynical eyebrow. "Oh…what's a kid doing here lingering by a pub?"
Ryckel didn't answer immediately. He assessed the man, noting the loose movements and scent of wine. He called on his energy, fortifying his skin just in case.
"Haven't seen you before," the man continued, leaning in. "Different faces here in Wistnan, but yours doesn't look as if it's been touched by the shit yet. Though with that murderous look in your eyes, maybe it's been touched by the shit of somewhere else?"
Ryckel was taken aback by the man's insight.
"So why does a kid have a look like that? Where are your parents?"
Ryckel decided to lower his guard slightly. He couldn't go into the pub, so he might as well use this man for information. "My parents aren't here."
"Alone? Or they're dead?"
Ryckel felt a sharp, painful churn in his stomach at the thought. The man noticed his reaction and laughed, reaching out to pat Ryckel on the shoulder.
Ryckel slapped the hand away. The man paused, then shrugged.
"No harm intended, boy. Just a curious person. But I am sorry if they did mean you harm." He paused, looking at Ryckel's stern expression. "Say… aren't you tired of me calling you boy?"
"My name is Ryckel," he muttered.
"Well, my name is Pri. And welcome to Lilliebore," Pri said, spreading his arms wide. "Do you have somewhere to go to, or…?"
"I don't. I need a job. Quick."
---The End of Chapter 21---