Just after nightfall we stumble into town. There is little here, for it is a small village at best, but there is a place to rent a room, and receive a meal. We peel and pry off our still wet armor. It has been a plague on us for the last miles. To be free of that tailored anchor is welcome tonight.
We take our evening meal later than most people here, so there is little in the way of company. As we dine, Terrance joins us. Having just helped save our lives, we are all very happy to have his company. He informs us that he has managed to procure us horses from the local merchants and farmers. We finish our meal, have a drink, and decide to call it a night.
The next morning I am up earlier than usual. I stop to watch the sun rise as I make my way toward the local market for supplies. We lost most of our rations and food with our horses, and will be in need of more for the remainder of our travels. After pleading with a shop owner to open early, and with supplies in a bag at my side, I head back to the inn. I have much work to do.
One item, which no warrior, devout or otherwise, can be without is a proper armor kit. I open the small leather pouch I keep stuffed in the bottom of my backpack, and begin my ritual. The pouches contents include, but are not strictly limited to the following: clean dry cloth, small stiff bristle brushes, tufts of thinly spun wire, links of chain-mail, rivets, small squares of leather, heavy needles, leather cord, sinew thread, a small hammer, and several oils and salves. Today, as a special bonus, it also contains chunks of soggy bread, several ounces of salty river water and a small dead fish, which looks like it died more of shock than asphyxia.
I sigh, remove the bread and the fish, and pour the water out the window. Then I take one of my freshly purchased cloths and begin to clean and oil my armor. This takes several hours and thankfully, by the time I am done, most of my other equipment has been dried by the Aesias loving light. When we have had our breakfast, and everyone is again suited up, we mount up and head on to Ghamoura.
A small side note on our horses: If I were to go into the poorest town I knew, and find the palest, smelliest, and sickest looking horses I could muster, I still may have a better selection than this motley assortment. However, it is better than walking, so they will suffice.
Ghamoura is a city of the edge of the desert. It sits in a valley, between the Dust Fens and the Three Peaks mountains. Arriving in town I realize that this mission is far from my element. Ghamoura is little more than a massive red light district. Miles upon miles of decadence and debauchery stretch as far as the eye can see. A city that has little use for religion but is most in need of Aesias loving touch. We find the least offensive looking, nearby inn and rent rooms. Then we try to lower our profile by removing anything identifying us as Legion. I strip down to my breastplate, dirty myself up, and once we have secured our belongings we head out.
Information is our mission tonight.
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