The note was terse, despite its flowery language, language that James had been forced to have his mother read to him. It was that or sit around trying to puzzle out the syllables on his own for hours, and he had other things to do besides staring at an note seemingly intentionally worded to be difficult to read, and with even more obnoxious penmanship. Thankfully, it included nothing unnecessary--nor, in James' opinion, a lot of things that were necessary, like what exactly he was nominated for. Under normal circumstances he would never have followed it, assuming it was a prank or some other manner of hoax, but... He had to admit it sparked his curiosity, especially given the expensive scarf packaged with it. Awful length to go to just to prank the mayor's son.

Packing was quick, especially with the somewhat surprising help of his mother. For once, Mary Terna was firmly in favor of his wandering--likely because she hoped he'd find some opportunity in Jeorvo and not spend all of his life in Drediemere. All of his equipment was put neatly in his pack, his clothes folded carefully and a few days rations packed inside them. His mother was insistent that he wear his chain under his clothing, and he yielded to her experience.

The road to Jeorvo was long, perilous, and James had never been farther than to Jeorva. His hand was constantly kept on his sword's pommel, and when he slept it was with one eye open. The perils of man aside, jaguars sometimes lurked in these woods...

***

Thankfully, his trip passed mostly without incident. He didn't cook with a fire, and while cold rations were very far from comforting food, the lack of light and smell served to make his passage quiet and discrete. Most bandits were evaded by dodging off of the road, or ignoring them entirely. A lone man, obviously armed and wearing utilitarian instead of luxurious clothing was evidently held to be too difficult a mark for the potential payout.

Now, his steps had brought him to the front door of the address indicated on his note. He wrapped his scarf around his neck, feeling desperately out of place as he mounted the steps and walked into the lounge. He'd stored his gear nearby, under the eye of a trusted old friend of his mother's who thought that James was only visiting to see the sites of the big city.

Even without his backpack, his rough clothing and relaxed stance immediately marked him as someone not used to formal situations--and while his lips and face were unreadable, his eyes were glancing around rapidly with something approaching wonder and astonishment.