[hr][h1]Vyri[/h1][hr]

Vyri was accustomed to impressive architecture, servant she might be, but she had been a servant in the Academy of Sorcery. What had provoked the look of wide-eyed amazement was the fact that she had never been anywhere outside of Port Orarius, let alone Nepharie. Her face had assumed roughly the same expression of slack-jawed awe when she travelled past Capital City. Few of the lower classes travelled, though the wight exodus seemed to be promoting panic in some of the further out areas of the country.

She’d first seen Maceron from afar several hours ago, a faint dot on the horizon that had slowly resolved itself into a mighty city. It had been a long journey, weeks, nearly a month, by foot, and she hadn’t had much to begin with. Mostly she had slept under the stars, wrapping herself in the heavy cloak and huddling before a weakly flickering fire.

Eleuril had complained bitterly all the way. Already she was growing tired of his company, the first few weeks he had bemoaned the capricious hand of fate for depositing him in the body of a mere servant. She’d received a long lecture on his proper place in the world and how it was not bound to the body of one of his inferiors. She had received a slightly adjusted version of the same lecture every day for two weeks. Eventually she’d snapped at him and asked why, if he was so superior, the ring was bound to her then? He’d shut up for a while after that, unable, or unwilling to answer the question.

She’d handed over control of her body once they’d left Port Orarius, though not for long. The Sage, delighting in the freedom of once more having a body, had worn her like a glove. It had been a deeply disquieting experience, and when she had finally regained control she had refused to allow him power since. That had caused a few arguments, which must have been an entertaining enough sight for the wights. She’d avoided inns and stayhouses as best she could, wealthy people were the only ones who could afford rooms these days, and wealthy people included sorcerors. Eleuril had told her they should take little notice of her or the ring. She had still stayed well away. She didn’t want to find out what they might do if they found out what was concealed beneath the cheap leather gloves.

She entered through the massive gates, just one more peasant among the hundreds of other common folk entering and leaving the city. The guards on the gate barely glanced at her, not that they seemed to have much to do right now, they couldn’t stop the wights, no matter how hard they glowered. They mostly seemed resigned to it by now. She had been astonished to find that people were no treating the undead creatures as though they were simply a tourist attraction. There must be thousands of the creatures, you couldn’t walk ten feet without having to avoid one of the murmuring, shambling beings.

[i]I suggest an inn, you do have them in this age don’t you?[/i]

The Sage’s sardonic voice had interrupted her train of thought, and she scowled, earning one back from the stall-keeper she had been blankly staring at. She turned awkwardly and walked in the opposite direction, muttering to herself.

“As if we could afford an inn.”

[i]You know I could correct that wrong if you would but-[/i]

“No! I’m not letting you, you talked me into coming here, maybe I should just see if there’s any sorcerers here who can get you out of my head.”

[i]And here I was thinking you enjoyed my company.[/i]

If Vyri could have glared at herself, she would have done, instead she settled for glaring at the glove that concealed the ring beneath it. Eleuril was quite literally the devil on her shoulder, though he might very well have objected to said epithet.

She wanted to look around Maceron, the city was quite unlike anything she had ever seen before, and though she may have been forced into this adventure she intended to enjoy it as much as she could. She wandered down the street, looking every inch fading unconsciously into the foreground until she was simply another face, just one more of the common folk weaving their way through the undead.