[center][H2]A Sprawling Path[/h2][/center][center][i]Capitol City: the Bazaar[/i][/center]


The earthy scent of the forests, and the decadence of ancient magic was still upon him as Jumper came to rest at the gates of a mighty city. He possessed no flesh, or blood, to draw the hunger of the predators. Further he possessed no coin, and only modest finery, so the same could be said of the highway men who roamed these roads. And so, Jumper's return trip from the place of his birth, to the cradle of this civilization was uneventful. After all, the most dangerous thing to him in all of the forest, and the plains that followed, was the cradle of magic from which his own life sprang. 

He had ran to get here. Ran the entire way. He ran with purpose and without exhaustion, through day and night, to the only place he could remember being out in this far flung frontier that was not the town of his grandfather. He followed the roads built by mortal hands and found they were not as he remembered them. The city was not what he remembered. What was supposed to be a modest mercantile settlement had grown to become the massive capitol city of this land, and even as he stood on its edge he could not see its end. 

He took a moment to compose himself before allowing the road that carried him here to lead him further in. What was a rocky path through the forests had long since given way to cobble in the planes, had now became masonry in the market streets. On the city's outskirts was a familiar site: a bazaar where merchants and traders whom did not possess property in the commercial districts, nor the permanence of presence to secure such locations, were allowed to conduct business. Here currency was more of a suggestion than a requirement, and it was here in this affluent bartering economy that Jumper would blend in and begin his search.

While the familiar sight was calming, it was not the reason for which he had come, as he had come in search of information. Though information is a valuable resource, and not something he had anything to trade for, it was also free and in the air to someone who could silence themself long enough to listen, and still themselves long enough to watch. He watched the people as they moved through the market. He mingled and listened to their conversations while browsing their goods. He studied them. Immersed himself in their daily concerns while observing their attire and demeanor, determining their class, and likelihood of possessing the information he sought. 

There was something specific he was on the hunt for and, as surly as his own tabard's crest still remained, so too did the crests of his targets identify themselves. It was the Order of the Crescent Sun that brought him here, and he had just identified one of its agents. He could see little good coming of approaching them immediately, and decided instead to observe them using his small stature and unassuming presence to mix into the crowds and their routine. To follow them. With luck they would lead him back to their temple or sanctuary and he could finally get some answers. Answers to whom these Crescent Sun were whom so flagrantly co-opted his father's sigil and banner. 

A banner under which much war had been waged.