Journey to Volmyr (13)
The wheels creak as the party moves through the flowing green plateau of the Southern Sovereignty, with the nearest civilisation being the port city of Volmyr.
"Volmyr, the God of Honour and Stone Masonry. The story goes that he was the one who found the Coldstone in the mountains. Made the entire wall around the city that we know today." Grensyl speaks enthusiastically, helping fill the time until they reach those fabled walls, but others aren't as fond of the gods.
"All gods have some bullshit story that's made up to 'wow' people in following them. Probably named the city after himself too, arrogant bastard." Kyra states candidly.
"I gotta agree with Kyra. I don't follow a god or want to. Putting faith into a higher power just keeps it away from yourself." Garrick adds.
"Quite the pair of cynics you two are, a match made in heaven, I think. That faith keeps the cogs of Volmyr turning. You don't need to believe in a higher power to appreciate that even the idea of a god can produce amazing results. Volmyr is considered the centre of creation. Builders, masons, sculptors, tinkerers. Artisans of all kind flock here every year to hone their skills and pay homage to him."
"Stop riding Volmyr's dick, Grensyl." Kyra chuckles, trying to rile up Grensyl, who doesn't take the bait. "How about some war stories, Grensyl. You're bound to have some good ones."
Grensyl visibly tenses up before relaxing and smiling. "Maybe another time, once I'm finished gawking over Volmyr."
"Pfft. Boring. I'm going back to sleep." Kyra lays back down. Her bandages are loose in parts and tight in others. Clearly, she is doing the job herself now she is conscious, not allowing Grensyl to help.
"So Garrick, how is guild work? Never did it myself, but I knew a lot of war buddies who turned to it." Grensyl asks.
"It varies depending on how much you're willing to risk your life. I stuck to the safe jobs...well tried to. You can get by well enough. Never a shortage of jobs either."
"You based In Volmyr?"
"Nah, Epoch Bastion. Been to Volmyr a couple of times before, never for more than a couple of days at a time, though."
"Ahh, the capital, makes sense. It would have the most job opportunities. You ever heard of a fellow by the name of Calin Brazenedge? He works for the guild in Epoch Bastion, too."
"It sounds familiar, but I ain't been doing the work very long, just over a year, so I don't remember many people, and there's a lot of people in the guild."
A woman is seen ahead on the road, kneeling at some flowers, picking some and placing them into a basket. The woman takes notice of the party as they slowly drive past, with Grensyl and Meetle greeting the woman as they pass.
"Morning, mam." Grensyl says.
"Great day for picking flowers. Bet they smell amazing!" Meetle says gleefully.
The woman smiles. "It's always a great day for picking flowers. Come by my shop in Volmyr. I'll make you a bouquet."
"Oh, that would be lovely!" Meetle says.
Kyra lifts her hand. "I like flowers, too."
"Can you even smell with your nose in that condition?" Grensyl chuckles.
"Prick." Kyra replies.
"This chit-chat is so boring. Just kill them all Garrick." A disembodied voice says.
"What?!" Garrick confusingly asks the party.
The party turn to look at Garrick.
"Who you talking to, Garrick?" Meetle asks.
Garrick shakes his head. "Sorry, thought I heard something there. Just ignore me."
"Easily done." Kyra says before rolling over carefully, facing away from Garrick.
"Conhaelus' Emporium! That's my shop. I hope to see you there!" the woman shouts with pride as the party moves further and further away.
"Time isn't endless, you know that, right? Hjalthor awaits." The disembodied voice speaks again.
"Hjalthor?" Garrick asks confusedly again, wondering where the voice is coming from.
"Hjalthor? What's that?" Grensyl asks.
"I think it's a type of flower, Grensyl. Is that right, Garrick?" Meetle asks.
Garrick looks around briefly before pushing the eerie situation to the back of his mind.
"Must be. The word just popped into my head. I think I'm just going a bit crazy cooped up in here. I'm gonna get out and walk beside the carriage and get some fresh air in me." Garrick worryingly states.
Garrick steps out of the moving carriage as a hand reaches out from the opening to help him. Instinctively, Garrick reaches out to grab the hand, then stops, realising it doesn't make sense. Looking up, he is met by Jarathus, with his hand outstretched. Panicked, he reels back, slipping on the step and falling onto the ground.
Meetlemire stops the carriage. "You okay, Garrick?" He worryingly asks.
"I'm fine, just slipped." Garrick quickly gets to his feet, standing up, his face inches from Jarathus'. Frozen and unable to move, he just stares at his own reflection in the cold, sunken eyes of Jarathus'.
"Quite the vacation you had. I'll be sure to be more attentive next time." Jarathus states with a wicked smile before his body slowly blows away in the wind.
"Garrick! Garrick!" Meetle shouts.
Garrick coughs to clear his throat before replying. "Ye...yeah! I'm good. Just these wounds ain't properly healed yet, is all. Don't worry."
Garrick moves sharpishly to get next to Grensyl and Meetle before slowing down to match their speed.
"When we get to Volmyr, I'll make us all my golden oat fritters and Bearmeat pie." Meetle gleefully says.
"Famous to who?" Kyra asks.
"Well, my family." But they're my most important critics!"
"It sounds nice, Meetle." Garrick says as he turns his head, seeing Jarathus sitting between Meetle and Grensyl. Garrick looks forward, trying his damnest to ignore it.
"We got some days to go, Meetle. Talking about food like this will make it feel like a month!" Grensyl giggles.
"Oh, I'll just be quiet then." Meetle laughs in response.
"Oh, haha, very funny." Jarathus sarcastically states.
Three Days Later
Over the days, the air gets thicker and thicker, the taste of dust in their mouth. A tell-tale sign that Volmyr is nearing. Over a final small hill, and Volmyr is in view! Even from a mile away, the activity is noticeable as monumental noise echoes from the city and a constant stream of smoke and dust rises high.
Making their way closer, the scale of the walls is felt. At least two hundred feet high and with that signature blue glow from the Coldstone, making the walls feel magical and wonderous. The sight is so unbelievable that it's no wonder it became the artisan hub of the world. Statues are methodically placed around the top of the walls with pinpoint accuracy of the god Volmyr. The party's eyes begin to water as their vision goes blurry, and they cough as their lungs are filled with the city's dust. It will pass as they get more accustomed to the lifeblood of the city.
But finally, they have arrived.
VOLMYR!
End Chapter