Among the Spires of East Fleet

Chapter 2 : Declaration of Filth

Springs in Almaris were among some of the most awe-inspiring splendors that anyone could have ever hoped to witness in their lifetime. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, the land unfolded itself in all directions, revealing an other-worldly majesty that even a skilled painter would have had trouble capturing. Aside from the single, dirt road that snaked its way through the countryside, everything else was as wild and pure as the day it was created. Even something as simple as the weather seemed to carry a certain type of tranquility that had enough power to make even the most morbid of men stop and give thanks. Every evening, a chill mist would inevitably roll in, leaving a fine layer of dew along the ground like miniature diamonds clinging to the tall-grass. And every morning, the sun would rise and shine upon it, revealing its splendorous glory before calling those watery crystals back up into the heavens so that they could be born again the next day.

Oh, the rain. Spurred on by the warm ocean currents colliding with the cool winds from the Almaris Mountains, it came and went as it pleased, sometimes storming for days on end, and sometimes giving a light drizzle that only lasted for a few minutes at a time. Though it was a crucial element to the sustained majesty of this pristine landscape, it was also an unpredictable nuisance that caused many a men to curse up to the skies as they went along their way.

As fate would have it, this is exactly where Guile found himself along his way to Vellweb.

The first few days of his journey were by far the easiest. As he followed the road north through the heavily wooded areas between Oren and East Fleet, staying dry and warm was fairly simple. When it rained, he could always hunker down under a tree until the storm passed. When it got dark, he could gather a few dry twigs and have a fire built in just a few minutes.

However, this all changed once he reached the Crossroads and began heading east, as advised by Rygar.

Entering into the Longolian Valley, Guile watched as the thick forests gradually gave way to expanses of open plains that stretched as far as the eye could see.

And as one might suspect, Guile was not prepared.

At night he would make a small fire using whatever brush he could find throughout the day; however, the morning dew would normally have it snuffed out well before dawn. Likewise, when it rained, the most he could do was cover himself up as best he could and simply endure it.

Never-the-less, despite being ill prepared and constantly battling between either being too cold or too wet, Guile couldn't help but feel a small sense of pleasure from his own discomfort. As if it somehow called back to the distant memories of his youth, he would regularly find himself cursing at the weather under his breath in the morning only to smile about it later during the day. It was a nuisance for sure, but one that he was more than happy to put up with.

However, even considering all these things; the weather, the beautiful landscape, the rain – truly, the most notable detail about Guile's trip was how he would spend his evenings. Every day as the sun would begin to set, he would find a place to bed down for the night. If he was able to start a fire, he would, but only a small one; he was careful not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, especially at night. Once that was done, he would go through his satchel and inspect his belongings. After ensuring that everything was safe and secure, he would bite off his last plug of chew for the day before lying down and staring up at the stars.

Sometimes he would stare up at them for just a few minutes. Other times he would stare up at them for hours. Some nights he wouldn't move an inch, while some nights it looked like he was doing everything he could to hold himself together. However, regardless of his mood or his demeanor, one thing was always the same; each and every night, from the time he lied down till the time he fell asleep, he would whisper to himself in a voice so low that not even a field mouse would have been able to hear it. One could say that it was a rather peculiar thing to behold, but then again, no one was there to witness it first-hand either. In the end, only Guile would ever know the words he spoke on those lonely nights – he and whoever he was speaking to, that is.