Fog shrouds the Crown Isle as K?spar leaves the grounds of Herst Castle and exits into the Commoners District. The People's Way, the main street of the commoners' district, lies half-draped in timid morning light as the fog creeps between the rows of whitewashed apartments, which have long since aged to a smoky cream. Smoke rises from every chimney, the aroma of burning peat blending with the scent of fresh water of the caldera lake and the faint petrichor rising from the cobblestone streets. Nostalgia floods K?spar as the smell reminds him of his rocky formative years in Brakhb?sk.

  Early risers scuttle along the street's edge, the few in the center part for W?n as K?spar rides between them: a baker leans against his shop, handprints of flour adorn his apron as he tries to entice people to buy his wares with the aroma of fresh bread wafting through the propped door; women hang linens from lines strung between the eaves, neighbors gossip between themselves, and orphaned boys sit just out of sight behind the entrances of alleyways—K?spar knows further in the shadows sleep the girls who could not join the priestesses of the college because of circumstances far beyond their control. K?spar slows W?n as he approaches the guard booth; he watches as Arn Skyldwyr leaves the booth with someone who looks to be a newer recruit, so K?spar removes a badge from his pocket.

  "Where are you going mer'S?wyr." Arn asks, hoping K?spar sets aside his disdain for the Dornytter to allow for a decent training experience for Ynykk.

  "None of your business." K?spar tosses the badge to Arn.

  With an eye roll, Arn catches the badge and shows it to Ynykk, "This is a badge carried by people directly under the Hersts. You will not see it as much as you would think." Watching as Ynykk nods quietly, he then tosses the badge back to K?spar.

  Catching the badge and slipping it back into his coat, K?spar gives W?n a tap and then rides through the tunnel through the caldera wall, exiting the threshold of the Crown Isle, and leaving the city behind as it grinds to life with the rhythm of necessity—a very human routine, one that he knows all too well. The long, winding west trail down the Crown unravels itself before him; despite being large enough for four carriages to travel shoulder to shoulder, he stays in the center. He loves exploring the land outside the Crown Isles, but the six-and-a-half-hour descent and nine-hour ascent make it so that he—like many others—never leaves without a very good purpose. If it were not for the view of the vast Ianyan landscape as he descends—and his horse—he would have taken the faster, more dangerous route down the side of the mountain. The Ianyan autumn spans as far as he can see; a vast expanse of rolling hills of rose-gold, copper, and amber on full display before him: the autumnal colors fill the sparse forests of the western region, faintly moving with the wind; shining like polished mirrors in the light, the many lakes reflect the changing leaves of the trees on their shores; sleepless, ever working rivers shimmer as silvery threads across the landscape, flowing and curving their way through valleys; smoke rises from the waking, quiet towns scattered across the countryside; and large fields of wheat fill the northwest, golden sheets patiently awaiting the harvest. The cable car from Waelew [1] passes above him; the polished iron car glistens in the light; far off in the distance, he can faintly make out the large water wheel that powers it. The cable car is the preferred mode of transport down the Crown for those with the money. He has fond memories of his first and only trip on it, and he is sure Romyll feels the same. He watches the morning turn to afternoon as W?n canters down the brick-paved pathway. Despite the long journey, the path is still busy with many groups of people: he nods to passing patrols—glad he has never had to wear armor like that—and smiles at civilian travelers and traders, telling them to enjoy the journey up.

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  The mountain trail slowly gives way into the town of Beorgrud. The town lying shrouded beneath a grove of trees; its shade is a welcome break from the morning sun, which has been beaming down on both K?spar and W?n for the last few hours.

  A single large street cuts through the heart of the vill; occasionally the cobblestones fade to dirt along the sides, giving way to smaller roads lined with small cottages and quiet farms. Each seems to stare at K?spar, as if in disdain for the bustling travel of merchants who disturb their silent slumber.

  Beorgrud has little more to its name than the six large, multi-floor inns; many have tried to start other businesses, but all the moral ones quickly fail; no one comes to Beorgrud for anything other than a meal after descending the Crown or a night's sleep before going back up.

  K?spar smiles, looking forward to visiting Beorgrud for his return trip and spending a night in the sleepy berg; he’s found small travel towns to be the best for his choice of nightlife. He directs W?n to a tall building on the far side of town.

  The large six-floor building is half-timbered with dark logs; whitewashed walls have long since aged to a dull cream; a large spire sits across the street, joined to the main building by a stone bridge with a wooden canopy; the top of the spire pokes gently above the treetops, the red clay shingles blending in with the autumn leaves. A wooden sign hangs above the inn's oaken double doors, its white letters reading Eler’s and Else’s [3].

  Riding around the side of the inn K?spar dismounts, tying W?n to the hitching rail, next to a few other horses. A man slightly older than K?spar approaches him.

  “Mer’Rolan? How have you been, my friend?” Koraf Syrlwyr asks.

  K?spar whips around to the ostler; it's been a good three years since anyone has addressed him as Werner Rolan; he is shocked some remember. “I have been well. I am surprised you remember me, Koraf; it has been quite some time. Have you been well?”

  “I’ve been well. You remember people who stop by as frequently as you had... and W?n is quite recognizable; you rarely see horses like this outside of noble families—I must assume he was a gift from the in-laws.”

  K?spar hides a grimace behind a smile. "He’s definitely something special. Would you mind feeding him for me? has the price changed?"

  “Not at all—still just seven full-coppers for five kilograms of hay.”

  K?spar hands the man a full-silver from his pocket. “You can keep the rest. I must be off; I’m only stopping for food; I hope to be back in S?gsetun by the next maiden.” He waves and enters the inn.

  Eler’s and Else’s is bustling—as always. Serving maids employ fancy footwork, weaving their way through the rows of tables. Patrons yell noisily to and over each other, or to the serving maids—some compliments, some complaints. Trays are placed on the counter of the pass-through window as quickly as they leave, followed by the drowned ring of a bell and a shout from the head chef, Fleg Sytz.

  Wyana Syrlwyr rushes over to the new customer and speaks in a hurried voice. “We don’t have any rooms available, but there is a seat over there if you are just here for food; lunch today is two buns and stew for four full coppers.”

  K?spar looks toward the dejected table and chair at the far corner of the dining hall, then back to the serving maid. “I’m just here for food; I’d like the lunch with a beer; I would also like two buns on the side for the road.” The serving maid nods and scurries off. K?spar takes his seat and waits; his food arrives quickly, so after eating, he pays six full coppers for the lunch and the extra buns, but stops the girl before she can run back to the kitchen; he hands her a half-gold coin, leaving her in a state of shock as he leaves, to retrieving W?n from Koraf, he sets off again, hoping to make it to Kesel’s-in-the-Vale before nightfall.

  Footnotes

  [1] A town located to the west of The Crown, known for its large waterwheel and the cable-cars it powers. The town of W?lev did not form naturally but was built in 0525EotG, specifically to house workers and their families. As of a 1060EotG census, 701 people live there.

  [2] One of the many inns in Beorgrud. Opening in 0241 EotG by husband and wife duo, Eler Klerg (b. 05/14/0209 EotG, d. 08/16/0257 EotG) and Else (L?ndel) Klerg(b. 01/27/0211 EotG, d. 13/02/0287 EotG). It has remained in the family since.