The city of Homst was larger than Sam had expected; a sprawling series of buildings centred around a large mesa that jutted out all the way from the distant cliffs. The scale of it surprised him, with multiple buildings well over ten stories tall—a winding metropolis built into the side of the rock face.

  It had an eclectic mix of architecture, and while the overall look was ancient, he caught occasional glimpses of more modern-looking structures. The colour palette drew heavily from the earth, the slate foundation accented by deep ochres and dusty terracotta.

  The second surprise was the people. Sam’s first look at an alien likely should have given him more pause, but it was immediately overshadowed by seeing a second, and then a third. The citizens of Homst were as varied as its structures, and many had equally foreign livestock in tow.

  The first one he noticed was a tall, pale man with a shaved head who was pulling a fully-laden cart with his bare hands. The cart looked like it was designed to be pulled by a horse, but he managed it without issue. His block-like features appeared to have been sculpted by someone who’d seen a photo of a person once and then proceeded to get black out drunk while recreating it.

  His broad shoulders and arms had odd growths under the skin, and Sam realized it was likely the result of some kind of natural bone armour. Whatever this intimidating creature was, it had clearly evolved for combat. That conclusion was immediately muddied when the man noticed Sam’s stares and proceeded to give him a jaunty wave and a broad smile—revealing rows of perfectly white teeth.

  The pale giant joined the large group of people making their way towards a gate set into the broad stone wall that encircled the central portion of the city. Sam caught glimpses of what appeared to be lean, angular-looking elves, and a group of what could only be described as stereotypical fantasy dwarves.

  The general chatter seemed to be excited, as local farmers and vendors assembled their wares in preparation for the influx of new warriors. The start of a new war clearly meant an abundance of spira, and no one wanted to miss out.

  The gate extended up a good twenty feet, and Sam noticed a thick iron portcullis notched into the stone arch. Clearly, these defences weren't for show, which made Sam wonder just what the walls were meant to keep out.

  Arther said a few words to a lightly-armoured guard as the cart passed through, but Sam couldn't make it out over the noise of the crowd. [Child of Babel] didn't give him super hearing, but it did a decent job of helping him pick out key snippets of conversation among the din.

  It seemed this War was going to be a particularly bloody one, as an unusually high number of warriors had been seen gathering by the Waystone. Apparently, more warriors meant more monsters, and the locals were grumbling that it would impact the impending harvest.

  That prompted Sam to check his tafla and open the quest window. He had a few quests which he’d completed en route; things related to equipping and unequipping items, and navigating to various screens. The only one still outstanding was related to this mysterious Waystone.

  [Quest - Celestial Summons]

  Journey to the closest Waystone and heed a message from the Herald of War.

  [Time Remaining: 00:00:26:45]

  [Reward: 250 Spira]

  He selected the quest from the menu and noted it was highlighted with an additional arrow icon. As he turned in his seat, he noticed a slight tug in his gut. The pull seemed to be guiding him towards the center of town, which lined up with what Arther had mentioned earlier.

  Supposedly, the guidance feature was only enabled on low-level quests and wouldn't be available on the higher rings. Sam wondered if there were stores that sold maps, or if warriors would just be expected to navigate through the wilderness on their own.

  After a short while, the crowd became so dense that Arther was forced to change course and drove the cart to a large, neatly arranged warehouse. He was clearly friendly with the owner—a small, goblin-like creature dressed in what appeared to be a floral-patterned aloha shirt. The horse seemed to be well acquainted with the arrangement as it happily walked over to a stall as soon as the cart was unhitched, and began drinking from a water trough.

  “Well, I must say, this is a surprise. I didn't expect retirement would be permanent, but I wasn't expecting you back at it so soon, Art,” the goblin said, hauling over a large crate. “And here I am thinking the War hasn't even started. Though I must say, this one seems… spirited.” Its gaze lingered on the bandages that covered Sam’s arms and legs as it poked its head out from behind the cart. Its green-tinted skin made it look somewhat sickly, but Sam got the sense it was stronger than it looked, as it easily picked up the wooden crate and placed it in the cart.

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  “One of what?” Sam asked, noting Arther’s slight flush at the comment.

  The two exchanged glances before Arther reluctantly replied. “I've been known to help the odd Warrior here in the first ring. On occasion, I've even given them more formal training, though it's been many cycles since I've taken an apprentice.”

  Sam noticed the sombre tone in Arther’s voice and wondered what could have happened that caused him to stop taking on new students.

  “Bah, don't let him undersell himself. This man has trained champions!” the goblin interjected, slapping Arther in the back. “I’m Eeno, by the way. I manage intercity commerce here in Homst. I'm also a local representative for the Tzen contingent on the first ring.”

  He held out his left hand awkwardly, and Sam took it in a strained impersonation of a handshake, the stump of his pinky throbbing dully.

  “It's the right hand, Eeno,” Arther sighed, shaking his head at the display.

  “Uh, nice to meet you,” Sam replied, brain reeling at the fact that he was shaking hands with an actual alien. “Are the Tzen a guild, or a group of warriors?”

  “Neither!” Eeno replied, scratching a tuft of white hair that peaked out from behind one of his oversized ears. “The Tzen are one of the seven member races in the war. We may not be as strong as the Ilen’Var, or as savage as the Telactyth, but we have something none of the rest do.”

  “And what's that?” Sam asked, hungry to learn more about the other races.

  “They're resourceful,” Arther said, looking up from his tafla. “I’ve seen a lone Tzen do more damage with a butter knife and a ball of yarn than a whole squad of Dremin Blood Ragers.”

  “I was going to say good looks,” Eeno said with a grin. “You humans aren’t exactly pleasant on the eyes—no offence. Those tiny little ears of yours give me the creeps if I'm being honest.”

  “And when are you not?” Arther sighed, rolling his eyes. “I'll be back to pick up the rest of the ore after the ceremony. We really have to go, Sam.”

  “Right, if I don't see you later, it was nice to meet you, Eeno,” Sam called as they made their way to the door.

  The small Tzen waved him off as he disappeared between a row of large shelves. “Try not to die, human,” he replied. “Your bellies are very squishy, aspire not to get stabbed there.”

  “Thanks?” Sam responded as he followed Arther out into the street. Arther took a brief moment to orient himself before setting off through the crowd at a brisk pace.

  The city was even busier at ground level, and Sam was thankful for the quest's guidance system as he followed Arther through a series of narrow back alleys. The sounds and scents nearly overwhelmed him as they passed through a large central market, the stalls overflowing with all manner of goods, from weapons and armour to food and travelling supplies. The market sat at the base of the outcropping, framed by meandering sets of stairs that wound their way up its side. Large wooden lifts carted up stacks of pallets, and he could make out high towers protruding past the top of the high stone mesa.

  Sam was a wreck. A full day without sleep would have been bad enough, but the increased pace opened up a few of the cuts on his legs. He couldn't help but notice the looks he elicited from the locals they passed: equal parts sympathy and derision.

  As he moved through the market, he caught glimpses of others in dark grey warrior tunics. He tried calling out to one that looked human but he was swept up in the crowd, his cracked ribs protesting as he was pushed through the mass heading towards the Waystone.

  At the edge of the square, he found Arther talking to a guard standing beside a large stone archway, the columns reminding Sam of something you’d see in an ancient Greek temple. Arther gestured to Sam before showing the guard a silver pendant he wore around his neck. The guard nodded and moved aside, revealing a passageway hidden between the pillars.

  “You go in there, lad,” Arther said, voice barely audible over the din. He pointed to the passage, which was lit by torches, and seemed to burrow its way into the stone. “I’ll be at Eeno’s until sunset. I can’t promise much, but if you’re looking for a hot meal and a bed, I can arrange it.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said, feeling a knot forming in his stomach. “Any hints at what I’m going to find in there?”

  “It’s not dangerous, this city is a safe zone.” He paused, chewing his lip. “One piece of advice, though.”

  “What?” Sam replied, meeting the man’s intense green eyes.

  “Look strong. You’re a Warrior now in more than name.” He tapped Sam on the chest. “Remember what it took to kill twenty dire-rats with nothing but a hunk of wood.” He nodded and set off through the high stone arch, leaving Sam alone, the crowd parting around him as he watched the departing figure begin climbing a large set of rough-hewn stairs.

  “Look strong,” Sam muttered to himself. What does that even mean?

  He glanced down at the stick he was still leaning against and sighed. He stored it in his inventory, his right leg in particular protesting the sudden added weight. The tunnel wound through the rock for hundreds of meters, and Sam could make out rough etchings carved in the walls, which quickly gave way to full-blown frescos. His quest timer showed he had only a few minutes until the ceremony started, so he limped along as fast as he could, straining to make sense of the sprawling engravings.

  They seemed to depict small humanoid creatures battling against massive mythical beasts. The art reminded him of pictures he’d seen of ancient Egyptian tombs, only wilder, more primal. The images flowed together as if they’d been carved over thousands of years, with whole sections fading into darkness between the sputtering torches.

  Eventually, a small point of light appeared in the distance, and Sam rushed towards it as fast as his battered legs could carry him. The tunnel ended in a flood of sunlight and the roar of a crowd. Sam blinked, raising a hand to shield his eyes, as he gingerly walked out into a massive arena.