Stepping off the gangplank and onto the pier proved to be a source of great comfort. Traversing the Vilidian Sea by flatbottom boat is nothing but a source of anxiety, alas, it is the only way to get here. Even after half a day of that narrow barge bobbing side to side was enough to remind me why I never liked sailing.
I waved to the haggard sailor who stood by the starboard side. For six pennies he was kind enough to bring me over the water. For sixty-seven years old, he seemed in good spirits.
“Good luck to you Master Valeheart!” He wheezed through his three remaining teeth.
Turning about, my satchel and its contents jangled as my belongings struck each other. I rapidly grab my left hand upon the strap. Last thing I needed was for destitute sailors to know I had valuables. Making it to the end of the pier, I expect to be greeted by guards, even agents of a Harbourmaster. Walking off the wooden planks onto the cobblestones of the harbour, I was greeted with moss and a cold wind. Even the old guard position had been boarded up, and I was nothing more than a decaying relic.
What else could I do other than let out a brief sigh and continue my way?
Approaching the merchant market, I found various wooden stalls were peddlers, merchants, tried to sell their goods. Not so long ago, this was a bustling place. Selling all manner of imported objects and treasures between the kiosks of freshly caught fish. After twelve years since I’ve last been here it hardly seems like anything has changed. Aside from a few unfamiliar faces. I still recognise a few people even if I have forgotten some of their names, I didn’t come all this way to fraternise with merchants.
Making it to the bottom of siren street, I forgot how steep this hill uses to be. Hiking up this small mountain of sorts. The hap hazard houses built either side of the cobblestone path had remained as they were in the last time, I seen them. Either time has not touched this island, or I’ve simply forgotten how things were.
Arriving at the top of the hill, I noticed the buildings were different. These houses don’t have thatched roofs and shoddy crafted walls with misaligned windows. The house is a long these roads displayed superior craftsmanship along with proper masonry. In my youth I must have run around the streets hundreds of times. Even the air seems cleaner up here.
I can hardly believe it’s been more than ten years since I was last here. I shouldn’t be wasting my time; I can reminisce once I’ve settled in.
Following the road between the excellent houses I came to a familiar place. Emerging onto the corner of the squares I found the rows of grand houses clinging to the edges of this public space. Theses grand houses have stood for three centuries and are mostly inhabited by half of the founding families. It’s been so long I wonder which families are still around.
Just there, on the other side of the square, Valeheart Manor still stands. The exterior still looks the same with its drab cladding and dirty marble pillars, but I’m not surprised it hasn’t changed. Tradition seems to be the desirable quality when it comes to architecture on this accursed island. Although, seen the crowd outside has somewhat surprised me. Father never really was keen on visitors, funny he enjoyed visiting the homes of the other families.
I never would’ve guessed it would have taken a funeral to finally allow visitors to the manor.
Cautiously approaching, I couldn’t help but notice half a dozen guards stationed around the exterior of the property. These men in half plate over their gambesons carrying like staffs seemed a little shoddy. Their armour didn’t seem that well-polished not to mention the helmets, having the initial signs of rust. Surely these men cannot be of the city watch.
Heading towards the house, a few of the guards raise their heads and take notice of me. As I get closer, one of them breaks away from the formation around the front door.
“Can I help you sir?” he asks.
He was probably in his early forties with a bit of stubble on his face, but he didn’t seem afraid of me. He in the other guards look me up and down, examining my clothing in my weapon, and what I might have in my bag. They are probably wondering if I’m a threat or some kind of peddler. One of the other guardsmen went on to spit on the ground close enough to my boot.
“Valeheart manor is close today. Counciler Valeheart is not receiving any visitors at this moment. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
The coldness of his voice would normally deter any visitors. Luckily, I’m not a visitor. I simply give them a warm grin and explain who I am. I’ve been proceeded to poke my finger on my free hand into the lead guardsmen ‘s chest.
“Go inside and inform the Counciler that his brother has returned.”
Upon hearing these words, all the guards began to look among each other, confused and bewildered by such an admission. Most likely they did not believe my claim, and I was expecting them to test me and see if I was who I claimed to be. At least that’s what I would’ve done. Most of the men seemed perturbed by my confession, and only one of them seem to venture up to the front door while the rest stayed in their positions. Tapping his knuckles on the wooden door. The garden proceeded to wait for a few moments.
Not sure why he didn’t use the knocker considering it’s huge and made of brass.
Probably would gain someone’s attention faster. After a few moments the door opened just wide enough for the guard to look through.
To be continued....
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