Step, step, another step.
The sand crunched under each of Brutus's steps, and surrounding him were the familiar dunes, but then the sand slowly began to thin, revealing a green colour under it.
After a few more steps, the crunching of the sand was replaced with the rustling of grass.
Brutus stopped and admired the change in scenery. Lush green fields that saw no flaws, the blue sky littered with light white clouds, and a dirt road in front of Brutus stretching out into the hills.
He exhaled, feeling his weight be resisted by the dirt, unlike the sand. The smell of iron and sunbaked stone was replaced by the freshness of clean air.
Brutus tilted his head to look down at the map he was holding, trying to figure out the distance between where he was and Thornepoint. He sighed, letting his arm drop "This is gonna take a while, won't it..."
He trudged forward, deciding to just walk in the city's direction until he had arrived.
...
An hour in, the sight of the dunes had long faded away, but the memories of the sand were still piled high in his mind.
...
Two hours, and Brutus thought about his plans in Thornepoint.
'Alicia never told me when the academy's admission is... so I guess I'll have to find that out.'
A few steps followed that thought before another came.
'How am I even supposed to make money? Be someone's bodyguard or something?'
His boots crushed the small blades of grass under him.
'I... wonder what Julia's doing.' Brutus almost tripped at the thought.
"What the hell am I thinking about her for?" He grumbled
...
Three hours had passed. Then another.
Then five hours had passed since Brutus's departure from the Wild-lands. And he could almost smell it, the distant scent of castle life: smoke flowing out of food stalls, the smell of spices flooding the area. He could almost hear the metal ringing from the smithies, street vendors shouting over each other, and the chatter of civilians.
Then the walls appeared.
Just in the distance, the bumpy green landscape made way for a colossal wall of grey stone. He held his breath in awe and impatiently hurried his pace.
The great mass of grey stone only got bigger and bigger, until it somehow almost managed to consume Brutus's entire vision.
"Holy crap... this place is massive." He whispered.
A shove slammed into his back, sending him a few steps forward.
"Move, kid!" A thunderous voice roared behind him. Before he could even turn around, a dull gauntlet pressed into his shoulder as he was shoved to the side.
Walking past Brutus, he saw a mountain of a man, over 2 meters in height, built like a fortress, strut past him.
"Hmph, what's his problem?" Brutus murmured under his breath.
He watched the mountainous man stride up to the gate of the castle, flash some sort of piece of paper to the guarding knights, and walk under the impenetrable iron gate held open above the entrance without hesitation.
Brutus froze. "Do I need one of those?"
He gazed at Allistair's letter, then back to the gate, "Well, it's worth a shot..."
Walking up to the gaping hole in the castle wall, Brutus was stopped by an authoritative voice.
"Halt." One of the guarding knights uttered. "What is your business in Castle Thornepoint?"
Brutus swallowed. "I'm... here for mercenary work."
The guard extended his hand. "Slayer's license and proof of your identity."
'Slayers license?' Brutus turned down to look at the letter.
"I uh, don't have one. I was hoping to obtain one in the city." He subtly tightened the grip around the letter. "All I have is this recommendation letter." And gave it to the guard.
"Hmm." He stared at the letter. "I don't know if this much will suffice."
Taking it, the guard opened it, and nearly dropped it to the dirt.
"This..." His hands trembled. "Is it from the Ironheart family?" He asked Brutus.
He blinked. "Yes? Is that... bad?"
The knight urgently shook his head. "No, no! It's perfectly fine, sir!" He handed the letter back to Brutus with diligence.
"Please!" He gestured to the inside. "Welcome to Thronepoint!"
"Uh. Yes, thank you." Brutus nodded as he walked inside the gate.
"Did you SEE that? That tiny kid had a recommendation from Ironheart!" The guard gossiped.
"Good gods... who is he?" The other added.
But by then, Brutus was too far into the city to hear.
And the exact scent he imagined hit him. The warm smell of grilled spices oozing out of food carts filling the air, the sound of street vendors shouting over each other, trying to convince the busy street that their products are superior, a subtle ringing in the distance sounding from the smithies hidden in the dark alleys, and the loud ruckus of the crowd, full of mothers monitoring their children, who frolicked around the street with their friends, and the occaisional armoured mercanary parting the crowd.
A smile forced its way onto his face. He pushed his way through the crowd, the occasional fearful or envious eye staring at him, but he paid it no mind.
He walked down the main street, looking for a sign or anything that might have anything to do with mercenary work.
He looked between vendors, restaurants, and bars, yet he found nothing. Brutus searched for a little while longer before stopping at the doors of a tavern.
He looked up, reading its sign. " 'The Broken Anvil' huh?" He stepped inside, and the pungency of alcohol and cheap food immediately flooded his nostrils, making him grimace.
With a sigh, he approached and sat at the bar.
"Ah. A new face I see!" A cheery voice exclaimed from behind it.
Looking up, Brutus saw a small brown-haired man polishing a beer glass with a small rag.
"Now you look like you need a drink or few!" The cheery man exclaimed once more.
"Uh... yeah, I'll just have a water," Brutus replied.
"Sure thing!"
A short moment later, a tall glass of water slid in front of Brutus. "Thanks..."
The bartender leaned against the countertop. "Say, I ain't ever seen you here before." He gave Brutus an up-and-down. "You new around here?"
"Yeah," Brutus replied.
The bartender's eyes gleamed. "I see, I see. Well, what brought you here to The Broken Anvil?"
"I wanted to learn where I could get a slayer license"
The bartender rubbed his hands, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Ahh, well, aren't you lucky, my friend." He put a hand on his chest. "You've stumbled exactly where you need to be!"
Brutus raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well, to get the slayer's licence, you first need to pay the slayer registration fee."
Brutus blinked. "...okay," He finished the glass of water. "Where do I pay it then?"
He puffed up his chest. "No need to fret it, Brutus, this bartender here can take the payment and register you directly."
Brutus showed hints of doubt. "Are you an administrator of sorts or something?"
The bartender paused for a split second. "Yes, yes, of course, I am an administrator of sorts."
"Um, okay, so how much do I need to pay?"
His eyes gleamed once again. "Ah, it's nothing much! just a few-"
A voice growled behind Brutus. "Don't be stupid, kid, he's fleecing you."
"A-Ah! Sir Rowan! This- I was just... greeting the newcomer!"
"Sure you were," He scoffed. "The 'registration tax' doesn't exist, does it?"
"Ah... now that you mention it, I must've mixed up which city I was in!" He smiled innocently. "Oops!"
"Uh-huh." Brutus muttured.
Sir Rowan turned to Brutus, "Come, I'll show you where you can actually register."
"Uh, you aren't gonna scam me either, are you?" Brutus warried.
Rowan snorted. "I have no use for petty money from fools like you." He turned. "Now come."
Brutus followed. "Where exactly are we going?"
Rowan didn't reply for a few moments. "To the slayer association."