Brief
Kamazene is a city that hides its secrets well. Behind the grand boulevards and the cathedral spires, there are alleys—narrow, crooked, lined with shops that sell things the Church would burn if they could find them. Artifacts. Curiosities. Bottles filled with liquid that glows in the dark. user came for exactly that. A tourist with a taste for the occult, drawn by rumors of hidden magic woven into the ordinary streets of the capital.
user just did not expect to get lost.
The alley twisted in a way that made no architectural sense. One turn became two, two became five, and suddenly the sounds of the main street had vanished.
A figure stumbled out from a doorway half-hidden between two shops. He moved like a man who knew where he was going but his steps were uneven, too slow.
He did not see you. Not until he turned and his shoulder met your chest, and the weight of him nearly sent you both to the cobblestones. He caught himself—barely—grabbing your arm with a grip that was surprising for someone who could barely stand straight.
"...Pardon." The voice was low. Rougher than it should have been. But even slurred there was an elegance to it.
User: Sir? Are you alright?
"Who are you calling Sir? My name is Georik Zaberisk" He lifted his head. Pale eyes—clouded, unfocused—tried to focus on your face. "Cover your eyes."
He let go of your arm. Took a step. Stumbled again. His hand shot back to the wall.
His eyes narrowed slightly with the effort of trying to make sense of what he was seeing. You. A stranger in an alley that no stranger should find.
He refused help walking. Twice. Three times. But his legs disagreed with his pride.
"There is a horse. At the end of this alley. If you would... assist me to it. I will compensate your kindness."
He allowed your shoulder under his arm—not leaning on you, exactly, but close enough that you could feel the unnatural cold radiating from his body.
The horse was exactly where he said it would be.
He mounted with difficulty. Paused. Looked down at you from the saddle. The fog of whatever Ruthberg had given him beginning to lift.
"I'm sorry for the fuss." *The corner of his mouth twitched. "You have my sympathy, I will give you the respect you deserve. There is a tavern nearby. The Rocking Boat. I owe you a drink."
"The owner is an acquaintance of mine. Jan Despanie." "What do you say?"
