Aibel | 2 Greentide, 1723 CE
It was a beautiful day, all things considered. The sun rays warmed the dirt below him, and seemed to absorb through the dark leather jacket that he wore. The cool breeze that settled in at mid-morning was enough to counteract the warming, leaving a pleasant spring temperature.
Aibel walked along the rough path towards Mother Nanike’s orphanage. It led outside the main part of town, near the northern walls of Mistwick. The cobblestones this far outside the main townscape had been left unattended for so long that they had begun to sink into the dirt. Weeds sprouted from between gaps in the paving, and threatened to overtake the stone altogether. What may have originally looked like a paved roadway, now looked like an abandoned dirt path. Despite its condition, there was a surprising amount of two story homes and buildings stretched out on either side of the main walk.
The orphanage, however, resided up a small slope, the edges of which had been overtaken by berry bushes and wildflowers. The untamed brambles added an air of desertion to the orphanage, which looked to Aibel like a construction at risk of collapse. The building was quite large, but its size did not make up for the state of dilapidation that plagued large sections of the structure. It seemed that every other board on the road-facing wall was either heavily weathered or was at risk of splintering at the first good gust of wind that passed through. The roof appeared to sag in places. Wooden shingles looked faded and sunken in spots with water damage. The windows were probably the cleanest part of the building, almost immaculately clear, but starting to fade to tints of yellow in the corners.
The building was one sight, the mess of running and playing children was another. The softness and laughter was contrasted against the aging and unkempt dirt and patchy lawn out front of the orphanage. There weren’t many toys that he could see as he walked closer, but some of the boys had made due with using sticks as swords. They moved towards and away from one another, feigning a duel to the death in some fantastical imaginative adventure.
Aibel felt pity for the little ones. They would learn that their games were far too real as they grew up.
As he walked closer to the house, the children who noticed him, stopped their play, staring at his intimidating visage. In particular, he could hear the muffled whispers related to the large weapons he carried on this back. The harness he wore allowed him to carry both Cryptbane and his sword across his back. The hooks that held Cryptbane in place were easy to use, but they left the intricately decorated glaive on full display, creating a crossbones effect with the hilt of the sword. He knew he was a novelty to the children, compared to the poorly equipped guardsmen that patrolled the streets of Mistwick.
He found the matron of the house just off the main walk in the front of the building. Time had not been kind to her. Deep wrinkles cascaded down her forehead, and the sides of her mouth had begun to sag with age. Her body looked frail, but she moved with a practiced ease as she hung various garments over the clothesline. Beside her, a bucket of dirty water and a metallic washboard was ready for a stack of new clothing.
“Are you Mother Nanine?”
His voice visibly startled her, and she turned around, her hand over her chest as she regained her breath.
“I am. And you are?”
He didn’t respond, instead pulling the folded sheet of paper with the contract from the inside of his jacket. He unfolded it, and handed it over.
“I’m here about the children.”
