When Nokkland found himself setting off with the inn's barmaid to track down an ice-dragon, he hadn't realized that he would be thrust into the center of a prophecy he knew nothing about. Nor that he would become part of an undercover group of revol...
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Cadaren had only been in the dwarves' capital for five minutes but it was long enough for him to know that he hated it. And the further in towards the center he got, the more his detestation grew because the closer to the palace, the more glass and the more stares.
Well, to be fair, Cadaren got ogled at no matter where he was, even back at home in the countryside. But at least the people there didn't stare openly. They simply stole glances here and there. In Dunrel, everyone he passed gawked at him seemingly without feeling any embarrassment. Hardly a welcoming introduction from the place where he would spend the rest of his life.
First, he'd passed the small dingy shacks of the extreme poor on the outskirts. There, he'd been too consumed by anger to pay attention to his surroundings. Soon, the shadows created by the buildings began to increase steadily, stretching across the cobblestones in front of Cadaren and he began to look up. And regretted it.
The stares he received as he strode by the tall narrow townhouses of the merchants and traders were mostly ones of curiosity. Those he could shrug off. But once he'd passed the squat, long, and rounded burrows of the nobles and entered the inner-city district, the stares became more judgmental and disapproving. Not only that, but he found himself surrounded by glass.
The fantastical mansions of the courtiers and intricate shop-fronts of the artisans employed by the crown would win first prize for cramming as much glass, ironwork, and gold scrollwork in as possible. These stood in a circle around a huge plaza in the center of which was the palace itself. The result was that Cadaren found him enclosed by giant mirrors and hemmed in by stares not only from those in the square but from phantom versions of himself as well. He wanted to scream.
The palace loomed before him, the largest mirror of all. The tall pinnacle of vermillion and highly reflective jet obsidian was carved into row after row of windowed levels. Its smooth sides rose to such a great height that it seemed to nearly brush the top of the volcano in which the capital was built. What Cadaren wanted to do was run away from it but what he had to do was gain entry.
Seeing no other option other than the main entrance, he headed in that direction. Solid iron rose before him, emblazoned with a hammer on an anvil with three stars; the symbols of the royal house. On either side, guards were stationed, each with their lion badges. Clearing his throat, he approached one, hoping to get directions. The guard glanced down at the badge pinned to Cadaren's chest.
"Let him in," the thickly bearded dwarf called over his shoulder.
The doors swung open silently to reveal a long hallway with even more doors branching off in either direction. Cadaren hesitated on the threshold for a second but the frown of the guard made him hurry inside. Hopefully, he'd find the information he needed inside...
He had two seconds of daylight before the doors shut and he was left in darkness. Blinking furiously, Cadaren looked around for something anything that would indicate where he was supposed to go.
