Chapter 5: Pleased to Meet You

Given the lack of traffic on your journey of the last few days, it might be expected that there wouldn't be much of a wait at the main city gate.

You would be wrong.

While the massive city gates stand open, there are dozens of people waiting to get through, if not more. Armored and armed individuals -- likely the increasingly infamous city guard -- walk back and forth along the line, watching the crowd with hard-eyed suspicion. Any unrest, even the simplest of questions, is dealt with harshly and swiftly. One man in line calls out to a passing city guardsman to ask how long it will take to get through the gate. The answer is a fistful of the man's shirt and a glare. Whatever the guardsman says is low and quiet, difficult to overhear, but it drains the color from the waiting man's face and he shrinks back into line without a further word.

It makes for a curiously quiet scene, given the number of people present.

As new people approach the line from the main road, a guardsman and a scribe stop each in turn. The guardsman is an impressively tall man in a chain shirt, a plain longsword sheathed at his hip, one hand resting lightly on the pommel. While he doesn't appear outwardly hostile, the weighing, careful look he gives you suggests that he takes his job seriously. "State your name and your business in Hara," he says in a flat, neutral voice. The scribe stands ready to copy down your answer.

The scribe begins copying down the information, but he pauses at the mention of alchemists. There isn't quite fear in his eyes, but there's a noticeable uncertainty in the look he gives the guard, pen held hovering above the page.

For his part, the guard tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he measures the halfling carefully again. "An alchemist, you say."

Wil's answer has piqued his interest enough to bring a little bit of emotion into his bored bureaucratic tone. "Alchemy is a rare discipline these days," the guard continues. Leaving one hand near his sword, he gestures with the other to the rundown remnants of what used to be the outskirts of the city: crumbling buildings, weed-choked streets. "What supplies do you need? I may be able to help you on your way once you pass through the gates."

The guard looks over at the scribe and nods. In response, the scribe continues writing.

"You're in luck, Master... Leancam, was it?" the guard replies, though you might expect him to be a little more cheerful about it. "I can help you with what you need."

He turns toward the gates, raising a hand to beckon a couple of the guards patrolling the line. Turning back to Wil, he says, "Follow these gentlemen, if you would. They'll get you through the gates without the wait." He offers an oddly bleak smile to back up his suggestion.

The two guards approach and stand at attention, awaiting orders. "Take Master Leancam here through the gates. He's in need of alchemical supplies."

The scribe keeps his head down as he writes. He seems to be extremely focused on his writing, not looking up or betraying any expression.

One of the newly arrived guards salutes smartly, and turns to Wil. "Please come with us, sir."

One guard turns to lead the way toward the gates, the other takes up a position to follow Wil once he's passed.

They are barely ten steps toward the gate when a voice cries out from the line. "Willitan?! Wil! Oh, thank the stars, I was sure you were dead!"

There's a commotion nearby, and a sturdy halfling woman pushes her way through the crowd. "Out of the way, you great galumphing..." she barks, her voice cracking with emotion, but leaves off once she reaches the edge of the crowd. Her red hair is poorly tied back, her clothes well-cared and clean as she can make them, but they've clearly seen long hard use and a lot of mending. Her eyes are wet with tears and her lips tremble with emotion as she raises a shaking hand toward her cheek. "Willitan Lightfoot... it's really, truly you," she whispers. Relief floods over her, and she goes weak at the knees, grabbing at the hand of someone standing next to her.

The guard that took Wil's "name" turns at the noise, and watches the scene unfold. One eyebrow raises slowly as he turns from the crying woman to 'Friglade', clearly expecting to see how he responds.

There's a span of just a couple heartbeats when Wil gets the horrid sinking feeling that Blossom is going to blow it all. But her bewildered look smoothly fades into a shaky laugh. "Oh, Friglade. I'm so sorry... it's been such a long, confusing time since I've seen you boys. These old eyes don't work nearly as well as they used to," she says, squeezing Wil's hand in return. With the other she reaches out to put her arm around Wil's shoulders and draws him into a hug.

With her mouth near Wil's ear, she whispers, "You always were up to something, Wil... please be careful."

Releasing him again, she reaches up to pat Wil's cheek fondly, eyes growing wet again. She lets go of his hand and steps back into line a bit, watching the guards continue escorting Wil to the gate.

The first guard continues watching, eyes still narrowed in suspicion, but it doesn't seem enough to get him to investigate further. There's so much riffraff to sort through, after all. He turns back to question the next person in line.

The gaunt, disheveled woman in the dirty clothes stands with slumped shoulders. Her dark hair appears limp and, like the rest of her, none too clean.

"My name is Talva," she says in a hoarse, quiet voice. "Talva Galvin. I'm looking for a friend who lives here. I was hoping to stay with her and her daughter until I can get settled."

The guard grunts in response to Verrian. He looks down at the woman, a faint distaste on his otherwise disinterested face. "You're going to have to find something to do with that... disgrace of a pigsticker. Citizens are not allowed to carry weapons openly inside the gates."

He sighs, and asks, "Name of this friend?"

The scribe dutifully records all of this information, sparing only a brief look at Verrian as he waits for her answer.

---

The guards move Wil toward the gates. Neither of them speak, and merely walk along with him, regardless of whether or not he addresses them directly. The people actually controlling entrance into and out of the city appear to be civilians, or at least, none of them are armored and have no visible weapons. As Wil passes through, one guard says, "This one's been cleared through. He's on his way to see Roland Crow."

The man that responds is short and broad-shouldered, dressed in a black tunic. He looks Wil up and down with his lip curled in evident distaste. "Well, won't that be fun for him," he replies blandly, and waves the guards through the line. The open town square beyond the gates is significantly less populated, as though people are all to eager to hurry on about their business and get away from this place. The only exception is a group of buildings across the square from the gates. A few people wait outside those doors, town guards watching over them.

One of Wil's escorts puts a hand on Wil's shoulder and says, "Over here, sir. Your... alchemical supplies... are in the building with the blue door."

He points to one of the buildings that have a small throng of people already outside.

The man looks pained. Not apologetic, just... pained at having to listen to yet another pathetic sob story about how hard life is, not to mention... fluids leaking from this one. He makes a wordless grunt of disgust. "Stop your sniveling, woman. Orien's mangy beard, do you people ever stop complaining?"

He waves one hand in a shooing motion. "Get out of my sight. Move along. Share your snot with one of your own filthy kind."

If he cares that Verrian failed to provide the name of her friend, it's not enough to make him want to keep talking to her.

---

As Wil walks across the square toward the indicated building, the guards leave off with their escorting duties, instead turning to head back to their patrol. One shakes his head, and can be vaguely overheard saying, "Alchemical supplies. Oh, that's going to be one to remember."

The other laughs roughly as they disappear back through the gate.

As Wil makes his way across the square he notices that occasionally someone from the line is directed over to the same set of buildings as his escorts suggested. To his eyes, there doesn't seem to be any obvious commonality between those chosen to join him.