They rode into the light, and world was different.
No longer were they in a confined space of greys and browns, lit only by the torches they carried with them. Suddenly a great glowing orb set far above and far away shone down upon them, bathing them in a never-ending spectacle of light. And what it revealed was green and blue as far as the eye could see, a sweeping panorama of gently waving foliage that touched the horizon and then stepped beyond. Such lushness, such vivacity, was in no way comparable to the thin farms and herds that existed down in the depths, and dwarfed the underground realm’s production to such an extent that the vastness of the surface world was too great to be truly comprehended.
For those who had never seen the outside world before, the sight was overwhelming, a vast expanse that gave them an almost instant case of agoraphobia. How could people live with the world so open, where things could be seen as a distance of miles and not yards, and where this dreadful glowing orb battered them all day long?
Such illusions as to the beauty of the surface world were soon shattered. “Oh look, it’s another set of gawkers from underground. You’d think those idiots down in Doguldhwr would learn to send people who’d been to the surface before, but nope, I’ve always got to deal with a set of first-timers.” The voice belonged to a particularly weather-beaten old Tokunnir, one who seemed intent on talking at length and loudly, regardless of company. “There’s no way this lot has the first notion about negotiating, so it’s going to fall to me to do the job again. Least I’m good at it. And what’s this? They’re missing some wagons. After being late! I’m going to have a devil of a time fulfilling my contracts, and the folks I deal with don’t like to be disappointed. One of them is going to take it out on me, that’s for sure. Especially if any of the stonecraft items are missing. Can’t believe the shoddy work of these guards, losing a caravan on the way. What were they thinking?”
The Tokunnir stopped long enough for the others to get a good look at him. Like most of his ilk, he was short but broad, flesh that was once muscular having run to seed in his case. The flask on his hip might have had something to do with it, as might have the fact that one arm ended in a cunningly designed mechanical glove, that, on closer inspection, was actually a replacement for a missing hand. This was an old warrior, put away to rust by his people.
“Oi, you lot. Going to stand there all day or start unloading the wagons? I’m not carrying everything inside, not on my lonesome. Take the goods into that warehouse and get a move on. We’ve kept ours buyers waiting long enough.”
The warehouse in question was a low stone building, strangely devoid of the marks of Tokunnir craftsmanship, and instead looking particularly lumpy by comparison to the architecture of Doguldhwr. It was one of three visible from the open square into which they had arrived, the open expanse closed on the fourth side by what was clearly a guest and ale house designed for the comfort and repose of those who had business at this outpost. Like the first warehouse, the other two showed little sign of the skill of Tokunnir stonecraft. The guest house, for its part, was a structure of an entirely different make, being hewn of blocks of stone so finely fitted that the gaps between them were invisible to all but the trained eye, and the smells that emanated from within were of proper Tokunnir cooking, hearty and thick.
The Tokunnir saw the eyes of the arrivals travel in that direction and shook his head. “You’ll get in there once the wagons are unloaded. Now hop to it!”
