As Jamie concluded outlining the plan, Thomas and Elize appeared more at ease about the next steps. Elize returned her focus to the tavern while Jamie carefully stored the documents in his room.
He soon re-emerged with a stack of flyers in hand. "Thomas, let's go and post these," he said. The guard, who had been helping tidy the tavern, stood up promptly and followed his leader out the door.
Dividing the stack evenly—ten pamphlets each—Thomas and Jamie affixed the first one to the notice board outside the Golden Fiddle.
"We'll focus on the Lower Quarter," Jamie explained. "The Commercial Quarter will only attract ordinary mercenaries."
Thomas nodded in agreement. Together, they began to make their way through each block of the Lower Quarter, seeking out shops and strategic spots to display their pamphlets.
As they moved from place to place, leaving leaflets in their wake, small crowds began to gather around them. Whispered conversations and curious glances followed their progress.
"They're forming another company?"
"Is it safe? I've never heard of the Golden Fiddle Company."
"Isn't that the tavern's name near the Commercial Quarter?"
Word spread quickly, even among those who couldn't read. In the Lower Quarter, news of this sort was significant. Mercenary companies weren't uncommon, but it was rare for any to venture into the Lower Quarter seeking recruits. Usually, people with even modestly useful classes had the means to live in other parts of the city.
Because of this, even when Jamie and Thomas stopped at small businesses or taverns that might have seen them as competitors, the proprietors didn't object to the pamphlets being posted. In fact, many welcomed it—it would draw attention to the area and, in a way, help the neighborhood thrive.
At a modest blacksmith's shop, the owner watched as Jamie affixed a pamphlet to a post nearby. The smith wiped his sooty hands on his apron and approached them. "Looking for recruits, are you?"
"Yes," Jamie replied with a friendly nod. "We're establishing the Golden Fiddle Company—a mercenary group based in the Lower Quarter."
The smith raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious. This district could use some good news."
"That's the hope," Thomas said.
The smith glanced at the pamphlet. "Well, I might know a lad or two who'd be interested. Good workers, just need a chance."
"We'd be glad to meet them," Jamie replied.
As they continued, the reactions were similar—cautious curiosity mingled with a flicker of hope.
As the sun began its descent, casting the Lower Quarter in hues of amber and rose, Jamie and Thomas found themselves approaching one of their final destinations: the Temple of Aetheron, the sun god, standing proudly at the heart of the district.
Even from a distance, the temple was a unique sight. Amidst a sea of dilapidated buildings—many of which seemed to teeter on the brink of collapse—it rose majestically, one of the few structures boasting more than a single story. Its enduring grandeur set it apart, a beacon of hope and opulence in an area too often forgotten.
The Temple of Aetheron dominated the skyline with its resplendent golden architecture. Domed roofs, lavishly gilded, caught the lingering rays of sunlight, reflecting them across the district as if the god himself blessed the streets below. The leading portal, forged from sturdy gray stone and adorned with intricate carvings of solar motifs, stood imposingly at the temple's entrance. Flanking it were towering spires capped with ornate domes, each encrusted with delicate golden inlays that glimmered in the fading light.
Enormous banners of golden silk draped from the temple's high walls, each meticulously embroidered with the sacred emblem of Aetheron—a radiant sun encircled by runes. They swayed gently in the evening breeze, whispering soft secrets of divine protection. The air was rich with the mingled scents of incense.
Surrounding the temple, the streets bustled with life despite the district's poverty. Merchants displayed their modest wares beneath worn canvas awnings—spices, simple trinkets, and humble produce. Clerics stood atop makeshift platforms, reciting verses and offering blessings to passersby. Pilgrims in simple robes moved reverently through the crowd, some bearing offerings of wildflowers, others clutching bits of bread or fruit as tokens of devotion.
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Religion was the lifeblood of that part of the Lower Quarter, a sustaining force that held the community together even as the rest of Hafenstadt turned a blind eye to their struggles. The temple was more than just a place to worship. It symbolized hope, the last chance to change their lives. If they obtained a rare class, they could escape that misery.
Encircling the temple was a broad plaza paved with timeworn stones that had witnessed countless gatherings. It was here that festivals and celebrations were held—the most significant being The Passage, a sacred rite that Jamie himself had undertaken in Frostwatch.
Today, however, the plaza lay quiet and nearly empty. With no festivities to draw the crowds, only a few elderly citizens moved slowly across the square, their steps measured and contemplative. Pigeons and sparrows fluttered about, pecking hopefully at the ground in search of crumbs.
Jamie paused at the plaza's edge, his gaze drawn upward to the temple's shining domes. "It's impressive to think that all of this is just a facade," he remarked quietly.
Thomas nodded, seeming uncertain of how to respond. Both he and Jamie were well aware that the temple was merely a facade—the Crimson Veil controlled the brothels of the region under its sanctimonious shadow.
"Still, they're needed," Thomas replied.
"No doubt," Jamie agreed before they posted the pamphlet.
Only a few flyers remained—two with Jamie and one with Thomas. Realizing they had covered most of their intended locations, they began the walk back to the Golden Fiddle, unsure where else to place the remaining papers. Throughout their stroll, Jay floated languidly near Jamie's shoulder, appearing more like a shadow than a cat.
As they ventured into the narrower alleys and more risky parts of the district, Jay finally broke his silence. "I believe we're being followed," he purred, his eyes flicking backward.
'A human and a half-elf? Both seem young?' Jamie thought, his senses keen.
"Those are the ones," Jay confirmed, glancing over his shoulder. "Do you have eyes in the back of your head?" the cat asked a hint of surprise in his voice.
'They've been on our tail for a few days now,' Jamie mused internally.
"Oh!" Jay exclaimed softly. "I only just noticed them."
"We're being followed," Jamie whispered to Thomas, his voice barely above the rustle.
Thomas's eyes widened slightly. "Who are they?" he asked under his breath.
"Look like teenagers," Jamie replied. "Though with dwarves and elves, it's hard to be certain."
As they rounded a corner into an even narrower street, the muffled sounds of the city faded, replaced by the subtle echo of footsteps not their own. Suddenly, raised voices pierced the silence.
"Don't do it! Please! You'll throw your life away!" a desperate voice pleaded.
"Life? Life!? This isn't living!" another voice retorted, seething with frustration. "If you're too cowardly to take what's yours, don't try to stop me!"
The argument ceased as abruptly as it had begun. A tense silence followed, broken only by the rapid approach of footsteps from behind.
Jamie exchanged a swift glance with Thomas. Anticipating what was to come, Jamie sidestepped smoothly just as a figure lunged toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the gleam of a short sword wielded by a wiry half-elven youth.
The boy's grip on the weapon was unsteady, his stance betraying inexperience. He thrust forward with an exaggerated motion, overextending himself. Jamie needed only to lift his foot slightly, allowing the attacker to trip over it. With a startled yelp, the boy tumbled forward, crashing onto the rough cobblestones.
Though Jamie had noticed their attempts to tail him on previous occasions, this was the first time he faced the boy directly. The half-elf had fiery red hair, as bright and unruly as flames, matted and damp with sweat. Freckles dusted his pale cheeks, accentuating his youth—a clue that led Jamie to surmise they were mere teens.
A thin scar sliced across the boy's face, adding a harsh edge to his otherwise youthful features. His attire—a mishmash of worn leather and fraying cloth—bore the scars of a hard life: scratches, mud stains, and threads threatening to unravel. Everything about his appearance screamed destitution, as if he didn't have a coin to his name.
'Cutpurses?' Jamie wondered silently, piecing together the possibilities.
"What do you want with us?" Jamie demanded, his gaze fixed on the half-elf sprawled on the cobblestone street before him.
"Go to hell! You know damn well!" the boy spat, pushing himself up from the ground. "You stole what was ours!"
Jamie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what exactly did we steal from you?" he asked calmly.
"Don't play dumb!" the boy shouted, fury blazing in his eyes. "There was a contract—ours! Stop pretending you don't know!" With that, he charged again, brandishing a short sword. But despite the fiery determination driving him, his stance was unsteady, lacking the discipline of formal training.
Jamie moved with practiced ease. As the boy lunged, Jamie deftly kicked his hand, sending the sword flying. The weapon arced through the air before clattering onto the stone pavement. The half-elf's eyes followed it, a mix of shock and desperation flashing across his face.
Seizing the moment, Jamie stepped behind him in a swift motion. Drawing his dagger, he pressed the cold blade against the boy's throat. The youth froze, his breath hitching as he felt the sharp edge against his skin.
Jamie's voice dropped to a lethal whisper, as cold and unforgiving as winter steel. "Now explain to me," he said, "why I shouldn't kill you?"
[author]
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