Chapter 1: Stuck in this ploughing town.

This wasn't co-existing, this was just mere toleration that was close to its breaking point. Humans and none humans staying in close perimeter of one another. Tension so thick that it could be sliced with a knife. Any prejudice that humans had were either uttered in privacy, or shown in glee at the gallows whenever a none human was hanged in the market. The only time none humans were accepted was in the brothels, as along they paid, the bigots did sleep with elves and dwarves alike. "A hole is a hole." Drunk, sleazy patrons always singed near the tavern and brothels. As disgusting as it sound, this was the way of Flotsam. The hovel like town, just a brief placed used as a port for merchants to briefly stop there. Well that was until the Kayran began to become territorial of the area. This ceased trading for the moment and left those that wanted to depart, stuck in the town with limited options. Those that wanted to leave only hoped for it, the Kayran had ceased all sea voyages. Destroying anything that dared try to travel and even became bold enough to attack people at the pier. Trying their odds out on the roads in the forest was just a death sentence as well. But in truth, people would rather take their chances with the Kayran than go into the forest. Between the Nekkers, giant anthropoids, and the Scoia'tael. The chance of dying was high when stepping into the forest terrain for those that were not trained. The warnings posters about the Scoia'tael and the Kayaran made sure of that. Then there was Loredo whom control the town, between his untrained civilians whom he deemed worthy enough to be guards. And his high taxing of merchants and with the none humans. The cesspool of a town was becoming anxious as the days went by.

He wondered just how the little hovel town still functioned, surprised that it wasn't in shambles from all the dangers. Or better yet, why a revolt hadn't started because of Loredo and the condition of the town. The quiet conversation from the other passengers, gave him all the information he needed to know about Flotsam so far. He hoped his introduction to the town would be brief, that the sooner he gathered his items, the faster he could be back on the road. For a moment, he wished he didn't get off the boat here, but the boat had to stay because of the sight of the Kayran terrified them. So, his way of traveling by boat was cut off for now.

The slobbering daft guards, that pestered him about his business in the town annoyed him. But the elf complied because he wanted to remain invisible as much as possible. He was average height, slender physique with undeniable elven features. Prominent cheek bones, green striking almond shaped eyes that complimented his olive skin and mid shoulder black hair. His nose narrow but the tip small as for his lips wonderfully shaped and plump. There was an certain grace air about him yet refined as well.

Being an elf was one thing but being an elf and a sorcerer was another thing in these lands. He didn't physically carry his staff with him, whenever he was in cities or towns. A spell was always at hand, just to allow him to summon it when needed. Instead he carried at least one sword with him or daggers. Impractical on his part for his skill was very novice when handling such weapons, but it made him less suspicious as a sorcerer on sight. At first glance he could easily be mistaken for a regular warrior, that until he casted a spell in battle. He believed most humans can accept their own having magical abilities, the distrust easily wavered if created. Intersectionality was still a difficult thing to manage even among those that were practically consider to be dangerous outcast.

Checking his leather pouch that was filled with gold orens, he slowly made his way down the path that led to the market. The buildings were small, seemly overcrowded from what he saw. There was people everywhere, gathering in front of shops an also around the tavern that was also a brothel. While others conversed, some were tending to their small homes, gossiping among themselves about trivial things. Walking near the booths was the gallows, he tried not to stare nor allow his distaste show on his features too long. Two people were still there, dead and still swaying some in the process. The only company was the crows, that had made themselves comfortable by perching around the bodies. He sent a silent prayer for them, hoping that peace would come to them in the afterlife. The elf lost count on how many times his kind was used as scapegoats for the crimes of humans. How simple for it was for a human authority to condemn without a second thought. He tried to not think of it in those moments Approaching one of the merchants, that took his sight off the gallows briefly. He traded some of the materials he had on him, even a few spared weapons and cloths. The amount of orens he received was fair yet good, pleased that his coin bag wasn't light anymore. Deciding that having a room would be good for him, to replenish his energy for his departure. He went to the nearby tavern, politely declining the invitations from the various women staying by the door. His guess they were women from the brothel, judging from the figure hugging clothing and the offers of satisfying blow jobs as long he had the coin with him. The elf was greeted with various scents when he opened the wooden door to the tavern. Alcohol, smoke, and sweat was a weird yet very unpleasant combination. It was never a scent that he could get used to. Then again, he never really stayed in taverns that often. He tried his best not to stare. The sight of so many Dwarves in one place was quite the shift for him. Occasionally he'll see a Dwarven merchant or Dwarven craftsman in a human town. But there was so many of them here in Flotsam. Loud just like the humans but smelled worse than humans, yet can drink anyone underneath the table.

There were several tables spaced about the place including a well-lit fireplace that kept the area warm. Dwarves and humans alike sat at the tables, some even slumped over probably passed out from their drinking binges. His questioning expression probably gave him away, because a dwarf that he didn't know was behind a nearby counter had cleared his throat to get his attention. "You need some help, lass?" His voice was gruff, thick with the typical Vergen dwarven city accent. Short, dressed in a beige tunic with trousers. The dwarf's chestnut beard covered most of his body, though his beard thick an unruly. There was a single strand of hair on top of this certain dwarf's head. The elf gave an apologetic expression," Ceádmil, Dwarf. I was looking for a room here. Just for a night or two." His own voice was smooth but riddle with his own elven country's tongue. "Twenty Orens for two nights, it only goes up if you indeed to staying longer or if you're a trouble maker. But come on, lass. I'll show you your room." The dwarf went on to say once the elf had paid him. The Dwarf came around the counter top, gesturing the elf to follow him around the corner and up a flight of stairs that led to the second floor of the tavern. There were a few rooms on the floor, some already occupied by other people there. The Dwarf pushed open the third door on their left, "Here you go, lass. Don't take much to get warm water and there is food always downstairs. And there is wood here to keep your own fire going, but come down if you need more. If you want brawls and women, just take the other door downstairs and that'll lead you to the third floor of this place." With that, the dwarf took his leave and closed the door behind him.

He sighed before uttering an elven spell to charm the door to lock, the at least he could to give himself some privacy. Even in the tavern rooms, there was wanted drawings tacked on the wall. Seeing a wanted picture of Ivoreth, the leader of the Scoia'tael with a heft bounty did make him frown some but he wasn't surprised. The clan was considered dangerous for their vicious attacks on humans and their views pertaining to their clans. He didn't view them to the level of danger that human societies did, he believed that some of their tactic was best when it came to survival. Since history with Nilfgaard and the valley of flowers was a reminder. But there were other reasons why the Scoia'tael in his eyes, shouldn't be wanted. Looking away from the poster, he went over to his bed to take a seat on it. Hoping the blasted thing didn't have any fleas. But then again this was a tavern inn. With a sigh, he plopped back with a soft grunt. Allowing his eyes to flutter shut a give into the wave of exhaustion took over him.

Ceádmil = Greetings
Scoia'tael = squirrels
Plough= fuck