The tavern is mostly empty at this hour, filled only by those who have rented rooms here last night. The serving maids yawn as they go about their work, laying out hearty platters of eggs, sausage, and biscuits, and cleaning up the last of the debris from the night before. Breakfast is a subdued affair as your minds turn towards the dilemma of tracking down the Maeldur.
After settling your bill, you head off towards the Market Ward in search of the portal to Torch. As usual, the air in the Lower Ward is foul and hazy, redolent with the stench of sulfur and brimstone and smog. You pick your way carefully through the ever-present patches of razorvine threatening the narrow, winding streets, mindful of the knife-sharp stems which can slice an unwary berk open before he can blink. Spireward, you can see the grimy smokestacks of the Great Foundry looming in the fog, belching forth ashes and cinder from the forges in its belly.
As you leave the massive structure behind you, the cramped lanes slowly broaden into the wide avenues and palatial structures of The Lady's Ward. By contrast, it is downright clean and spacious, but the streets are cold and empty, and it seems you can see more of the 'sky' here than anywhere else. It's a bit of an uncomfortable feeling, like walking beneath a yawning void, which perhaps is not so far from the truth. Squads of Hardheads eye everyone suspiciously as they pass, their hands never straying too far from their sword hilts.
Finally, the studied elegance and order of The Lady's Ward gives way to the hustle and bustle of the Market Ward, the city's most cosmopolitan and busiest district. The place is crammed with shops, stores, emporiums, and more shops. You shoulder your way through crowds of bashers, cutters, and sods, through barkers, jinkers, and quippers. You keep a peery eye on your purses, and a canny lookout for knights of the post.
The trek across the Cage took only a couple hours-- not too shabby, considering that on a bad day, the trip could eat up an entire cycle and on a really terrible day, you might find yourselves indefinitely indisposed. You finally locate the portal in the archway of an alley next to a small tool shop. A small dusty sign sits forlornly in the bottom corner of the window proclaiming "portal keys and maps sold." To Donner, Kiaros, and Zoe (the primes) the arch looks no different from any other of the innumerable entranceways throughout the Cage but Blade, Flaust, and Vlad (the planars) can all see a faint shimmer glimmering around its edges if they look hard enough.
