Legacy of the Wolves

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They stumbled out of the tavern, laughing and waving. The E’erful Well had lived up to its name tonight, with Demodir buying rounds of Nightwood Ale for a full house. Zoden still wasn’t sure exactly what it was they’d been celebrating, but he was never one to say no to a drink, especially when someone else was paying for it.

He and Zodal made their way through Aruldusk’s deserted Market District, hurrying from one pool of everbright lantern light to the next. The city’s decline was even more evident here than in other Districts. Shop windows were boarded over-more this month than last-the streets were pitted with missing or broken cobblestones, and a dank, sour smell permeated the air, hinting at rubbish and fouler things hiding in the shadows. Zoden rather liked this part of the city. It gave Aruldusk character, like a grizzled old soldier’s battle scars. Zodal just thought it stank. His brother wouldn’t even have come along this evening, but he was convinced Zoden couldn’t make it home on his own.

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