New Cyre Music
When Prince Oargev's letter reached you, it also came with the promise of transportation to bring you from the small salvager station of Salvation on the edge of the Mournland back to New Cyre – though it's not quite as comfortable as you might have liked. There are no lightning rail stations or passages through the small 'town', and so you're reliant on more mundane transportation.
The horse drawn carriage rattles down dusty, uneven streets after days of travel that brought you to your Prince's abode. For those who have visited before, the town is much the same as last time, albeit the tent city in the southeast seems to have grown since you last you came. For those here the first time, the permanent buildings display a mix of facades – some Brelish, and some echoing the architecture and fashions of Cyre, though with a gaudy fragility resembling that of faires – a temporary measure meant to look close to the original, without truly managing to embody it.
Prince Oargev's manor, once owned by the master of the village before it was handed over to the Cyrans, sits on the southern edge but as a three storey building it can be seen from almost anywhere in the cluster of buildings. Rolling through the town you see little in the way of new buildings being constructed, and the attitudes of those who you pass is muted and passive. Outside one building, a woman sits half curled on her porch, weeping into a blanket, and the stony face on her partner beside her says that this isn't the first, nor will it be the last time, that such a display of utter despair and hopelessness bursts forth.
The town centre holds a well from which a line of people are queuing to draw water, and some look up as you pass, though most keep their faces forward – they're alive, but it's hard to say if they're truly living. The edges of their eyes are drawn sharp by their drawn-taut skin, their gaunt expressions, but their actual gaze is clouded by thoughts that occupy their minds entirely Noticeboards surround the edge of the town centre, plastered with messages freshly written and others faded with age and elements; some are requests with offer of payment, some are offers of support or advertising skills, and some are pleas for help to find their lost loved ones. Monuments to the dead and countless trinkets or keepsakes surround you on small shrines, and even if each one represented only a single dead Cyran, it's still not a drop in the bucket for how many you have all truly lost.
A gnome stands outside the manor, apparently awaiting your arrival. When you step down from the carriage she consults her pocket watch and nods approvingly, her loose raven-black hair fluttering at the motion. “Four minutes early. Very good, very good.” No time had been specified in the letter – indeed Oargev had specified you could arrive in New Cyre at your own pace, rather than his own timetable – but that doesn't seem to have affected her expectations. “Duvamil Sparklegem, or Duvi for short. Majordomo to his Highness, I handle much of the day to day running of New Cyre as well as handle matters in his absence. He'll want to see you now that you're here. Come along then, let's not waste your haste!”
She waves you inside, beckoning you to follow as she keeps a crisp pace beyond what you might expect from her short legs, yet she seems to exert no effort in maintaining it. The interior of the manor is a similar mishmash to the town itself: Brelish decorations interspersed with signs of Cyran items of art, history or other value, and at least one painting you're pretty sure you recovered on a previous expedition. Duvi blazes a trail along velvet carpets, leading you through halls. Without stopping, and without panting despite the pace she's maintaining, she asks “His Highness is currently in a small meeting but it's connected to the job he has for you, so I'll announce you. Do you have any preference for names? Titles? Epithets? Or any other questions before we arrive?”
Spoiler: Prince Oargev's Letter
To the recipients of this missive,
Word has reached me of your exploits in the Mournland, and I happen to find myself in need of capable people who will serve the needs of the Cyran cause. If you could make your way to my manor in New Cyre at your earliest convenience, I hope that we can discuss the proposition in more detail. Please rest assured that this is not a charity job, and you will be compensated handsomely for a successful mission.
Enclosed with this document are sufficient funds to cover your travel expenses to New Cyre. Might I recommend Chila for your carriage driver? She has the best sense of humour.
Tomorrow in Cyre,
Prince Oargev ir'Wynarn.
[A green wax seal, bearing the heraldry of the Cyran royal family, is inset beneath Oargev's incredibly aesthetic signature.