'The Top of the Afternoon.'
A seven story tall building designed in a manner that almost looked to be an exaggeration of the rest of the buildings in Finweald. Its arches were higher than others, decorated with engravings of the miracles and stories of popular deities. Its width was narrowered than others, just shy of being a needle-like tower. And, of course, its decor was glamorous and cosmopolitan, reflecting the influx of wealth to this once-humble township. Each individual floor was reserved for a single party of patrons, and the prices were much too exorbitant for any regular citizen to wish to dine in. Outside of celebrations, weddings, and what have you, few of Finweald’s inhabitants had any deserve to patronize the place.
That made it perfect, though, for the luxury-seeking tourists from Falderen, the gold-flushed merchants of the Folkstreet Market, and, of course, adventurers with too much money and too little understanding of Astorea’s economy, to settle down for an afternoon of tea and snacks while observing the rest of the city from their vantage point up on a tower-like cafe, up on a steep, steep hill.
And the solitude of having an entire floor to yourself (small as it was in actuality), was quite a boon too for someone who too often found himself at the center of attention…even if he worked for that attention to begin with.
Still, there was plenty to enjoy. From the sixth story of The Top of the Afternoon, with a fresh spring breeze causing lacy curtains to dance like manifestations of the wind itself, Cain could enjoy some overpriced tea, the leaves having purportedly been excavated from the Royal Palace itself during the initial escape from Vintergard. A tiered tray of snacks, from delectable pastries and jam to rare fruits gathered from all over the continent, seemed to sparkle in the plentiful natural lighting that the room was afforded too, while a magitech record player, a rarity in the more far-flung parts of the region, played an approximation of jazz that a UI-locked player had introduced to Astorean culture during the four years of banishment.
Then, the clockwork lift rang, its cage rattling as the gears grinded to a stop. A waiter appeared first, dressed in a fine vest that complemented his well-proportioned body. They bowed once, stepping off to the side to reveal…a less familiar face.
“Master Darlite. Your companion has arrived.”
But he had none. So who, indeed, was this?
A seven story tall building designed in a manner that almost looked to be an exaggeration of the rest of the buildings in Finweald. Its arches were higher than others, decorated with engravings of the miracles and stories of popular deities. Its width was narrowered than others, just shy of being a needle-like tower. And, of course, its decor was glamorous and cosmopolitan, reflecting the influx of wealth to this once-humble township. Each individual floor was reserved for a single party of patrons, and the prices were much too exorbitant for any regular citizen to wish to dine in. Outside of celebrations, weddings, and what have you, few of Finweald’s inhabitants had any deserve to patronize the place.
That made it perfect, though, for the luxury-seeking tourists from Falderen, the gold-flushed merchants of the Folkstreet Market, and, of course, adventurers with too much money and too little understanding of Astorea’s economy, to settle down for an afternoon of tea and snacks while observing the rest of the city from their vantage point up on a tower-like cafe, up on a steep, steep hill.
And the solitude of having an entire floor to yourself (small as it was in actuality), was quite a boon too for someone who too often found himself at the center of attention…even if he worked for that attention to begin with.
Still, there was plenty to enjoy. From the sixth story of The Top of the Afternoon, with a fresh spring breeze causing lacy curtains to dance like manifestations of the wind itself, Cain could enjoy some overpriced tea, the leaves having purportedly been excavated from the Royal Palace itself during the initial escape from Vintergard. A tiered tray of snacks, from delectable pastries and jam to rare fruits gathered from all over the continent, seemed to sparkle in the plentiful natural lighting that the room was afforded too, while a magitech record player, a rarity in the more far-flung parts of the region, played an approximation of jazz that a UI-locked player had introduced to Astorean culture during the four years of banishment.
Then, the clockwork lift rang, its cage rattling as the gears grinded to a stop. A waiter appeared first, dressed in a fine vest that complemented his well-proportioned body. They bowed once, stepping off to the side to reveal…a less familiar face.
“Master Darlite. Your companion has arrived.”
But he had none. So who, indeed, was this?
