After refreshing himself, Kharg made his way to the Gilded Cup with Farad. They entered the tavern and the atmosphere wrapped around them like a warm embrace. The place buzzed with energy as laughter echoed and the soft strum of a lute filled the air. A bard performed in the corner, his voice rising and falling like the tides, captivating patrons with tales of daring escapades.

  “Wow, this place is incredible!” Kharg exclaimed, his eyes widening as he took in the wooden beams overhead and the vibrant décor. He could smell a sumptuous dinner cooking in the back, making his stomach rumble in anticipation.

  “It’s one of the best in Varakar,” Farad replied as he sat down at a table near the front. “You’ll find good food, drink, and entertainment here. I recommend the roast goose, it’s the house specialty.”

  Their meals soon arrived. When Kharg took a bite of the tender meat his eyes lit up. “This is amazing! I would never have expected such quality! How is it possible for a tavern to have meals this good?”

  Farad chuckled. “Ah, you’re beginning to understand the culinary wonders of the city! This meal comes from generations of tradition and love for food. And speaking of tradition, did you know that Varakar has a rich history?”

  Kharg leaned in, intrigued. “Oh? Tell me more!”

  “Well,” Farad began, holding his tankard aloft, “the city as we know it started as a tiny village. It all began 566 years ago when Yrgan the Merchant constructed the first harbor. It was a bold move and that year became known as the Year of the Founding.” He paused dramatically, taking a sip of ale. “There are rumors that an ancient city once stood here, but no one seems to know for sure. There are some buildings in the Poor Quarter said to have walls far older… perhaps lending credibility to such claims.”

  “Interesting… tickles the imagination of what could be found buried below.”

  “Indeed. There are sewers under the city but not everywhere. And you sometimes hear rumors about passages beneath them and hidden chambers where evil conjurers ply their craft. But I would put little stock in such claims.”

  “True, such magic would be sensed by the mages here I guess. Even I can sense magic fluctuations, though not very well.”

  “Anyway, back to the founding of the city. Varakar has become so dominant that even the neighboring city-states use our calendar now. Once the harbor was settled traders began to lay anchor there. The waters here are apparently less ice-ridden during the winters compared to the trade-cities on the main continent. And those ships in turn drew others to settle here.”

  Kharg’s eyes widened as he gestured in understanding. “So that means it’s been growing ever since?”

  “Exactly! Nowadays, Varakar houses around two hundred thousand souls. It swells daily with merchants and farmers driving their wagons into the city, bringing fresh produce for the Food Markets,” Farad pointed out, gesturing animatedly with his hands.

  “That’s impressive. What about the layout of the city?” Kharg asked, genuinely curious.

  “Ah, yes! The city has been divided into various districts,” said Farad. “To the west you’ll find the Poor Quarters. It’s a rougher place, one where many of the urban woes manifest and just east of that are the Food Markets and the Revelry District—filled with life, laughter, and sometimes trouble.”

  Kharg leaned back slightly. “Speaking of the Revelry District… I kept hearing those deep gongs earlier today. They sound like they carry through the whole city.”

  Farad smiled knowingly. “Ah, that would be the Diurnal Spire. The Timekeeper is responsible for the timely beats from there. The spire is a flat tower in the Revelry District, and the Timekeepers’ Guild maintains it. They’re the only ones allowed to sell sundials, in return for that service.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Kharg admitted, “but I don’t know much else.”

  “It’s quite a tradition,” Farad continued. “With advances from the University at the Academy, timekeeping has grown ever more accurate over the years. For the richer houses, owning a precise way to keep time has even become something of a status symbol.”

  Kharg gave a small nod, still picturing the deep sound of the gong rolling across the harbor. “That explains a lot. It feels like the whole city moves to its cadence.”

  “Exactly,” Farad agreed with a grin. “The gongs are grouped by time of day—morning, noon, afternoon, and evening. Then come the Nightfall Gongs, the last three before midnight. That’s when most honest folk are expected to be indoors. Now…”

  “What’s next?” Kharg inquired, leaning forward.

  “Well, eastwards are the Merchants’ District and the Craftsmens’ Quarters. The latter has expanded so impressively it has transformed into two distinct sectors of the city. And, fun fact, after some time they renamed the second one Craftsmens’ District to distinguish them.” Farad explained, a twinkle in his eye. “And don’t forget the Noble District, home to grand, fenced mansions and opulent estates. It contrasts sharply with the Poor Quarters, I assure you.”

  “And what about the palace? Is that nearby?” Kharg asked.

  “Indeed! The palace sits furthest east, flanked by the Royal Gardens,” Farad said, his face lighting up with pride. “The surrounding walls are more than five yards high and protect the lush gardens and all their splendor. But that’s not all. The outer rampart towers over the approach, more than ten yards high, its broad walkways stretching along the crest.”

  “Goodness!” Kharg marveled. “It sounds like a fortress.”

  “It is,” Farad confirmed, “and a bustling city as well. The Adventurers’ Guild and the Mage Academy are along the same road, Southern Road, which runs from the harbor all the way to the Southern Road Gate. The academy’s at the corner of Southern Road and Royal Road, just a stone’s throw away from your future!”

  Kharg felt his heart race at the thought. “I can’t wait to be part of that world.”

  Farad clapped him on the shoulder with an encouraging grin. “You’ll fit in nicely. You have the spirit of an adventurer. Just make sure not to poke your nose into trouble with the noble families. They can be arrogant and their guards will often turn a blind eye to their misdeeds.”

  Kharg barely acknowledged the words before the lively tune of a bard near the hearth caught his ear. The man had begun playing, plucking the strings of his lute with deft fingers. His clear voice carried through the room, weaving a tale about a dashing adventurer named Paendrag. According to the song Paendrag had singlehandedly slain a wyvern terrorizing a distant village and saved its people from ruin. The bard painted him as a hero of unmatched bravery and skill, his every deed larger than life.

  Kharg’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened. Though the song was engaging, it struck him as overly polished, almost too perfect to be true. He wondered if Paendrag himself had commissioned such a flattering piece, a thought that brought a small smirk to his face. The bard’s dramatic gestures and emphatic delivery made the story captivating but Kharg tucked the details away, resolving to reserve judgment until he met the man himself.

  Farad’s voice pulled him back. “So, what can you tell me about the Mage Academy?” Kharg asked, leaning forward, his curiosity reignited.

  “Ah, the Mage Academy!” Farad said, his expression turning serious. “This is a tale worth telling. As I knew you were coming to study there I made some inquiries beforehand. Established by Lord Deval about three hundred years ago, it was designed to bring forth a new era for magic in Varakar.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Kharg's eyes sparkled with interest. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You see,” Farad continued, his voice lowering slightly, “at that time, mages were viewed with fear and suspicion—sometimes even hatred. They kept their abilities secret, lest they be burned at the stake like some of their brethren before them. But Lord Deval saw a path forward. He made an agreement with Prince Abur. In exchange for protecting the academy and its students, the Prince was allowed to tax them and call on their services whenever the city needed defending.”

  “Smart move!” Kharg replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “So, he turned the tide against prejudice?”

  “Exactly!” Farad chuckled, pleased with Kharg’s understanding. “Deval aimed to show that mages could be a force for good rather than the terrifying figures of fearsome power. So he pioneered the training of those with magical abilities in practical applications—elements like wind, water, earth—fields that the populace could see tangible benefits from. So, instead of conjuring fire and lightning to unleash destruction, they became Navigators or Constructors.”

  Kharg was impressed. “That's a smart way to handle things.” Though focused on Farad, he heard in the background how the bard’s song shifted to a triumphant crescendo, extolling Paendrag’s courage as he faced down the wyvern’s fiery breath. The tale ended with the hero standing victorious on a smoking battlefield and the crowd in the tavern erupted into applause. Kharg couldn’t help but feel a small pang of anticipation. If the song held even a hint of truth, Paendrag was clearly someone worth meeting.

  “Correct! And this led to a significant shift in public perception,” Farad explained, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “Over time, mages transitioned from being demonized as chaotic sorcerers to being seen as valued members of society. As far as I know, Lord Deval himself is still associated with the academy. Either he discovered the secret to immortality or his descendants have maintained his legacy.”

  “Incredible,” Kharg muttered, partly in awe, partly in disbelief. “To think the Archmage might still be alive. I wonder if I’ll get to see him at the academy, the mind behind so much change!”

  “Perhaps you will,” Farad replied and paused briefly before he continued, “The academy has changed even further now, or so I understand. In the early days, the mages assisted a lot with constructions and using their magic to make the farmer’s crops richer.” He frowned briefly “Thinking about it, I guess some of the mages still tour around the farmers in the spring to enrich the soil. And they still also have professional services that can be hired…”

  “I guess that would go a long way to change public opinion.” Kharg mused.

  “I lost my track,” Farad chuckled. “Anyway, I was going to say, it has changed from practical to theoretical, drawing in mages more interested in studying magic for its own sake than just practical uses. Over time, this led to the establishment of various departments where scholars dedicate their lives to exploring the mysteries of magic itself.”

  Kharg leaned back in his chair, absorbing it all. “I hadn’t realized it was so complex.”

  “About fifty years ago, the academy opened up a University—a center for broader academic learning. Nobles flock here to send their youthful heirs to study not just the arcane but also mathematics, natural sciences, languages, and even tactics or strategy. It’s become quite prestigious!”

  Kharg tilted his head slightly. “Yes, I’ve heard the name once back in Sitch Nar, but I know almost nothing about it.”

  Farad nodded. “Then you’re in for a surprise. It’s not just a school for magic anymore but has become the main place of learning for the children of nobles and wealthy merchants. Still, there are scholars there who push knowledge forward, and some of their work has led to advances we all benefit from—like the improved sundials used at the Diurnal Spire.”

  “Wow,” Kharg said, picturing himself walking through the hallowed halls filled with knowledge and creativity. “I can’t wait to join.”

  “Just remember,” Farad cautioned, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes, “the halls of knowledge can be treacherous. Keep your wits about you, especially when dealing with the more arrogant sons of the nobility. Those young lords and ladies often expect the world to bend to their will.”

  Kharg chuckled nervously. “Noted! I’ll be careful.”

  As Farad shared more tales about the Academy and its colorful history the bard’s song shifted to a lively melody filled with adventure and magic. Kharg felt himself swept up in the atmosphere, excitement bubbling within him.

  “And, of course,” Farad continued while eyeing Kharg knowingly, “if you ever feel like testing your mettle, you might consider visiting the Adventurers’ Guild. They recruit young and brave souls eager to explore forgotten ruins and face down the dangers lurking in the uncharted territories.”

  Kharg felt oddly tempted at the thought. “You mean… real adventures? Like in the stories?”

  “Indeed! Some of those adventurers are incredibly wealthy, and many are quite young, too,” Farad replied, a knowing smile creasing his lips. “It’s a lucrative business. You might find opportunities to grow not just in magic but as a seeker of the unknown.”

  They finished their meals and Kharg felt the pulse of the city resonate within him. This was no longer just a place he would be studying. It was a world brimming with possibilities, challenges, and perhaps a little danger.

  As they delved deeper into conversation, Farad leaned back, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share more about Varakar. “You know, Kharg, beyond the Academy and its magical wonders, there’s more excitement to be had here. Take the arena for example!” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

  “The arena?” Kharg asked, a bit intrigued.

  “Indeed! A renowned place where gladiators from three prestigious schools clash for glory and fame. And sometimes even unaffiliated fighters join in the sands.” Farad explained, animatedly gesturing. “You've got the School of Drakhar, The Crimson Blades, and Leruh’s House. Each has its own unique fighting style and history. The matches draw large crowds, all eager for the thrill of combat.”

  “Might be worth a visit.” Kharg replied noncommittally. “Where can I find the arena?”

  Farad, caught up in his thoughts, replied excitedly. “It’s just at the corner of Royal Road and Temple Road. If you enjoy a good spectacle, I highly recommend attending a match. Just be sure to keep your wits about you. The energy can be intoxicating, and not all fights are honorable.”

  Shifting focus, Kharg leaned in with curiosity. “And tell me more about the Noble District. I’d like to be prepared for any encounters with the nobility.”

  “Smart thinking,” Farad smiled with approval evident in his voice. “The Noble District is home to many of the city’s most influential families. Their estates are grand and heavily guarded. Be cautious, the younger generations can be particularly arrogant and prone to abuses of power. They often believe they can act without consequence, and the guards usually turn a blind eye to their mischief.”

  “More or less what I expected,” Kharg said, taking it all in. “I’ll have to be a bit careful I guess.”

  “That would be prudent,” Farad replied. “Still, it’s essential not to completely avoid the district. Networking with the right families could open doors for you. Just remain respectful.”

  “Got it! Respect is key,” Kharg affirmed with a slight smile.

  Farad took a long draught from his cup and leaned closer. “Now, if you are interested in the spiritual side of Varakar, you really should explore the Temple District. This city is unique in that it allows all religions to build their shrines, maintaining harmony among various faiths.”

  “Interesting! What’s the most notable temple there?” Kharg inquired.

  “The oldest and most revered is the pyramidal Temple to the Gods of Varakar,” Farad said, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. “It’s said that during one night each year, the gods themselves walk the streets. Anyone spotted outside during the Nocturne of the Nine… Well, let’s just say they don’t come back. People say they become offerings.”

  Kharg raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet skeptical. “Offerings? What happens then?”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” Farad chuckled, “it’s more folklore than fact, but the stories are captivating nonetheless! The Temple District is rich with other temples too, like the Temple of Eldrana, the Earthmother, and the Temple of Aranok, along with the Temple of the Lord of Death.”

  “Any more that would be interesting?” Kharg asked, having heard whispers of it earlier.

  “I think you would find Thoth intriguing, it is associated with lost magic. His temple was built rather quickly—over a month, I believe, by a mage from the Adventurers’ Guild, which stirred up quite a buzz around here for a while,” Farad explained. “But the temple never seemed to attract many worshippers and the initial excitement died out rather quickly.”

  Kharg hummed in contemplation. “It seems there’s much to learn in Varakar, both in the arcane and the everyday.”

  “Come to think about it, I do think I heard something about it being popular among mages…”

  Just then, a pair of beautiful young women entered the tavern, their laughter bright and inviting. They sauntered over to Kharg and Farad and Kharg felt his cheeks flush as they greeted him with gleaming smiles, leaning slightly closer.

  “Hello, handsome,” one of them said, her voice smooth and melodic. “Care to join us for some fun tonight?”

  Kharg blinked in surprise, flattered yet unsure how to respond. He stole a glance at Farad, who was studying the interaction with amusement.

  “Uh, well…” Kharg stammered, feeling suddenly out of his element.

  Farad leaned closer, a glint of humor in his eyes. “You know, Kharg, these lovely ladies are in the business of offering pleasure for the night. They see you as a man of status and adventure. It’s quite flattering, really.”

  Feeling his face heat up further, Kharg mumbled, “Oh! I didn’t expect that. I, uh…” He cleared his throat, blushing. “Thank you, but I think I’ll have to decline.”

  The women exchanged glances, a touch of disappointment flickering across their faces, but they remained charming. Though they soon left to find other clients, and Kharg and Farad returned home.