A City's Fury

Damaran wove through the crowd with a thumb in his belt and glare for anyone that would meet his eye. It was a calculated posture designed to ward off would-be thieves. The sly ones would note the proximity of his hand and the apparent thinness of his money purse. The bold ones would mark his unhurried gait and obvious anger and conclude he was looking for a fight. Neither the sly nor the bold would chance him and move on to easier, more productive pickings. Thus, Damaran was able to move through one of the darker parts of Nevalon with relative ease.

Nevalon, like all four of the Free Cities of the Inlands, was a hodge-podge of races and partial races. Cultures were inherited, borrowed from, ignored and honored. Pointed ears, thin limbs, and tilted eyes, vied with coarse thick bodies. Cat ears, antlers, horns, and tails appeared as often as they didn't. All the colors of the earth were contained within.

The city's sprawling cruelty and indifference, were all the home Damaran had ever known. And he was glad.