“Then best be on your way! Best of luck, and don’t go alone - take this.” She hands you a shimmering sword. It appears to shift and change until becoming a longsword of the hardest mithril.

She gestures and the great iron door is opened for you. You exit into brilliant sunshine, unusual for a winter’s day, and can see the true span of the city. This is a rich place indeed, with cobbled roads and buildings stretching every direction. A stableboy meets you at the door with a beautiful black mare, purple ribbons woven into its mane. “This is Sariel, our best runner. She knows the way to take you out the city walls and to the southern coast. Oh, and she loves pears.” He put a bumpy burlap bag into your riding bags.

A tall dwarf with a head full of red braids topped with a chef’s hat comes rushing out of the guild house towards you… “Wait, wait, wait, you must have food for your journey. The rations are terrible. Here…” He pulls out several cloth wrapped parcels and puts them in your bags. “Some baked Saltfork perch with potatoes. Some peppered cheese and dwarven bread. And a bit of a specialty, centipede scones.”

After this odd interruption, you look more closely at the sword you’ve been given.

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