The storms after the finals had easily been the worst in recent memory—if not for their ferocity, then at least for their persistence.
For a week they had lashed Castellya and Piervo, a seemingly unending tide of misery tumbling downwards from the northern mountains. Merchants had been grumbling for days, floods forcing caravans traversing the trade routes to stop far short of their destinations and turn back towards home. It had even wiped the smiles from the Farmer’s Guild in the aftermath of their victory, crops crushed or drowned by the unseasonal deluge.
Brisket liked it just fine. She didn’t care much these days for bustling market streets, or loud evenings in taverns. The populace of the cities under this grey blanket preferred to keep to themselves, remaining in the dry sanctuary of their homes. Those who did dare venture out did so under thick shawls, walking quickly, their heads down and inattentive.
Besides, this evening it suited her purpose.
The story continues with Part VI. (Check out the previous chapters in the Resource Vault.)