Warehouse

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Gregor is silent as he leads Berend and Isabel through the dim, grimy streets of the Shell District. It’s been more than a full day since the last rain, but the gutters are still wet, the runoff blackened with the city’s filth. A faint, putrid miasma hangs above the street, held in by the overhanging buildings. Gregor’s lantern does little to push the shadows away.

They’re heading for the West Gate, where the highway enters Mondirra. It receives all the overland traffic, and the city divides its industry between it and the River District. Isabel has been there exactly twice: once to enter, and once to leave, when she was here last. She had been an apprentice, then, young and wide-eyed at the marvels of the largest city she had ever seen, following at the heels of her teacher. 

Mondirra isn’t as fascinating and glamorous as she remembers. Now, she mostly sees the dirt. 

Sterry the Bastard

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Berend leaves the tavern with a bit of a swagger, and it’s enough to draw the patrons’ eyes away from Isabel in her blacks. She slips out after him and tells herself not to run. 

It isn’t often that a Sentinel needs to hide. They are dressed to stand out—if there were to be a sudden outbreak of the reanimated dead, or, gods forbid, the appearance of a vampire, it would waste precious time to have to find the nearest Sentinel by asking everyone for identification. Isabel’s conspicuousness had served Berend as a distraction, but now she needs not to be followed. She tucks her hat under her arm and keeps her head down.