Exploring

Steven trudged back to the guild hall, the black cat’s escape nagging at him but not enough to sour his mood. He approached the desk, the same wiry woman from before eyeing him as he slid over the Cracked Pot Delivery parchment. “Got the pots done—cat got away, though,” he said, shrugging. She nodded, unfazed, slotting his bronze card into the machine. “It happens from time to time—strays can be slippery devils.” The hum confirmed his work: 15 copper for the pots, nothing for the cat. She slid the coins across, and he pocketed them, his day’s haul light but done.

With no pressing tasks, the guild’s bustle felt stale. He wandered out into the Mistveil, the fog thinning under a late morning sun, deciding to explore the town—see what else it held beyond the shops and guilds he’d already hit. The Stormgull Flyer swayed as he strolled, taking in the layout sprawling around him.

Mistveil Shores Town Layout

The town hugged the coastline, a crescent of stone and timber cradling the harbor. At its heart, the Wharf District buzzed—fishmongers hawked their catch along the docks, nets drying in the sun, taverns like The Salty Anchor spilling laughter and ale. Thread & Tide sat nestled here, its wooden sign creaking beside a net-maker’s stall. Across the way, The Salty Hammer smoked near a shipwright’s yard, sawdust mingling with forge ash. A Netmender’s Hut squatted nearby, old women weaving hemp into ropes, their chatter a salty drone.

Uphill, the Market Square sprawled—cobbled streets lined with stalls: a Fishmonger’s Row reeking of cod and eel, a Herbalist’s Nook wafting mistbloom and ashroot scents, and a Trinket Trader peddling shell necklaces and carved bone. Hide & Hammer anchored one corner, Trish’s forge a beacon of leather and grit, while a Tinker’s Cart rattled with odd gadgets—brass scopes, wind-up fish toys. A Baker’s Oven puffed yeast and warmth, its awning shading loaves of mistgrain bread.

To the east, the Artisan Quarter hummed quieter—narrow lanes of workshops: a Glassblower’s Den glowing with molten orbs, a Potter’s Wheel spinning clay into jars, and a Weaver’s Loom threading ashbark into bolts. A Candlemaker’s Shed dripped wax, its shelves lined with glimmerstone-dusted tapers. The Mage Tower loomed nearby, deep purple stone piercing the sky, its black windows glinting secrets.

Westward, the Residential Hollow curved—tight-packed homes of weathered wood and stone, some with rooftop gull nests, others with crab traps stacked by doors. A Herbal Healer’s Hut smoked with incense, a Barber’s Blade flashed razors, and a small Shrine to Vyrthralis glowed with offerings of shells and salt, its cross symbol a quiet echo of Steven’s own.

North, the Guild Rise held sway—the adventurers’ guild a sturdy hub of timber and iron, ringed by a Stables of sea-hardened horses and a Tanner’s Yard stinking of hides. A Scribe’s Nook scratched out contracts, parchment fluttering, while a Tattooist’s Den etched ink into sailors’ skin—krakens, crosses, waves.

Satisfied, Steven drifted beyond the town’s edge, the cobblestones giving way to sandy paths and scrub grass. The warm, salty breeze hit him full—ocean to the west, waves crashing against cliffs jagged with tidepools, crabs scuttling over rocks. Eastward, the forest loomed, a dark green tangle of ash and pine, mist curling through branches where wolf howls faintly echoed. North, rolling hills rose, dotted with wildflowers and grazing saltwolves, their silvery pelts glinting in the sun. South, the shore stretched—a flat expanse of dunes and driftwood, gulls wheeling overhead, the horizon shimmering where sea met sky. He wandered, boots crunching sand, taking in the raw sprawl—warmth on his skin, salt in his lungs, a world alive and wild.