As they walked through the dusty, uneven streets of Marsh Town, the reality of the town's state became more apparent. The marketplace was nearly empty, with only a few desperate merchants peddling scarce, overpriced goods. The buildings, once sturdy and well-kept, showed signs of decay—cracked walls, broken shutters, and roofs hastily patched with mismatched wood and cloth.
Khaltar glanced around, frowning. "This place looks like it's barely holding together."
Borgrim sighed, his expression unreadable. "You're right. The Elder Dragon's attack didn't just destroy land, it crippled the town's spirit. Farms burned, trade routes vanished, and the few who survived had to cling to whatever they could." He motioned toward a group of ragged townsfolk haggling over a single loaf of bread. "That's why they value Dun more than anything. Gold buys power, and power is the only thing keeping this place from collapsing into ruin."
Khaltar exhaled through his nose. "So that's why they turned us away at the gate. They're not just greedy—they're desperate."
Borgrim nodded. "Exactly."
They continued until they reached Moonlight Blossom Inn, a small yet well-maintained inn. It stood out among the crumbling buildings, its walls still intact and its entrance adorned with a well-polished wooden sign. The faint aroma of roasted meat and ale wafted from inside, a stark contrast to the rest of the town's decay.
Khaltar hesitated, eyeing the place. "You stay here, Borgrim?"
Borgrim grinned. "Aye. Me and seven others."
Khaltar's frown deepened. "And I assume getting in means we have to pay in Dun too?" He looked at the doors warily. "If that's the case, then we're still stuck outside."
Borgrim threw his head back and laughed—a deep, belly-shaking laugh that echoed through the street. He clapped Khaltar on the back, nearly knocking him forward. "Don't mind it, lad! I can afford you lot too. You're under my tab."
Khaltar blinked. "Wait, you can actually afford this place?"
Borgrim smirked. "Aye. You think I'd survive in this town without knowing how to make good coin? Now come on, before they think we're just loitering."
At the reception desk, Borgrim approached the innkeeper—a middle-aged man with a thinning beard and tired eyes. The man barely looked up as Borgrim tossed a small pouch of coins onto the counter, the distinct clink of Dun filling the quiet space. "Four rooms," Borgrim said casually. "For a few days."
The innkeeper finally looked up, eyes narrowing. "That'll be 200 Dun per room, per day."
Khaltar winced. Even for a struggling town, that price was outrageous. Before he could protest, Borgrim nodded and pushed another pouch forward, not even blinking. "Done."
As the innkeeper counted the coins, Nadra leaned toward Gorim, whispering. "Isn't that a bit too much?"
Gorim grunted. "That's just how things work here, girl. A place like this? If you're breathing inside, you're paying for it."
Borgrim chuckled. "Exactly. You either pay in Dun, or you sleep on the streets with the rats. And trust me, the rats here don't just nibble crumbs."
The innkeeper slid four brass keys across the counter. "Rooms on the second floor."
Borgrim picked them up, then turned to Gorim, grinning. "And where's my room?" Gorim asked, arms crossed.
Borgrim patted his shoulder. "With me, of course. Fourth floor. Biggest room in the house. It's where I stay with my other seven."
Gorim's brows furrowed. "Other seven? You living in a damn barracks?"
Borgrim laughed. "Something like that. You'll see. Come on, let's get settled."
Then, each took their keys, ready to head to their rooms, though Nadra still looked skeptical about the price.
Borgrim led the way through the dimly lit corridors of Moonlight Blossom Inn, the wooden floor creaking beneath their boots as they climbed the stairs. The scent of old wood, faint ale, and damp fabric filled the air—a place well-used but still standing.
As they reached the second floor, Borgrim stopped by a narrow hallway lined with aged wooden doors, each marked with iron numbers hammered into the surface. He handed over the first key to Khaltar and Yaraq.
Khaltar pushed open the door, revealing a modest room. Inside, there were two single beds against opposite walls, with a small wooden table in between. A single candle flickered in the corner, its wax dripping onto an iron holder. A dusty window overlooked the town, though the view wasn't much—just rooftops and the distant haze of the marsh beyond.
Yaraq dropped his pack onto one of the beds and smirked. "Not the worst place I've slept."
Khaltar sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed, already feeling the stiffness in the mattress. "Yeah? Well, I've slept in worse, and this still feels bad."
Next, Borgrim handed a key to Reza and Hadeefa. Their room was similar to Khaltar's, though the beds were slightly closer together. The walls had old tapestries, their once vibrant colors now faded. A small wooden wardrobe leaned against the far wall, one of its doors slightly ajar, revealing a single moth-eaten blanket inside.
Reza set her weapons against the wall and gave Hadeefa a glance. "Hope you don't snore."
Hadeefa huffed, folding her arms. "I'm an elder, girl. If anyone should be worried about snoring, it's you."
Reza chuckled, already making herself comfortable.
Borgrim then led Nadra and Soraya to their room. When Nadra unlocked the door, she immediately noticed a problem. "This one's smaller," she pointed out, eyes scanning the room.
It was true—their room had only one bed. A simple wooden frame with a thin mattress, and a threadbare rug on the floor. There was a chair tucked into the corner, but that was about it.
Soraya sighed. "Guess one of us gets the floor."
Nadra grinned, throwing herself onto the bed and stretching. "Not me."
Soraya shook her head, setting her pack down with a chuckle.
The last room on the second floor belonged to Arianne and Zahra. When they entered, a slight draft brushed against them. One of the wooden shutters on the window was loose, causing it to creak every time the wind blew. The room had two beds, but one looked significantly better than the other—the second one had a noticeable dip in the middle, like too many people had slept on it before.
Arianne claimed the better bed instantly. "You don't mind, do you?" she said, already putting down her things.
Zahra glanced at the sagging mattress and sighed. "I'll survive."
Borgrim smirked. "You lot settle in. My room's on the fourth floor with Gorim. You know where to find me if you need anything—except more Dun, I'm not a charity."
He turned and climbed the stairs, leading Gorim up to his own quarters. Unlike the simple rooms below, Borgrim's quarters were spacious. The wooden beams overhead were carved with dwarven runes, and there was even a small fireplace crackling in the corner. A long wooden table sat in the center, covered in scattered papers, metal trinkets, and half-finished projects—Borgrim had clearly been tinkering with something.
Several bunks lined the walls, indicating that more than just Borgrim lived here. Gorim raised an eyebrow. "So, where are the other seven?"
Borgrim grinned, tossing his belt onto a chair. "Out drinking, most likely. Give it a few hours, and this place will be loud as a forge."
Gorim leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes wander around the room. The flickering firelight cast long shadows against the stone walls, and he could see the signs of a lived-in space—half-finished tools, scrap metal, and a few battered weapons leaning against the wall. Despite its rough appearance, there was an undeniable sense of security here, a hidden stronghold in a town that had clearly seen better days.
His gaze settled on Borgrim, who was rummaging through a wooden chest in the corner. The younger dwarf had changed—hardened, perhaps. There was a sharpness in his tone that hadn't been there before, a survivalist's edge.
Gorim tapped his fingers against the wooden table. "Since when have you been living here?"
Borgrim didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled out a small leather pouch, tossing it onto the table. The distinct sound of coins clinking together filled the room. He slumped into a chair across from Gorim and exhaled.
"A few days now," he said. "After I left the mountains, I had nowhere to go. Thought maybe I'd find work in the human cities, but that was a fool's dream. Folk don't trust a dwarf wandering alone, and I didn't have the coin to settle anywhere proper."
Gorim frowned. "So how do you even pay to live in a place like this? Marsh Town doesn't seem like the kind to hand out charity."
Borgrim smirked, reaching into his vest and pulling out a small, silver medallion—a symbol of a smith. He tossed it onto the table. "I run a forge. Nothing grand like the old halls, but enough to keep me fed."
Gorim picked up the medallion, running his fingers over the worn engraving. "Hmph. You always were good with metal."
Borgrim leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But that's not all. Before she passed, my mother left something for me and my brothers. A stash, hidden by the river. Stacks of Dun and gold, enough to keep us afloat. But there was a rule—we only take what we need, and only at night, so no one follows."
Gorim raised an eyebrow. "Clever. And no one's ever caught on?"
Borgrim smirked. "Not yet. But I don't take much. If you start flashing too much Dun in this town, you'll be marked." He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the dim glow of Marsh Town's streets flickered below. "This place is desperate, Gorim. Folk will kill for a handful of Dun. That's why the guards are so damn stubborn about payments. A town can't heal if it's still bleeding."
Gorim sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. "And here I thought coming here would make things easier."
Borgrim chuckled, stretching his legs out. "You wanted Red Steel, didn't you? Nothing worth having comes easy, old man."