Occupants of the citadel had two choices, starve, or leap from the top windows some two hundred feet above street level. They even had a citadel for the stranger and critically dangerous criminals that were best dealt with by being forgotten. Each level had fifty cells capable of sustaining ten people comfortably. The dungeons had four levels, each stretching a storey below the city streets. The prison officials were never at a loss for space. Other nearby towns and villages would pay to have their criminals taken off their hands, to save themselves the burden of deciding what to do with them leaving it to someone else to stain their hands with blood. The dungeons were the city’s largest resource. There, hidden behind its own twelve foot walls of four foot thick limestone, was the municipal court, civil officers' quarters, and dungeons. Now, it served as the centre of law enforcement. The soldiers’ camp had been torn down and remodelled – streets placed where it was best suited – all leading to the infirmary, where prisoners had been deposited and disposed of, as was seen just. There had been no need to construct a blacksmith shop, or tinker’s warehouse, both already present from the war. Supply cellars and weapons depots were now the city bakeries and shops. This was done quickly and cheaply, as the families who had been robbed dry of all their resources accepted what little pay was offered for their labour. The training grounds became the most sought after land for building houses. The entire stronghold had been reconstructed in less than a year, as the new population pitched in to do the work. With double fortified walls and a solid set of mechanized doors, it served well to keep danger out. There were few in the region that had come through with their homes, if nothing more, so the invitation of safety and a new beginning had attracted people to the area like moths to a candle. First having been built as a militia stronghold soon after the end of the first age, the location had served much better as a home to the survivors. The city of Warhaven was placed just beyond the wilderness, leaving tourism and trades a lacking commodity. She would hate to leave herself understaffed if she needed to send a servant or two out of the city for a replacement garment. The selection in the shops about the city was piteous. She hoped to forewarn herself if another shower were to start, saving her the inconvenience of ruining the dress she wore. They were commonly mistaken for Humans and rarely seen as a threat.Ī woman walked along the street, eyeing the sky nervously. If there were Treckers in the crowd, no one would have noticed. A scattered handful of Kougras and even a few Elves passed among the crowds, receiving glances of unfamiliarity from the Humans who lived there. The street was alive and crowded, as people of all ages and mostly human in race, hurried or tarried as they felt needed. Now, as the sun reached its zenith and the warmth of the day became agitated by the storms humidity, children were running shoe-less about the crisp warm cobblestones. The morning came to pass, wet and stormy. Mystery, betrayal, genocide what could go wrong in four days? Five friends end up on the wrong side of the law, and it would appear the law has been waiting impatiently for this opportunity for quite some time. Summary: Life on the streets can be trying at the best of times. TRIGGER WARNING: This book contains strong language, violence, and adult situations. Any resemblance to persons, places, or actual events, past, present, living or dead, is entirely co-incidental. The characters, incidents, dialogues, and scenarios are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real or defamatory. This book is a work of both fantasy and fiction. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner what-so-ever by any means already known, or yet to be invented, without written permission with the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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