For Aethelstan and the rest of the Heroes' Party, their responsibilities had begun fully. Like Omares had said, they had a mission. In a fine province in Eldermoor known as Neverglades.
The journey to the Elf Kingdom was less of a travel expedition and more of an opulent parade.
Unlike how they lived in the Tutorium, the Heroes were traveling in a convoy of three Maglev Carriages.
These were special lacquered vehicles suspended a foot off the ground by repulsion crystals, drawn by six-legged Moon Steeds that galloped with silver glistening on their hoofs.
Inside the lead carriage, the interior was upholstered in velvet so soft it felt like moss.
"This," Bromm Axebringer grunted, shifting his bulk and causing the magical suspension to whine in protest, "is ridiculous. A warrior should feel the road beneath his ass, not float on a cloud like a pampered concubine."
He bit into a turkey leg he had smuggled from the Tutorium kitchen, crumbs falling onto the pristine carpet.
