The journey to Dravograd was a stark lesson in the Continent's brutal realities. Alaric, nestled amongst the other villagers in a rickety, overloaded cart, observed every detail. The path was uneven, winding through forests that seemed to breathe with unseen dangers, and across open plains where the wind whispered tales of past skirmishes. The air was colder here, sharper, carrying the scent of pine and distant, undiscernible decay.
The villagers, hardened by their recent loss, remained vigilant. Their fear of bandits was palpable, their eyes constantly scanning the tree lines. Aizen noted their crude weapons, their jumpy nerves, their constant prayers. They were prey, easily flustered, their minds simple. He saw a few instances where their heightened paranoia almost caused a fatal mistake—a rustle in the bushes nearly provoking an attack on an innocent deer, or a distant bird call being mistaken for an enemy signal.
It was in these moments that Aizen subtly applied his craft. A slight shift in the air, an imperceptible visual distortion that made a shadow appear less menacing, a whispered word from one traveler to another losing its sharpness just enough to prevent a panic. He smoothed the edges of their anxieties, ensuring their journey was arduous but uneventful, guiding them through the perils they perceived without ever letting them realize they were being led. He was a silent shepherd, ensuring his flock reached their destination intact, for his purposes.
They eventually saw it: the distant, smoke-plumed outline of Dravograd. Even from afar, it was a sprawling collection of timber and stone, dwarfing their ruined village. As they drew closer, the sounds of a bustling market, the clatter of wagons, and the distant shouts of merchants became clear. This was a hub, a nexus of information and human activity far grander than his previous confinement.
The guards at the city gate were gruff, their eyes hardened by duty. They inspected the villagers' meagre goods, their faces showing little sympathy for their plight. Alaric, clutching a small, worn pouch containing the few coins Borin had given him, simply met the guard's gaze. He allowed a flicker of vulnerability, combined with an unnerving, almost unreadable stillness, to register. The guard, moments from a sharp retort, found his words catching in his throat. He waved them through with an uncharacteristic sigh, a faint sense of unease he couldn't quite place flickering in his eyes.
"Move along, boy," the guard mumbled, turning his attention to the next weary traveler, subtly guided away from further scrutiny.
Inside Dravograd, the sensory overload was immediate. Crowds jostled, speaking in a multitude of accents. The air was thick with the smells of roasting meat, unwashed bodies, stale beer, and the ever-present undertone of refuse. This was chaos, but a structured, vibrant chaos. It was a perfect environment for observation and influence.
Alaric's primary objective quickly became clear: the library. He had seen a crude map in Borin's house that indicated a "Scriptorium" near the merchant guild. This city, unlike his village, would have the kind of comprehensive records he craved. He needed maps of kingdoms, treatises on ancient magic, records of political alliances, and the full history of the Continent's powerful mages and its elusive Witchers.
He spent the first few hours moving through the market, allowing the sights and sounds to wash over him, his spiritual perception working overtime. He sensed the varied auras of the crowd: the dull grey of commoners, the brighter sparks of minor magic users, and the rare, cold glow of a passing Witcher's mutated essence. These were new data points, new variables in his burgeoning equation of control.
As dusk began to settle, casting long shadows, Alaric moved with purpose towards the district where the Scriptorium was marked. His face remained calm, his gaze unwavering. Dravograd was merely the next step. A larger, more complex stage, upon which he would begin to weave the first, truly significant threads of his grand design. The puppet show was about to get a much larger audience.