>>6122669Sunset Lake itself is quite the locale. Oh, it’s no Hawksong—few places on Earth rival THAT metropolis, even if it’s seen better day. It’s the biggest town west of Hawksong, though, and PROBABLY the only one a person who’s seen a real city could even apply the term towards without irony, and what it lacks in urban density and imperial majesty it makes up with in a particular sort of rustic charm.
Coming down from the hills above, you see it in its full glory by the glow of the golden-red sunset which gave the place its name: the lake itself is as a sparkling jewel, nestled amid the verdant embrace of rolling hills. The dying light of Holy Sol It transforms each ripple into molten gold and fiery amber, shimmering across its surface like scattered treasure that lightens the weight of your pack and fills your heart with matching glow.
Flourishing as a thriving fishing village and bustling trade, Sunset Lake (as in the city sprung up around the beautiful body of water, this time) bustles with activity even as golden light turns to blue-back night. Little fishing vessels, bobbing gently, are festooned with lanterns. Their lights dance upon the water like fireflies beneath a reflected moon. The gentle creak of wooden hulls and the murmur of voices carry upwards, a symphony of daily life winding down. From the village itself rise slender plumes of smoke, twisting upwards into the dusk sky from myriad chimneys. The scent of hearth fires and cooking wafts up to greet you, a warm reminder of civilization after your woodland journey. The quaint human homes and lively markets are aglow with the soft, inviting light of evening lamps.
“Now THAT’S more like it,” you exhale happily, and turn around with a flourish to gesture all the others to take a gawk of their own. “Awright, gobs ‘n gals, who’s ready ta’ make some MONEY?”
Yeb-Uit replies with a curt nod, and Cara-Zi gives a little whoop, looking even more relieved than you are to arrive. They are apparently alone in their enthusiasm, though.
“I’m ready to rest without having to watch my back all night,” says An-Yii, shooting a dark look at a sheepish, still-unforgiven CZ.
Khorine, yawning and stretching her skinny little limbs, seems as if she’d concur, but it urns out she has some whole OTHER hang-up.
“I don’t want to sleep near all that smoke and filth,” she says, running up her nose. “These people live unnatural lives, far from nature. They put up walls to keep the world out, and rooves to hide from the sun and the moon. I will sleep outdoors.”
You swallow a cutting rebuke, instead approaching the objections gently and tactfully, as a TRUE leader ought to.
