Wildheart chronicles

Bjorn stirred before the sun kissed the horizon, his limbs stiff and aching from the unforgiving ground beneath him. The village offered no shelter, leaving him to make do with a makeshift camp along the roadside.

Months of weary travel had taken its toll on him, his once neat dark hair now tousled and unkempt. Despite his dwindling coin purse, there was an undeniable excitement bubbling within him, reflected in the gleam of his green eyes and the wide grin adorning his face. Today held the promise of reaching Jeju City, where he would finally have the chance to test for his magic source and fulfill his dream of joining the prestigious ranks of the church as a mage.

All his supplies depleted, Bjorn attached his reliable sword to his belt and threw his bow and quiver across his back, His body has been sculpted into a strong, toned figure through years of diligent effort, with every muscle well-defined and slender. His skin has become a rich bronze color from spending numerous hours hunting outdoors, with the sun's rays turning it into a deep golden-brown shade. Eager to embark on the final stretch of his journey Bjorn sets off. The road ahead seemed to teem with fellow travelers, a reassuring sign that Jeju City was drawing near.

As the sun reached its zenith, the initial excitement waned, replaced by a gnawing impatience. Despite his inquiries, each passerby echoed the same refrain: Jeju City was just a stone's throw away. Bjorn couldn't help but muse on the remarkable prowess of the region's stone throwers, wondering just how skilled they must be to launch stones such vast distances.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bjorn crested a hill, and there it lay before him in all its splendor: Jeju City,gazing down at the sprawling city before him, Bjorn eyes widen with wonder at the sight unfolding below. The city stretches out like a vast tapestry woven from the threads of all the towns and villages he's ever known, each one blending seamlessly into the next.

Towering spires of stone and marble reach toward the heavens, their graceful arches and intricate carvings bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun.The streets below teem with life, bustling with merchants hawking their wares, musicians playing lively tunes, and children darting between the crowds with laughter in their eyes.

The city's walls stood proud and imposing, a testament to its grandeur and the mysteries that lay within, Ancient runes are etched unto the wall, and wisps of colorful smoke drift lazily from the chimneys of buildings.

And as he stands there, taking in the breathtaking sight before him, he knows that his journey is only just beginning, Bjorn's heart quickened with anticipation as he descended towards the city gates.

Bjorn arrived at the city gate and joined a long line of people waiting to go through the security check. The queue was slow-moving, and it took nearly half an hour for him to reach the front. As he waited, he observed the guards—relaxed yet alert, their hands resting lightly on their swords, their eyes scanning the crowd for anything out of the ordinary.

When it was finally his turn, one of the guards, a burly man with a stubbled jaw and a worn expression, spoke in a gruff, monotonous voice, "What's your name, kid, and where are you coming from?"

"I'm Bjorn, from Lutia," he answered quickly.

"Reason for visit?" the guard asked, barely looking up as he scribbled on a small parchment.

"Here to test for my magic source and join the Church," Bjorn replied with a hint of excitement in his voice. This was a big moment for him, a step toward his dream.

The guard gave him a quick once-over, noticing the sword and bow strapped to his back. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then handed Bjorn a piece of parchment, his temporary identification.

"Head to the tower at the center of the city," the guard said, pointing toward a tall structure that rose above the skyline. "You couldn't miss it if you tried."

Bjorn nodded, took his ID, and quickly strolled into the city, eager to explore and find his way to the Church's outpost.

While walking through the city for the first time, Bjorn was completely taken aback by the overwhelming intensity of his surroundings. The streets were filled with individuals, all moving with determination as they carried out their tasks. The smell of street food, sweat, and a slight horse odor filled the heavy air. The noise of vendors promoting their products blended with the clanging of armor and the low hum of many conversations.

He was in a neighborhood of the city that had a gritty feel to it. Mercenaries, their faces marked with scars and carrying heavy weapons on their shoulders, marched through the streets with a threatening presence. They clustered closely together, keeping watchful eyes on the crowd for potential dangers - or opportunities. Beggars were seated by the roadside, their clothes in tatters and their eyes empty, asking for help with their hands outstretched. They shouted to people walking by, seeking a donation, but were mostly disregarded.

Shifty-looking kids lurked in the shadows between buildings, watching the crowds with keen eyes. Bjorn could feel their gazes on him, and he knew he had to be careful. It wouldn't take much for them to slip into his pockets and make off with whatever they could find.

As he made his way through the bustling streets, he passed traders loudly haggling with customers. Stalls overflowed with goods—brightly colored fabrics, exotic spices, hand-forged weapons, and curious trinkets. Each trader seemed to have their own unique sales pitch, shouting to attract attention and then dropping their voice to close the deal.

There were inns on almost every corner, some of them looking respectable, while others had a more questionable reputation. Outside a few of the seedier establishments, girls stood in suggestive postures, their smiles inviting yet hinting at something darker beneath the surface.

It took Bjorn almost an hour to reach the church grounds, and by then, he was feeling the strain of navigating the massive city. The central streets were wider, with grander buildings and fewer beggars, but the atmosphere remained tense. The church's towering spires loomed before him, a constant reminder of why he had come to the city. He tightened his grip on his bag and quickened his pace, eager to escape the chaos and find his way to the church's gates.