Stoneheart City, the Outer Ring.
The morning sun washed over the streets, casting a gentle, crisp warmth that lacked the scorching intensity of noon. It made the morning commute almost pleasant. The bazaars were already alive; amidst the low murmur of commerce, the air hung thick with the savory scents of fresh-baked rye, roasted meat, and the distinct, smoky aroma of charred insects.
"It's got a hell of a kick, I'll give it that. Just missing the crisp snap of fresh greens to cut the grease."
Theodore held a loaf of bread in his left hand and a skewer of roasted insects—a trend that had swept the Stoneheart Horde in recent years—in his right. He seemed surprisingly pleased with the grim fare. It was ironic, really. Here in Stoneheart, a city teeming with monstrous races, he was eating food that felt closer to home than anything he'd had in months.
