The plane passed through the clouds, slowly landing in the central plaza of Delia, the Capital of India.
The cabin door opened, and a wave of heat mixed with a pungent, acrid odor assailed them.
Ian walked down the ramp, frowning slightly as he quickly held his breath.
The air was filled with a bizarre mixture of spices, feces, sweat, and various putrid odors. It was like a boiling pot of fecal soup, so thick it was suffocating.
The plaza was packed with a dense, dark mass of people.
There were men and women, old and young, all with dark skin, murky eyes, and dressed in tattered linen clothes.
They craned their necks and stood on their tiptoes, desperately trying to get a look at the plane.
"Red-Bladed Spear!"
"The Red-Bladed Spear from Great Yan is here!"
"I heard he can purify Rifts! He was invited by our Sun God."
The shouts rose one after another, thick with accents and a mishmash of different dialects.
