The Royal Capital's commercial district, Golden Cross Avenue.
Ola trailed behind Velin, the chainmail he wore drawing many sidelong glances from passersby.
"My lord, what exactly are we doing here?" Ola finally spoke up. "The air in this place reeks of money. I don't like it."
Velin didn't answer right away. He slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping over the buildings on either side of the street as if sizing them up.
"We're looking for a suitable venue," Velin said. "It needs to be large enough, and in a good location."
"A venue? To open a restaurant?" Ola's beard twitched.
"No," Velin shook his head. "I'm going to hold an event here. A large-scale talent recruitment fair."
Ola searched his mind for the meaning of those words, but came up empty.
"What's that?"
"It means telling everyone in the Royal Capital who has skills but is struggling. Whether they're artisans, scholars, or blacksmiths—I, the lord of the Grey Marsh Territory, need them."
Velin added.
