Relias: Uprising by M.J Kreyzer Page B

company.
     It wasn’t something that he particularly minded. Luke felt much more comfortable walking around the city alone, thinking. It was one of the things that kept him sane. For the majority of his life Luke had used thought to crawl back into himself, to think about the things that mattered most. There was a point when Luke was lucky enough to have hopes and dreams to think about, those thoughts giving him a happiness which he seldom enjoyed. Those times were past, though, and Luke had gotten used to it.
     Praemon was a city that Luke had never before visited. Through his travels Luke had seen his fair share of the world. Some of the visits had been peaceful, though most had been with an objective, that objective more often than not including but not limiting itself to busting a few skulls and slitting a few throats. And the cities that Luke would have to visit were typically rotten ones; dark, grimy, rodent ridden metropolises long past their prime where sin and vice walked hand in hand with nearly every degenerate citizen of the city.  But Praemon was not that kind of city. The architecture was elegant, pure, the sun vivified the ivory colored stone that had as much of a dominating presence in the city as the people who lived there. The style of architecture was graceful, soft; colossal pillars, spanning arches, and extravagant fountains were extremely commonplace. People socialized and strolled through the countless town squares around the city; lush, lively clearings where nothing but content and satisfaction could be felt or heard. Meandering lazily through the city was a canal gurgling with cerulean water through which small boats floated peacefully, propelled by long oars while those who moved them along would whistle pleasantly to themselves, sometimes with passengers in tow. The citizenry was happy, polite, laid-back; hardly the characteristics that one would expect from a population plunked down into the center of a growing war.
     The people didn’t seem to mind that their city was occupied by enemies of the Commune. In many instances they seemed to welcome it. Dark soldiers, dressed in heavy leather armor and wielding body length particle cannons would be invited into homes for dinner, welcomed across the thresholds by smiling faces and open arms. During the daytime the winding cobblestone streets bustled with the content routines of Praemon citizens while in the night the city would go quiet. Its cedar shutters would close, candles would be lit and the silent night would be punctuated by the chirping of crickets and the occasional slow, relaxing hum of a soft singing viola.
     Praemon’s population hadn’t the slightest idea who Luke Semprys was; much thanks to the censorship of the Commune. Once he wandered outside the areas most densely populated by Darks it was as if he weren’t part of a war at all and, to his surprise, he enjoyed it. And because of his withdrawn nature the citizens would invite Luke into their homes with more-than-usual exuberance, doing their best to make Luke feel welcome and wanted. Most often Luke would decline, seeing their invitations as nothing more than attempts on their part to maintain faux appearances of cordiality and warmth. Other times Luke would feel more comfortable avoiding the company in favor of solitude and the pleasance of his own company. Every once in a while, though, Luke would accept the invitation, talk with the family, get to know them, and go on his way with a full stomach and the occasional smile.
     But every night Luke would return home, the empty penthouse that once belonged to Count Dietrik, to find a broad assortment of letters and notes on, under and around the door, most of them letters of disapproval, disgust, while some asked for his immediate and quiet departure. Those ones weren’t hard to spot: hastily scribed addresses, unusually dark inscription and an inexplicable air of animosity that seemed to fumigate off of them.
     Luke had