The journey to Burova is one that the group as a whole end up swearing to never take again by the same route. As if the skies above wished them ill, the heavy rain continued on the majority of the two weeks, and when it was merciful enough to stop for a few hours, a heavy fog would set in, forcing them to make camp until it dissipated, usually with the coming of more rain. The trails that Temnir led them on to reach the capital were at one point hard packed dirt but the rain had turned them into thick mud, trapping boots every few steps and ultimately forcing them to abandon them and cross through the countryside instead. That did not spell the end of their troubles though. Almost as if a daily ritual, small bands of the recently turned would appear and, although easily disposed of, necessitated a guard to be posted at all hours of the day and during their resting hours, the few that they got.
Finally as the day feels to be coming to an end, the actual time of day nearly impossible to judge from the lack of sunlight over the last two weeks, the group comes around a large hill to reveal the city of Burova gleaming though the darkness and rain a few miles away. With every last one of them weary from travel, caked in mud, and in desperate need of a bed softer than the rocks they had been forced to sleep on to avoid floodwater during the night, the group picks up a second wind as they make their way to the gate.
The city of Burova is easily one of the largest civilized locations in the world, the capital city of Caris in Tycosia being the only one to surpass it. Three giant hills dominate the city, the southernmost one housing a large complex of religious-looking buildings, the middle almost entirely covered in houses, and the northernmost utterly dominated by a behemoth of a castle, easily as tall as the mountain it sat upon and threatening to spill over the sides of its pedestal. The valleys in between the mountains play host to a number of other buildings, most smaller than the ones on the middle hill. The bay of the city is surrounded by a large seawall with an opening of a few hundred feet open to allow vessels in and our of the harbor. Currently, it seems that there is a large chain blocking access though. In the darkness, the harbor itself is hard to make out though the two outcroppings in the water where a pair of lighthouses sit are illuminated enough to show the tops of a plethora of masts inside the wall. The wall surrounding the city itself is tall, thick, and scarred from a myriad of battles though at first glance, it seems battles with the undead are not among them. No skeletons or other undead creatures littler the ground nor do the guards at the gate look overly alert to danger as a steady stream of farmers and workers make their way back into the safety of the city wall after a hard day of working in the farms outside the city that the group had been passing now for close to an hour.
As the group nears the gate and the guards come into view better, it seems something forgotten jumps into Temnir's mind and he immediately turns on his companions and speaks in a rapid whisper,
"Whatever you do, you must not tell them you are followers of Pelor. St. Cuthbert's word is law here and there are precious few that take kindly to those who would usurp their power. I know this is a touchy subject and I apologize for the last minute notice, but if we are to be able to stay here for now, I need you to trust me on this." His warning is emphasized towards Solomon but he makes sure to take Renard into his gaze as well. To back up Temnir's assertions, there on the breast of each and every mace-wielding guard was the insignia of none other than St. Cuthbert the Cudgel.