Calling this place a caravanserai would have been a misnomer, unless one took into consideration the fact that it was the only place where travelers along these roads could have some respite for many hundred miles, and the fact that, owing to the nature of these lands, people - travelers, tourists, adventurers, questing grail knights, merchants and bounty hunters as well as fugitives and asylum seekers from many different realms and worlds come and go to and from this wayward inn on a daily basis. As such the entire structure could have qualified for a small town in all but name.
An earthen wall, firm and permanent yet by no means as steadfast as that of a full-fledged township against guns and explosive, surrounded the perimeter, giving a sense of temporary safety for its patrons. Which was everything most of they would require security-wise, since they would be staying in this place for a day and a night at the very most anyway. Within these humble walls, on the other hands, were everything an adventure would need from any town. In its four corner were four large, interconnected wings that provided lodging, food and entertainment for men and animals alike. Shops both permanent and temporary dotted the walls, in kiosks and stalls around the main piazza, selling pretty much everything one could ever need. Those goods that the resident supply traders did not sell, traveling merchants who came and went like the wind would happily supply while they were housed within the aforementioned taverns. Aside from those facilities, travelers would find within its walls pretty much every other service one could find in a large town, up to and including a great forge capable of making everything from brass horseshoes to anti-ship saber energy capacitors and positron cannon barrels; an apothecary that, at first sight, could seemingly concoct both common cold cure and industrial grade gasoline from water and random herbs; and other nameless services of that anachronistic nature.
What truly set this apart from the ordinary wayward inns, however, were two things, both owing to the nature of this lands as a dimensional gateway to an everchanging multiverse beyond. The first was that the caravanserai also housed a thriving cartographer's and pioneer's guild tasked with mapping the world - maybe even worlds - beyond its walls, both ever swelling in number more quickly than any town's respective guild had any right to. The second was that many travelers, upon visiting this place, had chosen to stay, further turning this place into a quasi-township.
It is here that he rested that day. His unending quest for knowledge should pause at some point. Thankfully, his boards had been paid on his behalf by a force unknown, for which he was quite thankful. It was not like they had anything valuable on their person in the first place aside from the hodgepodge of assorted junks he had gathered round during his many decades of travels and was dragging along on his faithful horse.
Unfortunately, that lack of monetary resource also meant one thing - it was extremely unlikely that he could ever purchase anything of value in this bustling caravanserai. Thinking so, he strolled along the kiosks, a grey old man, his face wrinkled, his eyes sunken, his back slightly crooked, the mark of age weighing his entire body now but for the determination in his eyes, which flared brightly still. He would not stop until he had found his ultimate answer, something that, he was convinced, he could not find anywhere but at the end of the universe itself.
Calling this place a caravanserai would have been a misnomer, unless one took into consideration the fact that it was the only place where travelers along these roads could have some respite for many hundred miles, and the fact that, owing to the nature of these lands, people - travelers, tourists, adventurers, questing grail knights, merchants and bounty hunters as well as fugitives and asylum seekers from many different realms and worlds come and go to and from this wayward inn on a daily basis. As such the entire structure could have qualified for a small town in all but name.
An earthen wall, firm and permanent yet by no means as steadfast as that of a full-fledged township against guns and explosive, surrounded the perimeter, giving a sense of temporary safety for its patrons. Which was everything most of they would require security-wise, since they would be staying in this place for a day and a night at the very most anyway. Within these humble walls, on the other hands, were everything an adventure would need from any town. In its four corner were four large, interconnected wings that provided lodging, food and entertainment for men and animals alike. Shops both permanent and temporary dotted the walls, in kiosks and stalls around the main piazza, selling pretty much everything one could ever need. Those goods that the resident supply traders did not sell, traveling merchants who came and went like the wind would happily supply while they were housed within the aforementioned taverns. Aside from those facilities, travelers would find within its walls pretty much every other service one could find in a large town, up to and including a great forge capable of making everything from brass horseshoes to anti-ship saber energy capacitors and positron cannon barrels; an apothecary that, at first sight, could seemingly concoct both common cold cure and industrial grade gasoline from water and random herbs; and other nameless services of that anachronistic nature.
What truly set this apart from the ordinary wayward inns, however, were two things, both owing to the nature of this lands as a dimensional gateway to an everchanging multiverse beyond. The first was that the caravanserai also housed a thriving cartographer's and pioneer's guild tasked with mapping the world - maybe even worlds - beyond its walls, both ever swelling in number more quickly than any town's respective guild had any right to. The second was that many travelers, upon visiting this place, had chosen to stay, further turning this place into a quasi-township.
It is here that he rested that day. His unending quest for knowledge should pause at some point. Thankfully, his boards had been paid on his behalf by a force unknown, for which he was quite thankful. It was not like they had anything valuable on their person in the first place aside from the hodgepodge of assorted junks he had gathered round during his many decades of travels and was dragging along on his faithful horse.
Unfortunately, that lack of monetary resource also meant one thing - it was extremely unlikely that he could ever purchase anything of value in this bustling caravanserai. Thinking so, he strolled along the kiosks, a grey old man, his face wrinkled, his eyes sunken, his back slightly crooked, the mark of age weighing his entire body now but for the determination in his eyes, which flared brightly still. He would not stop until he had found his ultimate answer, something that, he was convinced, he could not find anywhere but at the end of the universe itself.
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