Cold Goods and Hot Law

The road bent away from the Lawful agents and toward a cleaner kind of threat. A roadside store appeared in the distance, white-painted with a rusted red roof and a smiling cartoon cow on the sign. Moo Moo Market promised cold goods and hot law. An actual cow chewed outside beside a crate marked for cold drinks, as if the whole place wanted to look harmless on purpose. Then the door sign corrected the mood. Under Lawful protection. Registration required for some purchases. The party needed fuel. The ignition crystals were already being spent faster than comfort allowed, and Stormcall was still far enough away to make the math unpleasant. Stopping might mean more crystals, supplies, and information. It might also mean names. Registration could identify them as travelers from the Queefdom, or from VQU, or as exactly the kind of people Lawful records liked to trap in ink. After the red book roadblock, none of that felt theoretical. The store might be safe. It might even be useful. But it was useful in the way bait is useful to the creature holding the line. They kept driving. The choice bought them cover and cost them certainty. The wagon still had fuel, but not enough to make the rest of the journey comfortable. The Stormcall road was no longer only about distance. It was about how long they could stay unregistered, under-supplied, and lucky at the same time.