Mel smirked, having a skill that gave you a certain look was interesting. Would his Hardy Constitution change his appearance? Or would it simply make him tougher? He chatted with Simon for a bit longer, before heading back to the inn he had slept at. The Painted Respite looked quite pleasant in the evening light. It’s walls and roof were all painted slightly changing shades, creating something of a rainbow, albeit blurred and in shades typically not seen or used. There was no clear image amidst the colors, but there really didn’t need to be one.

He paid his fee for staying at the inn and headed back to his room. He was exhausted. It was surprising considering how well he had felt after staying awake for two days, but he supposed that he probably wouldn’t be able to just stop sleeping. Maybe he could shirk a night or two, but rest was essential. He didn’t doubt that some skills could eliminate the need, but that wasn’t really the kind of thing a Traveler would need. Although, being able to keep moving… Huh, something like Perpetual Motion. That would be cool.

The following day Mel looked around for a place to watch a Weaver do their work. He asked around a bit, but it seemed to be some sort of taboo to witness it. It made logical sense, after all secrets of the trade and all of that. But it sucked. He really wanted to see what it looked like. He had heard all sorts of talked up rumors about how they could work an entire building worth of textile equipment. It was obviously some sort of incredibly awesome skill, which was the exact kind of thing he wanted to see.

The street he was on now had three clothing shops, all of whom got their clothes from a variety of Weavers. But not a single one would give him any information on it. He was starting to falter. Some things were simply impossible. A small part of him wanted to go run to Simon and ask the Honest Merchant about setting him up to watch one, and he was certain it would work. But it felt like, well, he would be lesser for it. Something about being rewarded for what should be taken for granted grated at him. Saving another person should be expected, not special.

The magic cloak he would gladly take though. And the money. He was going to be broke in a few months without the gold, and anyone who would pass up the opportunity to have a magic cloak simply could not exist. Cloaks were the best form of clothing ever, for certain. They could protect from the elements, disguise you in the right conditions, they kind of looked like capes sometimes. Even the Legions wore cloaks. Honestly, that alone was enough to make them awesome.

Mel drifted up to what looked like a Tailors shop. The glass windows, which were a rare sight anywhere in Regalia, revealed a beautiful dress being constructed from threads that flew together. He glanced around the street, certain that it hadn’t been there a second ago. His gut was right, the artwork having subtly changed and the shops having been replaced by a couple deserted buildings. This city was way too weird for him. Between the artwork quite literally kidnapping him and turning the city into a labyrinth at night, and now this definite manipulation of something to get him here. Teleportation? Maybe it was simply moving the city around.

Either way, he wanted to see what was in there, and perhaps the city did too. Mel knocked on the door, and all the threads in the shop ceased their movement. The door yanked open, a cord of string had pulled it. “Oh, I don’t know you.” Came a woman's voice from above him. He looked up to see an elderly woman sitting on a chair with a needle, embroidering a jacket. Was that embroidery? Mel wasn’t exactly familiar with the terms of the trade.

“Yeah I don’t know you either, but that dress looked awesome. Mind if I watch you work? It just looks super cool.” He said, investigating the material used in the dress. It looked like a very fine Heart thread, which meant it was probably one of the most expensive articles of clothing he had ever seen. The often life saving threads were understandably cherished, especially by the Legion.

The old woman glanced down at him. “Don’t touch that. I will charge you for it! Heart thread is delicate until it’s set, your touching it could ruin it!”

“I swear I won’t, I just wanna see how a master Weaver works!”

The woman’s gaze seemed to change a bit, but Mel couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion. “Then you have come to the wrong place. I am a Thread Mage.” She said, seeming to preen a bit with the proclamation.

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“Like a Metal Mage, but for threads?” Mel asked, while the threads began moving again, turning into an incredibly detailed dress.

“Of course, but most Thread Mages don’t fight. Some do, but most of them use special cloth and strings. Now what’s your name, and how did you get here young man.”

“My name is Melphis Hargold, and I’ll be honest, iIm pretty sure the artwork took me here. I have literally no clue how it could, but I really don’t know how else it could have happened.” He mumbled, entranced by the whole process of the dress making. Threads were literally created from piles of Bleeding Heart plant matter, Heart lace and thread being separated, the actual fibers being separated from the immensely sweet look alikes.

“Well then. I knew that letting Artists paint wherever they like was a bad idea. The maniacs in this town throw anything they can get their hands on into their paints. I knew one young lady who convinced a Summoner to imbue her paint with spirits of nature in order to make a more realistic mural.”

Mel nodded, then asked. “So what’s your name?”

“You may call me Lira.” The woman responded casually, before looking critically at Mel. “I know you aren’t a Weaver or a Tailor. So tell me what a Traveler wants to do with a Thread Mage, hmm?” Confidence and self assurance radiated off Lira. She looked totally at ease with the concept that someone had stumbled onto her secret shop. Then there was the fact that she could tell his class.

That was immensely unnerving. The idea that she could see his class was like finding out she could read his mind, if slightly less personal. But only slightly. “How can a Thread Mage see a person's class, hmm? He retorted, not angry but definitely not happy with it.

It was one thing to tell someone what level or class you were, an entirely different thing for them to take that information. There had been wars fought over keeping Monarchs levels secret. Of course, not in Regalia. Regalia didn’t have kings, nor did it have nations. Well, actually, the United Cities were a nation. But a nation of monsters wasn’t much of a nation at all.

Lira did not give him a response, and just smiled down at him from where she was sitting on the second floor. Mel went back to watching the finishing moments of the dress, it had turned out absolutely amazing. From the color of the Heart thread that had been mixed in with a variety of pigments, to the sheer intricacy of the design. There were multitudes of patterns that seemed chaotic and discordant up close, but blended into something almost like a mandala. The dress was mostly grey, the natural color of the Heart thread, but it also had a gradient of blues and purples mixed into it. It would be perfect for something like a winter ball.

“There, it’s done. Now to set it.” She quickly grabbed a bunch of flasks with a few tendrils of rope that hung all over the shop. The flasks were aptly maneuvered and then gently poured all over the dress, not a drop hitting the floor, and not a speck of the dress going without the fluid soaking it.

“Are you going to make anything else?” Mel asked, a bit unsure of why she had dodged the earlier question. Maybe she had a second class that gave her information about people. It could be something like Inquisitor or Analyst.

“Not today, but if you can find your way back here tomorrow your welcome to watch again. Now i'm going to have some tea and put some cookies in the oven. Care to join a lonely old woman?”

Mel thought about it for a while. Awhile being all of maybe ten seconds before succumbing to the desire to ask her a million questions. “If it’s not an imposition I would love to stay and chat, would you mind pouring another cup?” He said, using his most polite voice. He didn’t often like being polite, but it was probably best to use his manners when talking to someone who would most definitely kill him. He had no doubt that those threads hanging from the ceiling would make excellent nooses.

“I would love to!” Lira chimed while walking out of the shop to the next door building which turned out to be a lovely home. It was decorated to the nines, not a single inch of room left bare. It was surprisingly uncluttered, even though almost everything had some sort of small novelty item or cover on it. The center table had a sheet of cloth over it, embroidered with a phrase that Mel couldn’t read. It didn’t appear to be Regal, so it was probably from one of the fractured continents. Odd.

Lira poured him a cup of hot tea, having used her magic to prepare the drink. She also offered him a plate of freshly baked cookies, but Mel had had enough sweets for this trip. He sipped at the bitter tea, while thinking of what to ask the Mage, but she beat him to the punch.

“So is there any reason in particular you wanted to see me working? Some sort of spy, despite lacking the class, or simply high enough level I can’t even tell? Maybe just genuine childish curiosity? Whatever the reason, I must admit it is quite nice to have someone admire my trade. Most simply appreciate the final product rather than the exceptional work I put into them.”