For any ambitious mercantile folk seeking a profit within the walls of the Ringed City, the Grand Bazaar was the place to go. From pretty trinkets and cultural heirlooms brought from beyond the Hallowed Sea, to enchanted equipment recovered from within the many Dungeons by excavation companies or independent groups, so long as one had an intention to sell, a buyer would eventually be found.
No two days at the bazaar were ever quite the same. It was not uncommon for representatives of even a small excavation company to have a stand fully loaded with gems, exotic supplies, weaponry, and equipment one day, only to have their provisions fully sold out within a matter of hours. All sorts flocked to Corasia – whether for adventure, or for business, or pleasure, or simply the allure of the city. For the hundreds of years that the city had existed, its walls expanding outward over the centuries as new blood sought the promise of a better life, the Grand Bazaar had seen its share of buyers and sellers from all walks of life.
Today, however, would be different.
For today would be the first time that the name of a visitor from another world would be known among the denizens of the Ringed City of Corasia.
Artificer. Armourer. Alchemist. Battle Smith. Self-proclaimed Inventor Extraordinare. Artificer’s license revoked in three cities for failure of adequate adherence to safety regulations, but he would never admit that unless the issue was pressed.
Gauge Gearsprocket.
His adventure begins not at the heart of the Grand Bazaar, where competition for merchant’s licenses was fierce, but instead along one of the many smaller streets on the periphery of the Market District feeding into the Grand Bazaar.
-x-x-x-
“Come one, and come all! Feast your eyes on Gearsprocket’s Emporium of Adventuring Gizmos and All-purpose Oddities!”
Gauge Gearsprocket flashed a wide smile, gesturing to any who were willing spare the time of day at the assortment of merchandise. He stood before his stall, all manner of products on display. A cloak of deep blue adorned his form, blending seamlessly with the dark gloves that stretched from his fingers to well beneath the sleeves of his coat. Many passed him by, most of them giving no more than the slightest curious glance at his wares as they stepped past toward the many other stalls that lay in prime locations.
It didn’t bother him. Their loss, he told himself, even as he continued shouting and vying for the attention of the passing crowd. Blessed with their ability to innately work the arcane arts, the folk of this world simply couldn’t appreciate the ingenuity of his designs.
It was now two weeks since he had been swallowed by one of the many unstable Waning Rifts that came and went within the ruins of the pre-Spellblight Arconian Empire. In that two weeks, he had learnt a great deal of things about Corasia – first and foremost that against all odds, the denizens of this foreign land that he had been summarily deposited to after being sucked into the Rift retained the ability to innately manifest the arcane magics of the Planes Beyond in the form of spells.
They never had to dig for scraps of knowledge among the ruins of once-proud Empires that fell from the skies, or create new inventions to substitute for spells from the days before the Spellblight. He smiled to himself. Drunk upon their power, turned slothful with the conveniences that spellcraft allowed, and with their minds untested against the harsh dangers of a world where one could not actively protect themselves with sorcery, the wonders and inventions he brought today would surely propel the Gearsprocket name to greater heights!
Of course, he would pointedly ignore any allegations that a number of his inventions had the propensity of spontaneously blowing up or otherwise malfunctioning. They simply couldn’t appreciate that failure was part of the process of grand discoveries.
He eyed a passing lady – an elf, it would seem, though the race had been driven to extinction in Zerom in the wake of the Spellblight, leaving only his race of boring old humans behind. His eyes were immediately drawn to the rapier by her hip, and he grinned. Jackpot.
Magical, he realised. Of course, that didn’t mean much, since any Artificer worth their tools would know that.
This was someone who could appreciate his products. From this far, and without inspection of the drawn weapon, he couldn’t discern the nature of its imbued magic, but that meant nothing. One way or another, this customer would be receiving a Gearsprocket Guarantee, or his name wasn’t Gauge Gearsprocket!
She moved with purpose, likely striding to one of the overrated permanent stores that stood proudly in the centre of the Bazaar. He’d scouted his competition days ago, and though he’d been initially impressed by the enchanted equipment boasted by the merchant representative of the Drechnar Venture Company, that quickly faded once he had been proudly informed that it was retrieved from the depths of a Dungeon by a group of their leading excavators. As far as he was concerned, unless a piece of equipment was created with all the careful attention and tender care that only an Artificer could impart, it couldn’t truly be appreciated as a piece of art.
And now, he would prove it. Seizing his opportunity, he called out.
“You! Lady!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the competition from his neighbours.
He glared at them. On the outskirts of the Market District, most of the goods being sold were of the mundane sort – fresh produce, hand-crafted trinkets, perhaps the occasional blacksmith or craftsman with some talent. It was unsightly that an Artificer of his standing had to compete with such common rabble, but alas, his prior status painstakingly earned in his home world through fifteen years of invention, adventure, industry, and innovation held no meaning here.
Peddlers reached out as she passed, trying to vie for her attention, but she ignored them, shooting them an emotionless glare when any dared to attempt halting her in her tracks. They seemed to back away at that, cowed into submission – but Gauge Gearsprocket was no such coward.
“You might want to cover your ears,” he tried giving due warning to the fruit stall that was his immediate neighbour. Alas, over the din of the crowd, his voice didn’t quite reach the merchant’s ears.
Well, he tried his best. No one could fault him for that.
Gauge reached at a shelf beneath the stand, pulling out an invention that had served him well for many years. Though it didn’t often see much fruitful use, since the sigils that imparted a spark of magic unto the device weren’t the most stable, its name struck wonder and awe in all who heard of it and witnessed its deeds.
“Behold,” he muttered under his breath, though no one could hear him. “The Booming Conch-shell!”
And with that, he flipped what served as a switch on the device – a simple plug joined by a string to a hollowed-out section of the shell – and made known the wonders of the Gearsprocket name to the people of Corasia.
“You there! Elf girl!”
The shaky wood that composed his competitor’s stalls rattled at his voice. His own remained suspiciously firm, thanks to the sigils carved into its underside just hours ago that altered its inherent properties. More than a few apples rolled off his neighbour’s stand, and he winced momentarily as one of them splattered against the cobblestones of the Bazaar.
Not for long, though. Now, all eyes were upon him – even the potential customer who had been adamantly attempting to shake off a pushy jeweller, whose goods Gauge could discern were obviously not as magical as he was advertising them to be. He smoothened his features, flashing a pleasant smile – one that had charmed many a repeat customer of the Gearsprocket family business in the past.
Gilman, Geoffrey, and Gillian may have always adamantly denied such claims, but his brothers and sister were just jealous of the wonders of his inventions. Of that, he had no doubt.
His competitors were cowed into submission by the awesome display of the Booming Conch-shell’s power – as they rightfully should be – and were now looking at him fearfully. Their little corner of the street fell silent, and the only sounds came from deeper into the Market District, where most of the Bazaar was sited. Gauge would have wanted a piece of prime location there, but alas, the guards there actually inspected for whether merchants had a permit. His merchandise would speak for themselves.
The elf’s eyes narrowed, her hand drifting toward her rapier. An unfamiliar power swirled within her, and Gauge was almost giddy at the sight. An actual spellcaster! Though two weeks had passed since the unfortunate accident while etching his name upon the highest point of the Bleakspire Bluffs, now being part of what had essentially been lost history in his world still felt unreal.
“What did you call me?” Her voice was intoned low, but in the silence that had settled in after the Conch-shell had been revealed, it carried over easily.
Gauge recognised a rhetorical question when he saw one. He was not a Gearsprocket for nothing. Instead, he chose to smoothly divert the conversation.
“Now that I have your affection, mayhaps I will have your attention as well?” he said, emulating his older brother. It always worked to charm Geoffrey’s business associates.
Hmm. That didn’t quite hit the mark, unless the beginnings of what surely had to be active spellwork about to be let loose was some odd elven display of affection that had been lost with the Spellblight.
“You have my undivided attention.”
Her words were laced with venom, as she took a step closer, not-so-subtly thumbing her rapier. Still, though obviously sarcastic, she had given him an easy out to continue.
“Excellent!” he proclaimed. “Unless my eyes are grossly mistaken, you seem like the adventuring sort, are you not? At Gearsprocket’s Emporium, you will find exactly what you need to save your life in your upcoming adventure! That’s a Gearsprocket Guarantee!”
Her lips quirked into a slight smile at she took another step, onlookers parting before her, yet that smile was not a pleasant one. She obviously meant malice – but her tune would change once she saw the many inventions that had already changed the lives of many.
“Truly?” she quipped.
She made a show of glancing at his shelves stocked with hasty inventions he had scrapped together over the past two weeks with whatever meagre resources he had been able to procure. There were few that were identical copies of each other – he always grew bored having to make the same product, unless there otherwise was a reason to.
Hmm. Obviously, she couldn’t appreciate the grandeur of his work, if the Pound-o-matic failed to elicit any response from her. Likewise, Pocket Sand, Alarm Cactus, and Cool Cucumber didn’t even cause her to so much as pause. The only visible reaction on her part was a frown creasing her face, as she reached to grab at the item closest to her.
“This is a pair of sticks joined together,” she said, unimpressed, staring at him flatly.
“Ah, but not just any pair of sticks. That, dear lady, is a Dousing Rod.” He glanced at the onlookers – beyond just the other peddlers, more curious faces were beginning to gather. Excellent! He adjusted his position slightly, addressing not just the elf, but every potential future customer. “Not dowsing – Dousing. D-O-U-S-I-N-G.”
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He waited. The elf was a little insufferable with her attitude, he would admit, but hey – as good old Papa Gearsprocket always said, there was no such thing as bad publicity and advertisement. Eventually, though, she caved in, sensing that he was not going to offer more information unless asked.
“And what does it do?”
“I’m glad you asked!” He smiled, once more looking over at his growing audience, before gesturing for them to make space. He withheld answers for now, placing a pile of loose sticks he kept behind the stand for precisely this demonstration purpose. From the shelf, he grabbed another unassuming invention. Pointing at the bundle of sticks, he held this new rod-like device between both palms, and quickly made an action of spinning it quickly as the ancestors of Man of a bygone age had once done.
Without contact, flames sprouted into being.
For all the demonstration of that other product, however, the elf’s stony expression remained in place – although there was now just the slightest furrowing of her brow.
Well, progress was progress. Some of the other vendors of the more mundane variety began to whisper, but his attention was directed toward his customer.
“That, by the way, was a Firewood. Original Gearsprocket product; you won’t find it anywhere else,” he said, deliberately raising his voice. “But back to business. Please, lady elf, if you would hold the Dousing Rod toward the flames for me?”
She seemed unwilling to comply, but with it already in her hands, she had little choice. With a hand gripped around each of the handles where the sticks met in the middle, she did as she was told.
“And now… Douse!”
A jet of water rushed toward the flame, quenching it immediately. Again, some excitement broke out among the two dozen or so onlookers – most of them his direct competitors, unfortunately – but the elf was yet unimpressed.
“It only activates when directed toward a flame,” Gauge continued his sales pitch. “Safety features inbuilt into the product, see. Once purchased, it has a guaranteed working lifetime of three weeks – and six if the user adheres to all recommendations here at Gearsprocket’s. It could all be yours, for just a measly three gold pieces!”
The frown on her face deepened. “I am a Bladesinger.”
“My condolences,” Gauge said solemnly. He wasn’t sure where she was going with that, but still – an empathetic response always won over the customers. “Well, what do you think?”
“Are you daft?” she snapped. “I don’t care where you found this item, but I don’t need your Dousing Rod. I can Shape Fire or Conjure Water, and save myself the hassle of using this idiotic contraption!”
“Ah!” He wagged a finger. “But just think! What if during your next adventure, you and your party encounter a fearsome fire-breathing drake or fire-flinging elemental? With Gearsprocket’s premier Dousing Rods, you wouldn’t need to spend time worrying about which spell to cast! Simply point and shout, and you can avoid being singed, burned, or otherwise incinerated!”
She stared at him. Gone was that unimpressed look.
Instead, hers was a face of incredulity.
“You want me to release my rapier in the thick of battle,” she began saying. “Stop my casting – retrieve this unwieldy rod of yours – point it at moving projectiles – and shout ‘Douse!’?”
Well – when framed in such a manner – perhaps he had mildly overlooked that inherent flaw when he first designed it a week ago. It needed to be smaller – more compact – but that would necessarily mean having to alter the sigils that granted the invention its power, by providing a gateway to the Elemental Planes through which the originally mundane object was infused. That would in turn either mean having to accept a lower effective product lifespan with the trade-off in sigil stability, or raise prices to use better quality materials and in so doing pass the increased production costs to the customer, and…
Ideas were coming to him. For now, however, he shook them off. The customers always came first. Except when they were wrong, of course. Grandpa Gearsprocket’s first rule.
“Then perhaps you might be interested in a dowsing rod, of the usual variety?” He pointed, directing her toward another similar-looking product. It did have the correct label, though. “Guaranteed a full fifty percent more effective than any competitors in the market, or your money back!”
The little attention she had granted him was quickly fading. “I already have a dwarf in my party.”
Again, he wasn’t quite where she was going with this?
“My sincerest condolences,” he said, regardless. “Is that a no on the dowsing rods?”
The elf was about to say something – no doubt a snappy retort – but then someone off to the side called her name.
“Captain Venetha?”
There was a human standing there, adorned in plate armour. Greaves, breastplate, sabatons, helmet left with visor drawn up. An insignia of vague lines and curves in a seal-like pattern was located just over his left breast, one that was also etched decoratively into the pommel of the elf’s rapier.
For all that it appeared visually impressive, his greatsword was enchanted with only the slightest increased cutting edge. Only his breastplate had an enchantment worth mentioning, but that too was a generic one that enhanced deflection and defence; boring stuff. Though Geoffrey was always the Armourer of the Gearsprocket business, Gauge liked to think he could create something better – and more exciting – than the shiny and heavy pieces of what functionally amounted to refuse that the warrior was wearing.
Behind him trailed another two humans, noticeably younger than the one in the lead. Though they also sported that same insignia upon their equipment, what they possessed was far shoddier. The leather armour adorned by the other male was just barely functional, and while the flowing robes of the girl could pass off as elegant, they were unenchanted, and therefore sources of great vulnerability.
Potential future customers, perhaps – but for now, without first building up a decent amount of capital, finding material to work with that could stably hold an inscribed sigil for longer than a matter of days when imbued into armour was beyond his capability of large-scale production.
“I thought that we were to meet at the Bazaar?” the knightly one asked, giving the slightest curious glance at Gauge. “I was just about to show some new recruits of Velden’s crew to the headquarters.”
“Colbrand,” the elf greeted curtly. “Unfortunately, this merchant believed that his toys were worth enough attention to delay a member of the Holden Enterprises on her business.”
Hmm. Another one of those Dungeon Excavation organisations he’d heard about, then. Not one of the famous ones like Drechnar that even a migrant from another world heard of shortly following his arrival, but from the reactions of the nearby merchants it seemed the name held some recognition.
But he had to defend his products. The honour of the Gearsprocket name – however little of it there actually was – demanded it.
“These are not mere toys,” Gauge scoffed. “Squirrel Scout! Dousing Rod! Redundant Rope! Surprise Potato! When next you face mortal peril over the course of your excavations, mark my words that you will only wish you had a handy Gearsprocket Gizmo on hand!”
Colbrand looked at Gauge, perplexed. “Redundant Rope…?”
“Self-tying, portable, and convenient; makes all other ropes more than redundant! That’s a Gearsprocket Guarantee!”
Sadly, that declaration was met only with confusion. Still, it was enough to draw his curiosity, because he was now looking at the assortment of items on display. From behind him, the two less-experienced recruits likewise peered at the Gearsprocket wares.
The elf – Venetha, she had been named – snorted. “This is ridiculous,” she said, already turning around. “There is no point entertaining this meddling merchant any longer, Colbrand.”
Gauge was about to retort – but as he did so, his attention focused on the Venetha, he was too late when he finally noticed just what Colbrand was reaching toward.
“A rubber ducky?”
It was a chicken, Gauge would have wanted to correct.
But more importantly, Colbrand had completely ignored the sign that said discussion of the sale of the item was for serious enquiries only, and that touching of that product was strictly prohibited unless informed of the means of safely handling it.
Before Gauge Gearsprocket could stop Colbrand, the Cluckenator 3000 was already held within his gauntleted hands – and like a curious child fiddling with a squeezable toy, he gripped it tightly between his fingers.
The sigil that was designed for one-time use flared with energy, the trigger for the circle’s activation made complete when gripped. Arcane might originating from the Planes Beyond rapidly built up within the hollow belly of the device.
From out of the open mouth of the surprised-looking chicken, the equivalents of a Thunderclap and a Fireball from the storied engravings left behind in the ruins of pre-Spellblight civilisations were simultaneously launched. A burst of thunderous sound louder than even the display of the Booming Conch-shell flared into being, splintering the wood of his competitor’s market stands and even causing creaks of his own sigil-reinforced one.
Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to deploy the Mufflers from his Invisible Hat – a personal piece of equipment powered not by sigils, but by one of his own Infusions – but even then he still heard a slight ringing in his ears once they were lifted.
From the direction that Colbrand had been holding the Cluckenator 3000, the Fireball that was released was propelled squarely at the unfortunate fruit stand adjacent to Gauge’s own. Quick thinking prevailed, however, and while the others were still recovering from the unassuming weapon’s activation, the less combat-experienced among them huddling on the ground and shielding their ears, Gauge was already springing into motion.
Hold, point, and command. Despite the elf’s objections, he had known that the Dousing Rod would have its time to shine when he first created it on a whim a week ago.
“Douse!”
The jet of water extinguished the flames – but alas, with the potency of the sigil inscribed into the Cluckenator that had been designed to be only metastable, much of the stall and the fresh produce had been reduced to ash. Soot hung in the air, vapour rapidly escaping as steam.
“I told you the Dousing Rod would come in handy,” he said proudly, looking at the stunned elf victoriously. He whirled next upon Colbrand – whose expression was now mimicking the Cluckenator still in his grip, although its magical charge was now faded. “And you! You imbecile! Are you incapable of reading the sign?”
Colbrand looked first at Gauge – then at the Cluckenator – before looking back at him, and then repeating the cycle again. His impression of the knight had already been low, but now it was sinking even further.
“Make way!”
Another interruption? Gauge looked at the new arrivals.
These, Gauge recognised. They bore the emblems and uniforms of the Order of the Radiant Talon. They were the city’s peacekeepers, that had evolved out of the city’s clergy early on in Corasia’s history.
Now, those were enchanted equipment. Probably also recovered from the Dungeons, rather than crafted by Artificers, but at least these could be respected.
“What is going on here?” the one in the lead demanded. His scimitar was drawn, a silvery flame coiling around its length. “Who is responsible for this disruption?”
“Perfect timing,” Gauge spoke, wagging a thumb at the stunned adventurers. “This armoured miscreant unfortunately decided to ignore the warning placed before one of my wares.”
“I –“ For a moment, he thought to release the Cluckenator, but then seemed to reconsider, holding it loosely in his hand. The merchants and onlookers scrambled for cover, and Colbrand deliberately kept it pointed away. “I thought it was a joke!”
“A joke?” Gauge scoffed. “Here at Gearsprocket’s Emporium of Adventuring Gizmos and All-purpose Oddities, we do not joke around!”
The peacekeeper frowned. With a tilt of his head, the men under his command began to control the crowd, and started to collect statements.
Hmm. Efficient.
“Right. Let’s get things in order.” The peacekeeper adopted a no-nonsense attitude. He eyed the insignia on the adventurer’s equipment. “Holden Enterprises? Hmm. Captain, Lieutenant, and recruits,” he commented. “Do you contest his claims, Lieutenant?”
“I – no, but –“
“You do not deny that adequate warning was given for a potentially dangerous ware, then?”
“No, but –“
“And where is the item now?”
Wordlessly, Colbrand held the Cluckenator 3000 out.
The peacekeeper stared at it.
“This is a rubber chicken.”
Well – he at least got that right, and sure, now that its inscribed sigil was completely destroyed, it was, in fact, a rubber chicken – but still Gauge felt mild affront at the description used.
The peacekeeper looked at one of his subordinates, holding it in his hand. They too looked bewildered by the offending piece of magical weaponry. Still, the frightened nods of the merchants they were only just starting to interview corroborated with Colbrand’s statement.
“And you, merchant.” The peacekeeper unfurled a scroll, scanning its contents quickly, before frowning. “I will inspect your license.”
Ah, hells. If he’d known he’d be subject to an inspection anyway, he would have tried his luck deeper into the Market District and the Grand Bazaar itself.
Right. Stay cool. Calm, collected. Be like Geoffrey. Be like Papa Gearsprocket. Grandpa Gearsprocket always boasted of how he had evaded the authorities in his early years when he pioneered what was now the family business.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, smiling. “Surely there is no need for that?”
The frown deepened, and his tone became harsher. “License. Now.”
Oh, hells, hells, hells.
He’d just been to this city of wonder, living magic, and spell-slingers; he didn’t want to already become a fugitive!
Options? There was always Pocket Sand, and he did have his Infusions ready to go. In the worst-case scenario, he was pretty damned sure the Gearsprocket Sprouted Rocket would take anyone by surprise.
“Suppose, hypothetically, that I didn’t have a license,” he said, even as the peacekeeper drew near, two more flanking on either side. “What might the consequences be?”
The peacekeeper, unfortunately, didn’t bother to reply.
“Arrest them. The District Watch will handle it from there.”
Gauge considered his options further, even as they advanced and bound his hands. Resisting would only reduce his chances of escape, anyway. From the looks of it, they hadn’t yet discovered the Rocket, though it was in plain view of them. Though they stripped the pouches that he deliberately kept as distractions for would-be ne’er-do-wells and thieves, they didn’t remove the disguised items that were empowered by his Artificer’s Infusions. Finagling his way out of his cuffs might prove slightly challenging, but if they were to presumably release him into a cell, retrieving his assortment of tools from within the Invisible Hat would be an easy task.
He made his choice. If it came down to it, he could always escape.
And so, on the very first day of the first otherworldly branch of Gearsprocket’s Emporium, Gauge Gearsprocket found himself thrown into a jail cell of the Market District.
Ehhh. On a list of his most memorable experiences, this wouldn’t even scratch the top thirty.