"Egris!" a grumpy voice beckoned from the shop's first floor, "are ye finished with tha last 'rder? The customer's arriving soon, and I'd prefer et if we 'ad what they paid for this time."

The calls fall to deaf ears as the lanky, elven potion maker shuffles through what would be a library of texts, should the pages be bound. Fluttering of paper so violent it was heard even through walls,

"Simple stuff, but I can't--" he mutters, "... reabsorptions, resistances... Ah! Respiration: Dust."

Snatching the mess of scribbled ink, along with a squarish bottle, piles of various granulated and powdered ingredients, and an amphora filled with a mix of solvents, he shuffled the pages together again.

Sat at his workbench, the elf began masterfully sifting, mixing, and stirring together a gray-green substance comparable in viscosity to syrup, which was poured easily into the glass' wide mouth. Corked and sealed, he gave it a gentle shake, making apparent the cloudy, smoke-like wisps that gathered at the top of the container.

"AYE," the previously grumpy, now booming voice came from the door's opening, "I said that expectin' a damn answer, boy. I don't pay ye' to dawdle."

A short, yet very stout dwarf stands in the doorway, clad in a clean dress shirt and pants -- such attire clashing with the blacksmithy garbs expected of their frame. However, the mead stains around the collar reminded you quickly of just what to expect.

Egris quickly responded, "Just finishing up! Apologies for any deafness, I can barely hear over these rustling pages. The whole order's here;" the elf's arms visibly strained to heave the crate underneath the table onto a cart nearby. "All twelve potions," he finished, after fitting the newest concoction in its slot.

The dwarf grumbled, heaved himself onto a step-stool near the door to count, and sighed a breath of relief.

"Been years since we've actually sold outta items, glad to know you're as fast as ev'r with whippin' em back up." He gave Egris a grin as the hardness of his scowl melted into adornment of his form of admiration.

"I nev'r thought those talents of yours would see the light of day, yet 'ere we are: 20 years strong and the best alchemy shop on the 9 Isles." He feigns wiping a tear after making his voice tremble for effect.

"Mr. Dratynn, with all due respect, may you please stop speaking to me like a child? I AM older than you," Egris begs. "S'all'n good fun, ya stink," the dwarf quipped, "You still know none of this would come to fuition without ya."

As the two reminisced and writhed of the times past, a loud chime from the store's entrance snapped both of them to attention.

"That must be the client, send 'em down," Dramel said in a calm, but slightly hurried tone. The stout man hopped off the stool and made his way to the stairs.

Egris hastily thrust the cart from his laboratory, through the narrow halls of the shop's third floor, to resting on a solidly constructed dumbwaiter - one of the few actual collaborations between the only three employees.

"She's ready, Mr Dratynn!" Egris said in a tone similar to shouting -- something he still couldn't work up to.

In response to the elf, the dwarf flicked a release lever, making a series of pulleys and rope jolt to life from their tension-induced slumber.

In comparison to the ferocity and vigor of the zipping rope, two masses slowly inched in disagreement; the cart, and the ever-so-precarious display of current concoctions available for purchase; which was insisted upon by the more spectacle-affixed part of the two to be used as a counterweight.

Neither of which could withstand a fall from any distance, let alone three floors worth onto the oaken floor.

Nearing the end of both of their bumbling, jittering journeys, a phial on the display did just that, jumping out and plunging its way to its demise on the floorboards.

Rather than exploding, the glass simply shattered with a small 'tink' and deflated, the tarrish liquid inside clinging to the shards, gripping them like glue.

It began creeping outward from the point of impact, whilst the faint aroma of overripe banana began to waft around the ground floor from it like that of a candle.

It being sourced from the eye-catching window arrangement, it was scented to further incentivize more handling - and thus, more attention - from any would-be customers.

Unsurprisingly, as Egris had no resistance to any ideas his co-worker/landlord had, and being unaware or flatly devoid of the same humor of the dwarf, imbued the smell into a sample of an Oil of Slickness.

Knowing immediately what the sludge entailed, and perhaps after stifling a giggle after a whiff, Dramel sprinkled some sawdust onto the greasy spot and hiked a sign depicting a sliding goblin straddling over the stain.

Directing his attention to the now amused client, he began his greeting.

"Morn'n! Welcome to Grobble's, ar' ye 'ere to pick up yer order, Mr. Graefinch?"

The man, whose looks would insist he was in his early 30's if his crows feet and smile lines hadn't betrayed him, slicked back his black hair to fix it after coming in from the wind-swept alley.

"Yes, that I am, Grobb, you actually have everything prepared? You had me worried that maybe that alchemist ran off."

The snicker given in response was more of a hiss than genuine laughter at the statement, Dramel felt standoffish that his most frequent customer would suggest such a thing.

"That we do, Ivan - maybe if'n ya didn't buy out our stock faster th'n we could cook 'em, it wouldn't be such'a concern, now would it?"

The smile faded quickly from the man's face as he heard the retort, adopting an air of regret from the neutral expression resulting. Ivan bit his lip before trying to defend his prior statement. However, he choked on his words and failed to mutter anything past a simple apology.

The dwarf's reasoning leaves him when it comes to things even sounding like insults, but his gut as a salesman always kicks in to save him.

"Aw shite, sorry Mr. Graefinch, it's been a long day already. I'm aware how difficult keeping your workers healthy can be, and I can get a bit defensive regarding my own. So, how 'bout this: would'ya like a sample of the new ale? It's not as strong as the regular, still needs a few more days to get ripe enough, but it tastes outstanding and you won't get drunk trying it out... probably."

Ivan's downtrodden expression softened a bit, before he had to decline.

"I appreciate the thoughts, free drinks do sound nice, but I am still on the clock. After I deliver this shipment," he states, placing a small satchel of coins on the counter, "I'll come back as a paying customer. That is, if you'll keep that sample up for grabs."

He flicks three gold pieces out of his personal wallet and taps them on the counter, "A little something for the chef," he says while looking at the top of the dumbwaiter.

Egris gave him a small gesture of appreciation and a smile. He watched the man turn on a dime and expertly weave through the merchandise with the heavy crate in-hand, not a sound from glass nor tin came from it.

Not long after, the bell mounted on the shop's front entrance ting'd again in the wake of him leaving, pushing the heavy crate of elixirs on a dolly he had waiting out front.

Each morning played out mostly the same, the majority of the people shopping for potions, salves, and certain specialty ingredients came in the early hours.

A few repeat customers, two humans, a half-orc, and a tabaxi came in. Every single day it seemed, they all carried in the battered orc and specifically demanded potions of health just strong enough to heal him, but still weak enough to leave the scars because they made him look 'cool'.

The day advanced past the chilly portion of the morning, the sun pouring into the alley connecting the shops.

Around noon. It was around this time the customers showed more interest in the brass and tin automatons littering the store. Many more younger faces showed in contrast to the more wrinkled ones a few hours prior.

Whether it be small toys or models or even a new stirring spoon, they sold well around this time. It was just after this, early to late afternoon did the foot traffic stagnate -- prime time to switch gears.

Dramel made the shop work dual purpose, by day a specialty store, by night a bustling tavern.

The sign flipped to 'Closed (For Now)' and the dwarf got to work.

The shelves were on tracks and slid together out of the way. Boards making up the façade of the wall came down, revealing a kitchen which poured the heavy, thick scent of roast and broth into the air.

Dramel prepared them in the morning and had them simmering all day.

Said boards expanded and served as tables.

The space behind the register held a trapdoor just out of sight to a boozy smelling aging chamber, filled to the brim with ales, wines, spirits, and experiments alike.

Chairs were moved from the cellar into the now open floor of the shop, turning it into a dining area.

Only an hour had passed, yet still the line outside was visible from behind the building.

The sign was reversed again and the door was unlocked, giving way to lifetime perusers and exploratory new faces alike, filling to capacity the now restaurant-slash-bar within minutes.

Dramel, being not only Grobble's Garden's owner, but mascot as well, was busy all day.

Egris kept himself occupied with restocking since morning, most of the more requested items could be prepared in advance. Less-often sought after mixes could be prepped in their more stable constituents.

The only door not constantly ajar or outright open was that on the middle floor. The source of the contraptions of which the store's secondary consumer base was supplied from.

Hammer clinks and clacking of clockwork springs could be heard softly throughout the day and night. Most of those who visited the store assumed it was the machinery aiding the elf or dwarf with cooking and brewing - of which they had almost none of.

All came from the singular room on the second floor, which made the building sound almost living in a way with how it persisted at almost all hours.

Despite this, no one knew who made the novelties. All had assumed it was Egris, who was sighted in the direction of the noises and association followed. Egris, however, wasn't versed in the slightest regarding delicate clockwork. His craft was much more crude, still necessitating precision -- but more resembled cooking than surgery.

When the last drunkard was 'guided' to the exit by the convincing persuasion offered by Grobb and the storefront's deadbolt slid and clicked into place, did the opposite happen to the second floor workshop's.

With the door creaking to reveal silence behind it as the sound came from the inhabitant, not the creations.

A not-so-robust but well built automaton shrouded in steel around chest height to everyone but Dratynn began to clamble its way down the stairs.

A heavily scratched out marking of an unreadable company's insignia was visible on its upper left chest plate, like a badge. It sat itself down on a seat of a nearby table recently cleaned by Grobb, opposite of two, now cold plates.

One of a shepherd's pie, the other of steamed and dressed vegetables. Grobb took his seat at the pie after tugging on a string near the register.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

A muffled ding from the top floor followed, and promptly Egris appeared at the base of the stairwell.

As the elf and dwarf began to eat their meals, the warforged released a tiny gust of steam comparable to a sigh.

"Thank you again." The lights of its eyes intermittently pulsing, like it was blinking. "I could not ask for a better situation, housing, work, confidentiality."

The surprisingly soft hands of the dwarf lowered his utensils down to his now empty plate, getting up to wash them.

"We've all got pasts, some... more troubled th'n others. We've known that more th'n ya think, we're not much diff'rnt there."

Grobb dried off his hands and procured an oil applicator from behind the washbasin.

"Where's ya need it?" He questioned.

The warforged twisted at its left elbow, removing the arm at the joint. It raised the nub-ended arm towards him and received a few drops of lubrication in a reservoir located there. It slowly, but precisely locked the unattached limb back into place and asked, "Anything you need before I-?"

"No, Sidrii, ev'rythin's good. You can rest now."

"Understood, Dramel, thank you again." The lights in its eyes slowly shut off, but the body stayed as still as a statue, facing the storefront like one of the toys it had made for the last few months.

There weren't many of Sidrii's like still operating, the ones that were usually dismantled in a publicly celebratory fashion.

Thankfully, Sidrii didn't resemble many known warforged models, it was a specialty one never intended to fight.

Almost like a robot surgeon with the stature of a child, its features would be endearing if not for the stigma held against them.

Sidrii had never even experienced the war for himself, it never set foot on a battlefield, never laid hands on a soul. In an odd fashion, was never turned against its creators like the constructs before.

It was a recent build, around 8 years before the war ended, aged about 10 now.

It had reason, it cared, it held no hatred to those around it. Nevertheless, it would be destroyed if spotted by those less understanding.

For the past two years, Sidrii had been safe on the second floor of Grobble's. Undisturbed and hiding in plain sight, supplying the same people that hated it with clocks and sculptures.

The hours of the night ticked on like minutes to the construct, as few people walked past the store on late night walks, returning to their homes from the taverns that run overnight, or just the occasional passerby traveler, looking for an inn.

Something, however, caught the warforged's attention, snapping it out of the trance-like state it assumed.

A limping figure, too dark to make out in the street, was dragging themselves in desperation away from something just out of sight.

Whoever it was, they collapsed.

Sidrii couldn't act, as making themself known would jeopardize not just their safety, but their friends' as well.

A robed figure appeared from the direction the other was fleeing, step-by-step, each seeming like a well thought out movement rather than second-nature.

It was apparent this one was being controlled by something, like a puppet.

They drew a syringe from the robe, a violet, luminescent liquid inside its reservoir.

Inching closer.

Step. By. Step.

Seconds felt like hours, every movement was telegraphed. It'd be trivial to help.

What soul that clung to the metal heart of the machine screamed in silence to go to the distressed's aid, to be met by cold, unmoving gears.

Creaking was barely audible, but present. It was moving unintentionally, unlike a robot.

Sidrii couldn't take it, it had to help.

Logically, a death would draw too much attention to the store. If it wasn't spotted assisting the collapsed person, surely it would be discovered after an investigation of the scene of the crime. At least, that's what it convinced itself.

It jumped at the coat rack, masking its appearance the best it could with a heavy coat and hat. Sidrii slammed itself through the door, the noise drew the attention of the needle-wielding figure.

It rushed over to the man, who reacted by stabbing the robot, shattering the syringe and impaling his hand with broken glass against metal.

To Sidrii's surprise, it elicited no reaction from the man, whose face was masked with a veil. Whose robes could now be discerned as those common among cultists.

A glance revealed the figure on the ground was also masking their face, who now stood with them, limp not present.

The stench of death would have made any person with a nose nearby wary of the situation, but Sidrii lacked such features.

The two latched onto the child-sized automaton, whose non-existent strength couldn't break free of the hands of the undead captors. Without so much of a noise, the three disappeared into the night. Which went on, uncaring.

"He's gone," the dwarf stated, "Sidrii's gone..."

A ray of light shone through the window onto the wood elf's bewildered expression.

"...What?" Egris muttered after a small pause, "Gone? Where could he have- When did- How-?"

His questions kept coming, but no answers were there.

"Up'n left, I suppose. Don' know why, didn't even leave a note. Didn't see anythin' inside, nor out."

"If the people here saw him and traced him back to us, we'd be burned with our shop! There's still people out there that served in the war against him specifically! I'm not sure you understand how much of a disaster this could spell out for us, Mr. Dratynn!"

The heavily bearded expression of the dwarf sagged even deeper, he was well aware, having served in the war himself.

"We drop ev'rything we have of him, have a sale to get rid of his tools, and start rentin' the room to someone else."

Even in the worst of circumstances, he focuses on nothing but making a profit.

Egris, frazzled, stumbled down the stairs to Sidrii's room. He yearned for a clue, more intrigued than worried about the warforged.

Was it broken? Who saw it, did anyone? Why now of all times leave?

The elf sat down in the wooden chair at the room's workstation. All the instruments to create such intricate machinery, yet there was less than he expected.

A soldering iron, two pliers, a ball-peen hammer and a vice.

"A clock? With this?!" Egris was baffled, he'd not seen Sidrii work since it was found in the dumpster two years prior. He started to clear the desk, when he spotted one of the drawers slightly ajar.

A blink of green, a copper-filament light coming from a puzzle pendant.

Egris stopped, thought and put the pendant in his pocket.

In the following days, most of Sidrii's personal items were gone, sold rather quickly. The more intricate items that Sidrii never offered for sale sold for a good profit, and the two that were still with the shop wondered why the machination never did.

The hours of the week seemed to pass slower. The time between the 'ting's of the door's bell ever so slightly drifted apart and fell silent for longer than normal.

At first, it was less people looking for potions.

The adventuring party of four were missing from their routine.

The few people that usually did, stopped taking interest in Sidrii's last stock, despite their markdowns.

More alarming, the reddened faces so ready to sit the tables at night seemed... bluer.

Posters stapled to the town's bulletin piled up. The store wasn't suffering alone, the people were in tandem.

"Missing Friend," "Missing Wife," "Missing Child," day after the next they covered each other.

The smell of dread like a sweet rot crept through Cho'lain. The disappearances were investigated by the town's guard, but their faces followed suit on the cork with the others.

A rather slow day at Grobble's Garden was started by Dramel refusing to open. "We're not working today?"

The dwarf shook his head in response, "I need t'check on ma family, I hadn't seen't 'em in years. Look over the store, will ya?"

With a brisk movement, a heavy leather coat was slung onto his shoulders, and he left.

Off to the home of the family he exiled himself from all those years ago. With a heavy message that he couldn't follow in his namesake's footsteps.

It wasn't long after until the fires started.

The houses in De'tash were the first to succumb.

Empty homes belonging to those unnoticed had candles, lamps, and fires still lit. Only a matter of time before they broke the confines of their containers and swallowed the rooms they were kept.

House fires spread to the town, licking at the dry grasses and rampaging across land. Efforts only worked to slow the fire.

The flames grew too great, unstoppable, the people at the whim of pure heat. The last option spread as the fires did, evacuation.

Those unwilling to try and endure were flooding to safety through the port. Towns were abandoned, shops shut their doors knowing they'd never reopen.

That trend continued wave after wave, ad infinitum across the rolling hills and mountains of the island.

Grobble's Garden couldn't escape the inevitable death. Three days passed with not a soul stepping foot through the glass, not a whisper from the brass bell.

Not a shadow crept over the storefront.

Midday, two weeks after the incident with Sidrii, Dramel closed his shop to the public for the last time. No money was being made, the fires crept closer, and no one was seen for days.

Dramel grabbed a small ladder and toted it outside, setting it gently on the rim of a display window.

Lethargically, he untied the bonds that had hoisted his sign into the air.

He trembled, unable to hold back tears for what was essentially his child's wooden body - and gravestone. Not bothering to return the ladder, he headed inside and sat the sign on the counter next to around seven boxes of never-to-sold stock.

Egris gathered his few belongings he could carry down the stairs, a few bottles filled with potions of healing and three days worth of rations. Dramel greeted him at the base of the building.

Displays were empty, tables and racks intermingled. It dawned on the elf that this was the end of the job he felt so dear for. The opportunity he took for granted.

The dwarf, with a heave, lifted a leather bag about the size of a loaf of rye and set it with a thud in front of him. "Your savin's, Egris. With interest. Sorry, I'd meant to get 'em exchanged for platinum, but the banks - well, y'know."

A quick peek into the bag revealed an intense shimmering of metal and a jingle to match. The bag was around ten pounds.

"This, this is too much, Mr. Dratynn! My savings were around 100 pieces!"

"Interest'll do that, don'tcha know? Plus, I threw in a bit of a bonus. A good worker's one thing, a friend? Worth every copper."

He patted his sole employee on the shoulder and with a tearful eye, wished him his best with his final bit of pay.

Time dilated, seconds turned to days, all the same, hours passed instantaneously.

Egris walked, eyes glazed over with disbelief. Three miles to the port of Cho'lain, where he departed Aestus for the first time in his life.

His thin stature was tossed and thrown around while boarding, coins being knocked from his grasp more than once while paying the toll. It was easier to pull from the bag again than to force his way to the ground and risk getting trampled.

Maybe drawing the attention of those like him from his youth.

It would be around two days to sail to the continent of Tameroque, which despite being much larger than Aestus, wasn't as easy to sail to. The lighthouses paled in comparison to the massive crystallized mountain of the island.

"Gods damn it all." A gruff feminine voice broke the silence of the boat ride.

Egris, being startled from the noise, was equally surprised by its owner; a pale blue dragonborn around the same height of Egris - if not a few inches taller - leaning on the rails of the observation deck.

Four horns jutted out from her seemingly snow-covered frill, like streaks of tar against ice.

Her piercing amber eyes flicked to the elf, in an almost predatory fashion.

"You a local?" She questioned. Her voice spoke in a soft, yet hissing Bellican accent.

"Yes, I was. Worked as an alchemist at a pretty popular potion shop-slash-tavern for about 20 years in Cho'lain after spending most of my life in the slums of De'tash."

"Lords, 20 years at a shop in Cho'lain? What a snore... I could barely stay still after I was hatched, and left my clan when I was like 12."

Her eyes searched the ocean for a bit in silence. "What store?"

Egris was taken aback by both her mannerisms and history. He'd never heard of a dragonborn willingly detaching from their clan, let alone so young.

"Grobble's Garden." He stated, earning a quick and frankly stabbing, "Sod off! Really? That run down place? I stopped by at dusk one time and it was completely empty!"

The elf was even more confused, what did she mean empty? The store kept open well into the night.

"You're quite sure you were in the right place?"

The dragonborn snickered, "Tsk, 'course I was. Boxy building, the sign had a... uh... flower on it?"

This woman had never been there, and Egris' face communicated as much.

"What? They sold potions! Or was it ointment? Whatever it was, it tasted rubbish anyway."

Jokingly, Egris spouted something to the effect of questioning her literacy. The jest was received with a quick aversion of her eyes and a wrinkled snout.

"OH, you are, aren't you? I'm sorry! I was just-" She cut him off with an extended claw to the face, hushing him.

"What did it look like?"

The elf sputtered.

"The store, what did it look like?"

After a brief explanation of the store, and a shared laugh at the misconception, the dragonborn removed her face from her hands.

"Been there a few times, never could understand how you made those potions... not disgusting. All the times I tried, all I got was chalky dirt, and an upset stomach. Guess it makes sense, though, you'd been doing that longer than I'd been alive."

A shared chuckle between the two eased the tension, as the sunset made itself apparent when shining through the mountain on Aestus, blanketing the two in sapphire light. The ship appeared as if under a thick blanket of water, refractions mimicking that of a clear coast. It was one of the final sunsets of the like Egris would see - that of which he was certain.

The dragonborn quickly picked up on the melancholy she perceived and despite her emotionally distant tendencies asked, "Why are you leaving? You look like it's taking everything from you to just look away."

Egris quickly turned his face away from both her and the glimmering beams of light and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I... don't know... I guess I want to see the world, or maybe I can't bear to see the island in such a state."

A long moment of silence befell the two once again as the blue in the sky faded to indigo, then violet, to almost black - giving eyesight a way to now fully make out the speckling of stars and galaxies.

More covering in the sky than the clouds ever could be was an unbelievably massive red sphere. It floats just near enough so mountains can be seen with the naked eyes, roaring storms so massive across its surface were kept silenced from the miniscule seeming void separating them and their observers.

The Scarlet Moon; one of three Distem marries in orbit - one so great it can barely be considered a moon.

"My name's Tora," brushed Egris through the breeze, "I'd been hitching rides on the boats that sail around Tameroque for years, barely scraping by with petty jobs until recently. I know a few places that might benefit from someone like you, with some good coin in it."

Again, Egris was stammering with how she presented information.

"What makes you think I want to immediately get another job? I don't even know anything about Tameroque, it's been so long." Tora pondered for a moment before relaxing on a nearby bench.

"Maybe you could fall in with my crew? Explore around and get a lay of the land? Not to mention you'll be paid for it~♪" She waved a gold bar in the air, and after a small whisper and point to Egris says, "You won't be making it very far with that much gold."

Egris stops for a moment, then realization comes. He feverishly pats at his belt, nothing.

He frantically searches his pockets, nothing.

He rips his traveler's bag open, nothing. The leather purse given with his savings was gone. Only left with around 7 gold that had been left by the unknown robber.

Flabbergasted, the elf sighed and took the remaining space on the bench with Tora.

"We have benefits – up to you. I'll make sure our... banker... gets you a fair cut. Whaddya say?"

Egris swallows hard, the cold air of the night chills the bullets he was sweating, only briefly calming his swimming mind. "I... don't think I have much of a choice..."