Date: Fourteenth of May, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Job Arseoth bounced up and down on the balls of his naked feet. It felt just a tad strange because his two feet feed him two slightly different sets of sensory information. It was terribly hard to describe, but his metal foot felt the world in a… sharper manner. It also was slightly patchy, with only the exterior plating returning sensory information, leaving little gaps where the plates spread apart to allow his toes to flex.

It was all a bit disconcerting to Job, but he had grown used to it over the past few days as he built back the muscles he had lost due to sitting around. The near-iridescent black-blue of the metal against his olive-brown skin was a striking contrast, and the flecked brass of both his scales and the glimpses of false-muscle struck glimmering highlights in the dawn's early light.

Job stuck his feet into his worn black leather boots. They weren’t in that bad of a shape, given all that Mending could do, but they were salt-stained and just a little bit ragged. His one and only purple tunic and the black pants completed the look. As he gathered his other things together, job had to wonder, and wonder aloud at that.

"Westmarch is over a thousand miles from here, so how…"

"I can go, but I cannot stay for long. We'll be taking the Guild's Teleportation network."

"Pricy, for just a shopping trip…."

"Heh, who said anything about paying? They swiped my designs, but I traded their use, and unlimited use of the network, in exchange for looking the other way."

"Handy."

"it can be."

"You don’t get out much."

"Hard to, given my… condition."

"You need a hand with that?"

"I already told you, I would ask when the time came."

"Alright, it's your funeral. Just seems strange is all, that with all of your powerful magic, you can’t just snap your fingers and fix the issue.”

“it is because the problem, and my dragonmark, is part and parcel of what I am… and that is no longer clear, even to me.”

“Huh?”

Lady SiDiabolo rolled her head about, considering the matter. Job took the opportunity to really look at her for the first time. She had the ears and eyes of an elf, the teeth of a pure carnivore, scattered scales of a draconic bloodline in an array of metallic hues, the cloven hooves of a Tiefling, hair the color of new spring leaves, and probably several other racial features hidden beneath the baggy black robe she wore. Job’s eyes narrowed in thought.

“What even are you anyway, Lady SiDiabolo?”

“I am… how can I put this… not my original self, but I am also not someone else. I am a light, as cast through a thousand shattered shards of stained glass, down two thousand years of life. To resolve my issue, I must remake or unmake something that is part of my core being, but I can no longer be sure where the core being ends and all of the grafted pieces begin.”

Job frowned in though, “This seems much more complex then I had thought…”

“Do not worry overmuch. While you are with Mul the Silent, I will be out upon Armageddon Reef sorting this matter out. By the time you are whole once more and are able to assist, I should be ready for your assistance. It will not be easy, and it will certainly be perilous… But I’m not one to turn down help freely offered.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by… If I can make it out to Armageddon Reef that is. Not many ferries head out there.”

“Come back to my tower, I’ll leave a Message for you at the front door.”

“Well, if that settles that, let’s see how Elci’s of Westmarch fares.”

. . . - - - . . .

As the glowing white rune-rings of the teleportation faded, Job couldn’t help but notice that Lady SiDiabolo winced. It was a small thing, the slightest tensing of the eyes, a tick at the corner of her mouth, but it was real. They had agreed to use draconic while out of SiDiabolo tower, at least for their private conversations.

“< We’ll move quickly, Lady, and get you back home as soon as we can. >”

“< I can stand this for a few hours yet; my power is not that far gone. >”

“< Better to be safe then sad. Besides, I doubt that I’ll take too long to select a new outfit. >”

“< Males. We’ll take as long as we need, and I’m paying for it, so don’t you worry about cost. >”

“< As you say Lady. >”

The conversation had carried them out into the small Guild office and into the cobblestone street. The air was damp with the promise of rain, the wind rolling down the valley chill with the last gasps of a mountain winter. Guttural orcish mixed with smooth trader-common and the grinding stone dwarven. Humans dominated the streets and the architecture, but as with the language, other elements peppered the landscape. Double-latched doors, with a second door just below wait height and a horizontal seam in the middle, were clearly designed to let dwarves open just the amount of door they actually needed. The heavy armor of the town guards, intended to tank even heavy blows form a drunken or street brawl, was clearly built with orcish strength in mind.

“< A rough and tumble town, it seems. >”

“< Not nearly as bad as any Jeweled Republic dock district. But it certainly is a militant town. >”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“< Trade attracts predators, both natural and humanoid. Althiem, and especially the trade city of Trebor is much the same. Better to pay for extra guards then to keep rebuilding when a brawl tears down half a block with depressing frequency. >”

“< That does make some sense, I suppose. Ah, here we are! >”

Elci’s of Westmarch was located on the first floor of what used to be a warehouse. The building had clearly been damaged and rebuilt in the past half-century, if the two colors of weathered brick were anything to go by. The ground floor had been freshly white-washed and the colorful sign with its spool and needle symbol swung gently on its chain. Lady SiDiabolo lead the way though the large front door.

Job followed her, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright interior lights hanging from the high ceiling. Instead of the usual smoky torches, the owners of Elci’s had invested in dozens of the new ‘Sunstick’ lamps - essentially a permanent version of the Light cantrip - and hung them from the ceiling. They cast a steady warm glow across the room, illuminating row after row of racks and display shelves holding a seemingly endless array of clothes and accessories.

“< It seems they have just about anything we could need here Lady. >”

“”

“< What sort of arrangement, if I dare ask? >”

“< Basic enchanting services in lieu of payment. Nothing overly taxing, I assure you. >”

“< My apologies for asking, Lady. I’ll keep my search brief. >”

“< Again, bushwah. Three outfits, all unique, minimum. You come back with anything less, and I’ll be disappointed… and picking the remainder for you. >”

“< I stand trembling in my boots. >”

“Snrk. ”

“< As my Lady commands… >”

Job Shook his head, already having two outfits in mind… and determined to find a third, lest Lady SiDiabolo’s… dated… fashion sense drape him in something as overstated as the purple robes that he had selected for the Royal Wedding. Job wandered off into the aisles, headed for the male spellcaster section. Purple robes were something of a signature of his, as was the dragon motif, but Job was determined to find something just a bit less ostentatious this time around. Looking good was desirable, but not at the cost of drawing incoming fire, like more Lightning Bolts.

Given that another person was paying for his outfits again, Job saw little reason to be overly copper-pinching… but also no reason to ‘break the bank’ as the saying went. Keeping this in mind, he selected for mageweave again. Looking over the ‘caster robes’ section Job noted that Elci’s of Westmarch favored heavier patterns; better suited for the colder climate in which it was located. This would be moderately annoying when he went back to Althiem, but was also effectively a non-issue, given his tolerance for heat that laughed at even the hottest of Althiem summer days in full robes.

Job settled on a wine-dark robe. Low-collared, but stretching from wrist to ankle, and without any metallic threading this time around. It was hoodless however, so Job selected a hooded mantle in the same shade to go with it, as well as a new set of black leather boots, and matching black mageweave pants and tunic. The whole assembly was slightly ominous, but Job figured that with a metal arm and leg hanging off of one side of his body in blue-black metal, he was already just a bit ominous anyway.

With that selection neatly bundled into a convenient wheeled push cart, job headed back over to the more every-day men’s section to look for a new set of every-day clothes, and to buy time to think of a third outfit. He could re-use the black tunic, pants, and boots, but Job saw no reason not to replace his current much-abused set of ‘casual’ (now his only) clothes. Job grabbed a set of knee-high leather boots with reinforced soles in ‘boring’ brown leather, figuring them to be good for mountain and cobblestone street alike. He matched them with a set of off-grey pants and a baggy grass-green tunic, both in mageweave. He was tempted my a (somewhat ridiculous) long floppy green hat in the same grass-green but decided against that.

With two outfits in his cart, Job was momentarily stumped for what to do for a third. He needed something that was neither ‘walking about’ casual, but also not ‘formal’ or ‘I am a Sorcerer, fear/target me’. Something suited for an alpine climate would certainly be appreciated, but also needed to be adaptable to other temperatures, such as Althiem summer heat, as well. Hs new robe was breathable enough, and could be left open to the waist, to mitigate heat. Job’s new baggy tunic was the same, loose and breathable enough to mitigate excess heat and sweat despite having full-length sleeves.

Looking over the nearby racks and displays, Job didn’t see anything at suited his needs. Mildly frustrated he gave a shrug and pushed his cart back to the wide aisle before looking about again. Glancing up near the light, Job took another look at the signage pointing out individual sections. There was the usual array of men’s, women’s, children’s, caster’s, and cleric’s apparel. But Elci’s of Westmarch was large enough to boast a few other sections: infant’s (usually bundled under children’s) and seasonal clothing. As well as an ‘adventurer’s clothing’ section. This last section, from the corner Job could see of it, was a wildly eclectic mix that even included light armors and common adventuring equipment.

Job wandered over and started parsing through the unusual offerings. Much of it was ‘specialized’ equipment, marked by Class and environment. It wasn’t as wide a selection as was routinely offered by the Guild (though most of that was by special order), but it was still fairly diverse. Job passed over a number of outfits for male casters on the basis of the environments that there were intended for, blushed a bit at some of the female outfits, and finally came to one that tickled the dragons side of himself.

It was an orange body-covering, boots and gloves included, of multi-layered mageweave, enchanted for heat and cold tolerance. It looked somewhat like a pair of pants attached to the waist of a button-up shirt. The whole thing was the mottled yellows, oranges, and browns of the deserts Job had never seen outside of books and lectures. It was accompanied by a hooded cloak of the same hues with an artfully jagged hem and more of the same heat and cold tolerance enchantments. Job checked the tag, looking for an explanation or name for the outfit. He found one.

'Arakis Chameleon Bodysuit, dune variant - ideal for traversing the desert. Colored (and shaped!) to blend in as much as possible, including our standard form-fit enchantment. The dune variant amplifies the already phenomenal breathability, temperature and weather tolerances of all of our Chameleon Bodysuits with additional enchantments for heat and cold tolerances, to assist you with the sweltering daytime heat and the frigid nighttime cold!'

The tag ran on and on in salesman and technical jabber, but Job didn't bother with reading any more. Instead he selected a pair of boots in the same mottled colors after checking that the soles would do well on both rough cobblestone streets and bare dirt trails. The boots were not ideally suited for either, but that was the cost of doing a little better then 'good enough' on both.

Job collected his selections and wheeled his cart back to where Lady SiDiabolo was. He caught sight of her happily chattering away with a gnome, presumably the local manager, and nodded his greetings.

"… new apprentice is heading north Lady SiDiabolo?"

"New friend, not apprentice, and yes he is."

"Still trying to make contact with The Silent, after all of these years?"

Lady SiDiabolo gave a small grin, one that could be interpreted a thousand different ways. The manager clearly took it to mean that he had guessed a secret, a scrap of juicy gossip to trade away. Job knew better, and took it to mean that Lady Sidiabolo was keeping secrets out of the raw habit of keeping them.

"< The Glacierheart clanhold you said, Lady? >"

"< It is the best place to begin looking at least. >"

The manager tugged on Job's cart, "here, you're all paid for, I just need to inventory these out. If you are heading north, then you are heading to Glacierheart yes? Perhaps you should stop by The Shrine at the Stand, as many pilgrims and adventurers do on their way north. If nothing else, you could learn more before heading up into the mountains…"