Authors Note:

Hi ya all, here's another chapter for you. I'm in BAD need of a good PR, it will help tons and speed up the work if they could work on my own time more or less. I hope this chapter is closer to what you guys are searching/waiting for, and I toned down the descriptions quite a bit.

I have 5 + plot twists ready for ya, so just keep waiting and they'll come. I have a lot of plot ready, at least 2-3 chapters (my size remember, big) ready, and I'm planning for more.

Comment on the characters if you want, who's your fave etc. Comments on plot, grammar or whatever, style, ANYTHING that I'm doing right/wrong will help. So without further ado, the chapter you've been waiting for !!!

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Aclyth, a city of merchants. Swarms of people of all races are running about stone stores and wooden shacks.They are intent on getting to their homes or their jobs, oblivious to everything around them. Nearby shops are screaming that they are selling furs, tools, and ” doesn’t this look lovely madam” . Not a single moment must be wasted, the day must be wrung dry for coins to fall into their lap. They fall upon the few travelers that they manage to catch from the herd.

Like angry sharks they zoom about, demanding that he buy their brand instead of someone elses. The travelers argue back vehemently, trying to save as much of their wallets as they could. It doesn't help, the merchants have too much experience to let such juicy prey away. Soon the travelers leave again, their shoulders heavier and purses lighter, and the yelling resumes.

In front of a particular store, a small shack called "Al's Wearables" , a thin merchant is having a similar discussion with the owner. Holding out spools of questionable thread, he wheedles,

"Sir, I believe these threads would grace your fine establishment. Look at their luster and their nice thickness, it would do you good to use them in your shop. Think of all the noble cloth you could craft, fine riches for your pockets."

The large leather-maker stares from behind a small hedge on his chin. He says in a thick nordic accent,

"I do not need your thread. I have all I need. Go avay, if someone come I sell, if they do not come, I do not sell. Your silly thread is no good. Goodbye"

The merchant protests,

"Come now, look how sturdy they are!"

He pulls on one of the threads, only to have it snap into pieces. He curses his luck, but still perseveres.

"Ignore that, just a minor fault in the thread. Say, I could cut you a deal, buy two get one free. That's about thirty percent off for ya, what do you say?"

Al doesn't say anything and just walks back inside, slamming the door. The merchant curses again and waddles off, trying to find another target. He spots a pair of buyers and eagerly dashes over, intent on being the first one.

"Come now, your robe is in bad repair isn't it? Well with these threads your problems will go away, all crystal clean and sturdy. I'm having a special offer today, buy three get one free, its a chance you shouldn't miss. Only three copper a spool, cheap for a thread of this caliber."

The smaller one ignores him, intent on looking about the city as he searches for something. Deeming him unimportant, the merchant turns to the the one next to him. To achieve this he has to lift his head up a couple of inches, the others size being a tad frightening.

He mumbles off nervously,

"Er...Sir, I don't suppose you'd like to buy them either? They're quite nice threads.."

Receiving only a glare, he steps back a little and ends the discussion,

"Well I suppose not. Pleasure doing business with you."

He begins to run away from them but is stopped by a yell from the robed one.

"Hey! Come back here, I didn't finish examining your thread."

He frowns as he approaches, uncertain of the change of mind. He creeps up to a safe distance and asks them what they want.

"What do you—"

He gets broken off,

"Listen, we know good quality thread when we see it, the same for good news. Perhaps you can be some help in...other...departments."

The merchants eyes alight with greed, these fellows were quite right after all. He gives them a wide smile and begins a torrent of words, only to be interrupted again. The robed one negligently waves his hand and tells him,

"We don't have time for gossip. Do you perhaps know where an Artificer called Malwyn is? We've been searching for him but haven't had luck so far."

The merchants eyes turn into a narrow squint. He quietly says,

"Why are you asking questions like that? Don't you know.. Ah nevermind, stupid foreigners. I advise you not to get mixed up in this business, many a poor customer has met an unfortunate end. The most I can help you with is—"

He stops, examining his customers thoroughly. The inspection doesn't do them good, as he says in a acrid tone,

"I've changed my mind, I won't deal with mages. You can go and do whatever you please, just outside of Aclyth. Goodbye."

He turns away, and resumes selling thread while yelling at the top of his lungs. A heavy hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Talk, you know something and it would be better for you to tell us."

He freezes and begins to shout,

"What do you mean, talk. How dare you lay a hand on someone like me, I'll have the city watch down on you in seconds! Unhand me you—"

The robed one interrupts,

"We'll buy eight spools, that's far more than you'll sell in a day. Say, have you heard of where the Artificer was?"

With a voice dripping in honey he replies,

"Why yes, this is a completely different matter, you should have done this from the start. I think the best thing for you is to go three streets over there,"

He gestures a bit eastward,

"you'll find his old shop, the rest you'll know when you get there. Now about that thread,..."

An expectant look follows, which the pair pays off with the agreed amount of string. Satisfied, the merchant joins the throng of those harassing a couple of tourists, which by now are so heavily laden with gear that they need two helpers.

After a quick discussion amongst themselves, the pair wandered off in the given direction. However, the market street took its toll on their purses, it was nearly impossible to move due to all the merchants. The swarm would prance about you in a cacophony of slogans, trying to get you to look at their wares. The only way to move forward was to buy something from them. They’d start moving, then were blocked in a moment later. They began buying things randomly, based on where the merchant was standing rather than their goods. Two streets later the merchants lost interest, and the pair managed to get out of the horde.

They went into a side alley to recount their losses. They had managed to get out after buying only a few items, some apples, a horseshoe, a bar of "Horse Loved" soap, and several glasses of a suspicious "Lovers Tonic". Discarding these into the nearest trash bin, they continued following the merchants’ directions.

After arriving at their destination it takes them a while to realize that the dump in front of them is actually a shop. Its tattered sign lies skewed, missing so many letters that the only thing it said was “M l’s Ap t ry” is here. The windows are broken and the walls laced with cracks. What remains of the door is happily decomposing into a sandy mush. They glance over the decrepit store, not believing their eyes. “This was where the tinkerer lived?” Upon further inspection it turns out that he didn't, but possibly may have at some time or another.

They go outside and the large one slams his fist on the wall,

"The damn merchant swindled us. When I get my hands on him I'll—"

His partner calms him down,

"No, stop it. There's probably another reason for this, perhaps he had died or moved someplace. Lets ask the neighboring shops."

They choose one at random, a tailors called "Buttons and things". They walk into the shack, and are greeted by a small and stooped man.

"Greeetings young travelers, just how may I help you today?"

"Could you be so kind as to tell us what happened to the Artificer next door?"

The plastered smile curves into a frown, and the owner backs off.

"Oh dear I just realized, it’s nearly noon. Better close up the shop, sorry."

"But—"

"Nonono, closing up shop. You have to leave"

He ignores their protestations and shoos them outside, after which he dashes off into the marketplace.

The large one asks the other,

"Lethan, what the hell was that all about."

"How should I know, typically a merchant acts like we bless the very ground we walk on. Why are they so afraid of the tinkerer?"

Lethan shrugs and says,

"Might as well check out the other shops, hopefully at least one will be of use."

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Meanwhile, far off in an enclosed room a figure sits. His face is covered by shadows, the light revealing a well-cut cloth. The arms are clasped behind his back as he stares off into an ornate window, looking down into the city. The room is spacious and richly carpeted, a nobles dream. After a few moments, the figure turns and goes back to an oaken desk, where he sits down and listens to a sniveling merchant. As he does so, he records some of the conversation onto one of the many stacks of paper on the desk.

"M-M-My Lord, I bring you news that might interest you."

A bored voice replies,

"Hmmm go on..."

He scribbles a minor note on the piece of paper, deft and clever hands making a fancy cursive.

"I found a pair of travelers my Lord. One was large, covered in an armored cloth. The other one was smaller but dressed in the robes of a mage. The larger one’s eyes were a violet, while the robed ones were grey. They are strange my Lord, foreigners that—"

He stops writing and leans back into his plush chair, speaking in a mild tenor,

"and what makes them interesting at all? Please don't tell me they look funny, lots of people look funny. You as a matter of fact give of the impression of a dried up prune, but you don't see me complaining about it. "

A note of warning creeps into the voice,

"Are you by any chance wasting my time?"

"N-No I wouldn't dream of it my Lord. I just wanted to tell you that they were looking for the Artificer, they were asking an awful lot of questions about him."

He cleans a small pair of spectacles, silver-rimmed with a black trim, lost in thought. After a few moments he replies,

"Well, this can wait a while. Lots of travelers are asking about Mal, but none of them do much about it. If anything happens you will be sure to tell me as soon as possible, right?"

"Yes my Lord, of course my Lord."

He continues writing,

"Good boy. Now then, continue. Tell me everything they did and everything you know about them. I will wring every last word out of you, once you're done you can pick up the usual pay."

The merchant continues , pausing here and there as the man asks him more questions. How did he grab you? What was his tone? Hmm I see, were any of them wearing thick leather boots? and so on. After an hours worth of this process, the merchant slinks away as quickly as possible, leaving the man still sitting at the desk.

He mumbles to himself, tracing small circles in the desks surface,

"I wonder if they'll prove exciting. It's been too easy so far, so few people worth mentioning. All so very,very easily to disposed of. The occasional assassin, the bribed maid, the blackmailed soldier. I could go on... Here I'm thinking that hiding myself has no point , no one has the capability to stand before me. Sigh...."

His fingertips slightly blacken and the desk surface begins to burn, raising small curls of smoke into the air.

"Its been such a long time since I've had any fun....."

----------------------------------------

The pair had spent the past hour wandering the shops. In each one they had met with various strange coincidences. They go in one store asking about the artificer and suddenly the owner remembers a bit of business they must attend too. They try again with another shop, only to see the owner scamper out the back. The next couple were already closed or with the proprietor out.

The mage confers with his partner,

"Something's odd here, I doubt we'll get much more information from anyone. Perhaps a tavern will help, there's all sorts of information in them. Lets try that one there."

They enter the aptly named "Broken Table".

Drunk stragglers of all kinds sit around grimy card tables, drinking and brawling across the room. A cuff or two, nothing serious, would occasionally break out when someone insults anothers card playing skills. This would end when the bartender slowly walks over with a menacing scowl, raising hands that could wrap around most of them twice. Seeing him, they promptly shake hands with each other and wander off to another table, wincing from his glare. He would then return to the bar with his eyes carefully watching, absentmindedly rubbing glasses that get progressively dirtier.

The space in the remaining tables—the ones not hosting any card games—are filled with miscellaneous travelers. They range from slightly-tipsy to dead-drunk, sometimes even passing out on the floor. If you would take a bunch of them together, you would probably have enough parts for one or two men. Most of them are of a disagreeable disposition, glaring at the pair as if damning them for blocking the sun. The pair quietly finds a table in the corner of the room and ordered a couple of drinks. As they sit they observe the others, trying to find one who knows something. While doing so, they manage to see the antics of a raggedy old man. He roams the tables heedless of threatening scowls, demanding a drink to quench his thirst.

"Young man, " he says to a towering brute twice his size,

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to help the elderly? I'm in sore need of it, a drink would work wonders to help me live the rest of the day."

Miraculously he isn't pummeled into the ground, but rather shoved off lightly into a table. The rickety table of course breaks with a satisfactory crunch. He then pick himself up, dusts off, and harasses another traveler.

After watching this happen about four times, and noticing that the inn was running out of tables, the pair invites the hermit over. They buy him a drink which he sips. Smacking his lips, he begins to talk,

"Aaah, that's the stuff. Thank ya boys, I didn't think anyone would do it at all. I wonder where all their manners had gone. Back in the old days they knew to respect their betters."

His eyes cloud as he thinks of his past. However the one in the grey robe says to him,

"Wait, you remember how it was before? Perhaps you could—"

He returns a glare,

"Of course I do. What, thinking I'm going senile? The nerve of you, I'm just trying to have a little chat and here you go calling me old. Not that I aren't, but man has his pride you know."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I thought you could tell us how it was before, maybe even—"

He sits back and starts a lengthy oration, by the looks of those nearby this was heard quite often,

(In the back one of the travelers groans and says "Not this again, who the hell keeps giving him drinks")

"Yesiree, back in the olden days this city was far cleaner and better. When the Victus family ruled this city, a man could get a drink."

He pauses, releasing another glare upon the surrounding people.

"Times were better then. Mind you, I ain't saying that there were gold paved streets, but we weren't as poor as we are now. In those days we worshipped one god, Cercos, none of those new pagan religions that keep popping up. There were schools for teaching children, not barracks to train more soldiers. The Lords took care of the people and the people took care of them. We didn't have much, but at least we lived well. Not like now, when people can't even buy a drink,"

At this a stranger at nearby table can't hold it any longer,

"Oh shaddup. You're always muttering that, like one of them fancy records. If you're not drinking your sleeping or talking"

He leaves, muttering "damned old man".

The old man continues,

"Where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?...Oh yes, we didn't have much but we lived well. None of these endless wars about one thing or another, or the newfangled weapons that keep appearing. I remember in the old days people fought with pure swords and steel, none of these stupid contraptions. Ah, the tournaments that they held back then. Wonderful things with banners and colors, shining knights fighting against each other all in the name of their Lord and god. Those were the days when a man could get a—"

Hulm loses his patience and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly once Lethan interrupts instead,

"Look, we understand that back in the old days you could get a drink, back in the old days it was better, we get it. What is this you're saying about weapons and war? This city doesn’t look like it has any army worth mentioning, much less the ability to go about conquering other cities."

The old man, at first disgruntled at being interrupted, gladly breaks into yet another rant,

"Oh these wars are a blight upon our city. They're recent, my thoughts are that the Lord is corrupt and scheming some evil plans. I hear these new weapons are made in blood, by an evil mage hidden in the castle."

He lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper and leans in,

"They say that whenever the tinkerer is mentioned someone dies. I've seen many a man go that way, gone with no note or warning. I swear by Cercos that something is afoot. People disappearing in the night, never to return again. Wars happening for no reason, and strange weapons being made. If this doesn't smell conspiracy I don't know what does. It's all because of the mage,"

He nods knowingly,

"Mages bring ill luck, they always have and always will."

Lethan repeats himself,

"Say, do you know where he might be? We need to talk to him about something important, it might help if you could tell us about him."

The old man yawns tiredly,

"All this talking has made me thirsty,"

He looks at them with pleading eyes. Lethan sighs and buys him another drink. After a few long gulps the old man continues,

"Well, most rumors say that he's up at the castle, tinkering in an evil laboratory. I feel it in my bones that he's there somewhere, creating those very weapons and pushing out these wars. Blasted mages and their contraptions, used to be their kind wouldn't go down here. Back in the old days mages didn't come, and you could always get a drink."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The bartender has had enough, he walks over,

"It's time for you to leave, I'm tired of your rambling. I've lost three customers so far, and unless you'd like to pay for them as well as the broken tables you should leave. As for you,"

He turns to the pair as the old man leaves disgruntled (taking the drink with him),

"Best for you not to talk of such things, idle talk does no one good. When you're done with the meal come to the bar to pay up, just take note I don't keep tabs."

He leaves back towards the bar, occasionally glancing in their direction while he wipes the glasses.

They finish their meal quickly and give him the plates, as they do so he tells them quietly,

"The names Hal. Sorry about that, thanks for giving him a drink. He's not that bad, just gets damn annoying when you hear the same thing for the fortieth time. If you really want too, you can go and try out the mages tower. Its about a mile east of here, though I doubt you'll find anything there."

The robed one leaves a coin as thanks.

"Glad for the help, but who was he?"

Hal shrugs,

"Dunno, some priest or other. He lives out in the woods and keeps blabbing about his Cercos. Not much is known, sorry about that."

He continues rubbing the glasses, which by now were so dirty one could barely see through them. They give thanks again and leave outside, heading eastward wondering what they'd find there.

.........

Wandering through twisted alleyways and streets, they finally reach the tower.

It is large, at least that much can be said. It towers upwards for nearly eight or ten stories, an impassible obelisk dominating the area around it. A granite wall , two stories high, separates it from the rest of the city. The surfaces of both include runes flickering in the stonework, no doubt protecting them from attack. The overall impression would have been much better, were it not for its obvious state of maluse.

Numerous people had sprayed their wit across the walls, most along the lines of "Bad mages, go home" or "Joe was here". Moss and ivy had overgrown both, making the wall seem closer to a hedge. The blocks release the musty smell of mold, which spews from the cracks that line them. The only entryway the pair can find is a tiny wooden door half-covered by the vegetation.

They knock on it, and no response is given. They try again, this time the large one hammers it with the handle of his axe. Still no response, with no results forthcoming they decide to try another route, yelling.

"Hey, anybody there? We want to talk with someone.Hello?"

Hulm bellows,

"Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Come out you damn mage."

A silky voice yells into their ears,

"There’s no need to be so rude."

As they wince from the noise, he continues in a lower tone,

"I have a ward system in place, you and I can easily hear each other so shouting only hurts my ears. Now then, why the hell are you here? Bugger off."

Lethan is taken aback, but recovers and says,

"Erm we'd like to speak to you about something"

The voice snickers,

"There, you did. Now go away."

Hulm bangs on the door again,

"Listen mage, I don't want to spend time dithering about arguing with a stone wall. We want to know where the artificer is, or at least where we can find him."

The voice yawns,

"Nah, nothing in it for me. Push off, I'mma go by and sleep right now."

Lethan attempts to speak,

"Hello? Are you still---"

A message interrupts him:

"Please leave a message after the beep or, better yet, bugger off."

They wait for about ten minutes but no beep is forthcoming, if it ever was going to come at all.

Hulm yells at the tower, his voice scaring off a nearby flock of birds,

"Let us in you stupid mage! It's important and far more pressing than your damned nap. Get out here or let us in, one way or another we're going to talk with you"

The only response was a bucket of ice water, poured down onto Hulm.

A snide voice cackles,

"Serves you right you big lug. Go take your thick head somewhere else, I can't get a winks worth if you keep yelling."

Spluttering in outrage, Hulm takes a few steps back,

"That's it, this door is going down the hard way. Step aside, "

Lethan hurriedly goes off to the side as Hulm rushes through.

The door shakes from the impact, and a resounding crackle sounds through the air as Hulm is sent flying back.

The voice appears again,

"Oh dear, did I forget to mention about the door ward? Oopsie, I hope no one got hurt. Nighty-nighty you big clod."

Hulm shakes in rage and prepares to use his axe on the door, but Lethan stops him just in time.

"We won't get any further that way, there are bound to be stronger spells than a mere shock."

Sighing in exasperation the group heads back, the mage throws a parting remark.

"Oh? Given up? Why here I thought your matter was pressing and urgent, guess it wasn't. Hey, better luck next time. If you can bring over a couple more idiots, you might be able to stack them up and reach over the wall. There's lots more where yours came from!"

Lethan barely manages to hold back Hulm during the laughter that follows. As soon as they're out of eyesight, they begin to talk again.

Hulm grumbles out,

"Stupid mage, we go all the way over there and he just says he's too lazy, in addition to playing jokes on us. No wonder the citizens hate mages, if all they've seen are that."

Lethan replies,

"No, I doubt its that simple. That tower is something only a whole conclave can create, and they don't do it often either. Ever tried getting a pack of weasels to be friendly? They're more likely to fight than cast such a complex team spell. Wonder why they left, or more importantly, why they were ever here at all."

He examines the sky above, and deems it too dark to continue,

"Lets head back, we can always do this another day. The inn might have a place to sleep, and at the very least the bartender was decent. "

.......

The inn is no different from when they had left earlier, albeit more crowded. There is a musician there attempting to play music, whatever it sounds like is drowned out with the thlop of thrown tomatoes. Seething in fury, the musician leaves the inn to the laughter of the other members. The pair stands around for a while and gets a table. After ordering some food and drink they begin to talk with the bartender a little about what happened.

Hulm speaks first,

"Nothing happened, at all. We went over there and got ridiculed to the delight of the mage. If I meet him face to face I promise I'll give him a little something he won't forget."

Lethan interjects,

"What's strange though is that there seems to be only one mage. What happened to the others?"

Hal rolls his eyes and responds,

"They went and got drunk in a nearby tavern, or at least that's what I've heard. After that they were moved somewhere leaving one of them behind to keep watch over the property. Still, I'm sorry that you fellas didn't get what you wanted. How about you---"

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a loud shout. A red-faced and lumbering man was picking a fight with a halfling.

"Whadda hell do ya tink you doing, huh? Ya tink I too stoopid to see ya rig da cards? Give back mah money ya punk!"

He raises his pool cue and brings it down, or tries too. Contrary to the force of gravity and his strength, the pool cue stays motionless in midair. He slowly looks behind him to see two fingers from a large and armored figure holding the cue.

"You're too little of a man to say such big things, grow a brain and then come back. As far as I can see you rigged the deck, I'd guess that there must be at least eight aces in your sleeves."

"I-I dun't know what ya mean. Who do ya think ya talking to, Imma mop da floor with ya once I'm done with this fellah here."

He tries to yank the cue away, but fails. At this the large figure places a hand on his shoulder, slowly beginning to squeeze tighter and tighter.

"Really?" *squeeze*

"I fail to see your point, perhaps you'd like to explain it?" *squeeze*

"I can do this all day if that's what you want," *Squeeze*

By now the man had considerably paled, but was still standing on his feet.

"I think you should eat elsewhere tonight. I don't like ruckus disturbing my dinner, and if I see you again a sore shoulder will be the least of your worries"

*Squeeeeeeeze*

The man stumbles backwards and barely keeps his feet on the ground. As he staggers towards the doorway he exclaims,

"Dis ain't da last ya heid O me, I'll be back and ya'll be sorry."

As he leaves the crowd gives out a cheer, they always love a good fight. Hal comes over to congratulate them,

"Thanks boys, while I'm not particularly strict on fights things tend to get messy once they use weapons. It's problematic for me to step in cause I can't hurt my customers even if they are fighting. When it comes to combat, I prefer being on equal footing. Come, here's a drink on the house for ya."

They gratefully accept it. Once they sit down and resume eating, they ask him

"Hey, do you know a place where we could stay at? We're in the need of a room you see, and being new we don't really know any good places to rest in."

Hal breaks into a grin,

"How about this, in return for you breaking up the occasional fight, I'll let you have room and board for free. That seem decent enough for you?"

Lethan replies,

"That's more than decent, we'd prefer to pay you instead of being in your debt. How about two coppers a day for it?"

Hal replies,

"I ain't going to accept more than one from you. A pair of folks like you is hard to come by in this town, people who have brawn but also the brains to use it. When you're ready just go upstairs, there's a room available up there that you can use. "

He hands them the key, and receives their first pay. Thanking him they go upstairs and examine the room. It is decent, a bit of dust was the only problem there. A little cramped as well, but they've had worse. Soon they've finished unpacking and go to sleep, unsure of what they were going to do tomorrow.

In the middle of the night their door creaks open and a light shines through. A thrown dagger flies towards the intruder but is quickly sidestepped. An exclamation follows

"The hell you think your doing, its me ,Hal!"

Hulm grunts,

"Damn, missed. What do you think you're doing here in the middle of the night?"

Hal chuckles,

"Your aim will have to be a lot better for that to hit me. I'm here to give ya fellahs another chance to find the Artificer."

"Really? Hey, Dov, get up."

Hulm turns and pokes Lethan.

"Why now... oh, who's this? Hal what are you doing here?"

Hal takes a seat and tells them,

"Well you seen I've been thinking, you fellahs seem to be in a bit of a spot, not being able to find anyone and all. I can't really help you with that as its a tad bit too dangerous for someone of my occupation. However, I do know of a man who might be able to help you, he deals in anything and everything. I’ve never heard him refuse a request before."

Hulm raises an eyebrow as he gets up,

"You're taking us to a snitch? Those guys are as likely to help others as well as us, I'm not particularly fond of them."

"No, not as much a snitch as a go-to man. He watches over certain parts of the city as well as certain deals. If anyone should know about the Artificer it should be him. Even if he doesn't , he'll know someone who does and how to make him talk. I set up a meeting with him in an hour from now, he's waiting for you near the Shacks. I suggest you get there early as the Shacks are on the eastward side of the city and Jackrum doesn’t wait. Sorry about this, it's the best I can do. "

The pair looks at him suspiciously. They've been through enough to know that such underhanded deals had a high likelihood of going wrong. Then again, its not like they had much choice, everyone else ran away at the mere mention of the Artificer.

Lethan stands up and begins packing,

"Fine, we'll go there but I hope no "accidents" happen along the way. Are you sure he won't do so?"

"He's not the type to do that, he might ridicule you or insult you but he never backstabs anyone. That's another one of the reasons that he's grown so quickly to power, he's got the will of the people backing him. Here, take this,"

Hal hands them a couple bottles of a liquid,

"It's spiced cider, probably the only thing he can't resist. It's earned him the nickname Jackrum, not that he resents it. In fact that's how everybody calls him now, I don't think anyone remembers his real name anymore. Good luck with him, just be careful and not insult him and you should be alright."

Hulm forces a couple of coins into his hands,

"This is the least we can do for you now, you're even giving us drink to take to him. If you wont take these I promise you'll regret it, we'll leave a barrel of gold here one day, so heavy you can't give it back."

Hal breaks into a grin and shakes his hand,

"Thanks mate, see ya later I guess. I hope the business with Jackrum works out."

Hal goes and leaves as quietly as he had come, leaving the two in the dark again. They finish packing up and move out under the cover of darkness, trying to fumble their way across the city. After a couple collisions with trash bins and the occasional feral cat they reach the assigned place.

The Shacks is a mixture of broken down buildings not even good enough to be called shacks. Miscellaneous "houses" made out of a mixture of tinfoil, sticks, and faith are stacked all over the place. Graffiti is so common you can assume that the houses are painted that way. The ground is littered with assorted trash , most of it splotched with mold as well. A lone lamp hangs off the roof of a house, releasing a weak and flickering light that illuminates a sparse clearing. The pair moves to it and waits for a couple of minutes, their eyes roaming the shadows as they watch for any movement.

A rasping bass welcomes them,

"Hello, you were sent by Hal, correct?"

They whirl around to see a large man in a buttoned up shirt with short sleeves. It's a plain grey color, a bit lighter than his bushy beard. He wears leather leggings and tough rawhide boots that are made for walking. The only thing giving away his profession is the fedora, velt with a rose hanging off the side, both the same color as the rest of his suit.

His eyes squint at them from behind a slightly red nose,

"My names Jackrum, but friends call me Jack. They also call me the go-to man, I deal in everything and anything. I assume you're here to have a chat with me, so please, sit down."

With a snap of his fingers two small and quiet men walk in with some chairs.They are covered in black from their dark shoes to their black roses. Their faces are hidden with handkerchiefs, surprisingly a brilliant white. They walk over and set down the chairs in a careful and quiet fashion, melting into the shadows just as quickly as they'd come.

The pair sits down ,a bit disturbed by the proceedings, while Jackrum continues,

"Well? Lets no dally shall we, just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you, after we negotiate a reasonable deal of course. You see its quite hard to maintain a conversation when only one party is speaking. What is it that you want?"

Lethan begins,

"Well, you see we are new and town and are trying to find out where the Artificer is. We need him for an urgent job and we heard that he was here, but upon arriving everyone just shuts up about it and leaves. Here, the bartender told us you like spiced cider."

The little men take the offering as Jack grins,

“I knew he was going to say that. Still, thanks for the thought, I appreciate it.”

He nods thoughtfully,

"So, information is what you want. Unfortunately I do not have the exact tidbit that would lead you to him, but I do know who knows about him. The darndest thing is that I can't get him to focus on anything, he's worse than the goddamn hermit. How about this, in exchange for me pointing you to the source you will share the information with me. I've been wanting it for a while as well. Sound fair enough?"

They converse for a quick moment, but there's nothing else for them to do. They know its as fair a deal as they're going to get, and they might as well accept it.

Lethan says,

"Yes , we accept the deal. Is he really willing to talk?"

Jack chuckles,

"Oh he's willing to talk, just about anything at all. The problem is he keeps getting sidetracked at the worst times, if I didn't know him better I'd think he was doing it on purpose. He always enjoys the odd joke after all, but then again he lives alone so he's bound to have picked up some strange habits. You can find him at—"

"The mages tower?"

Jack blinks , surprised at the interruption,

"Why , yes, How'd you know?"

Lethan sighs,

"We figured as much, we tried to talk to him but couldn't get beyond the door. He just kept laughing at us and ignoring anything we said. At the end my partner here tried to break down the door but got drenched for his troubles."

"Yep, that's him alright. Just say that you were sent by Jackrum, and if he asks you to prove it tell him that the pomade he uses is called "Youthful Soul". I'm his provider of those bottles, even though I can't stand the smell. "

He stands up and gives a small bow,

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, I hope to make a deal with you later. I'm always in the market for favors."

With a snap the chairs are gone along with the little men and Jack begins to walk away. However Lethan remembers something,

"Hey wait a sec, why is everybody so scared of mentioning the tinkerer? The hermit said people kept disappearing just from uttering his name. Who's behind all of this?"

Jack stops for a moment and says quietly,

"As to the first, that one's easy so I'll give it you for free. There's an evil in this city, somewhere out there carefully manipulating the threads and making the tinkerers name a death writ. As to the second,"

He continues walking,

"That particular tidbit......"

They hear the last echoes of his voice as he vanishes into the shadows, leaving them alone in the lamplight.

"...is not for sale"

######

Don't forget , I needs a PR and comments reaaaaally help.

PS: I'm planning on rewriting prologue, ch.1, and ch.2 a bit later.