G and his rock gnome wards followed the troll into a room where a table was piled high with mushrooms, roasted meat, and pitchers of water. Unaccustomed to such a spread, the kids crowded the table, eyeing the largest mushroom and the juiciest piece of meat with keen interest.

G found a spot at the table and settled in. "There's enough room for everyone," he stated, motioning for the wards to join him. He quickly noticed their unfamiliarity with proper table manners and saw a chance to teach. "Let's pass this to the right," he said, picking up a platter of mushrooms and demonstrating before passing it to the next child.

He then noticed that most had opted for knives or spoons. Picking up a fork, G demonstrated its use. "This is better for eating things like this roast," he explained, skewering a piece of meat. "It's much easier than a spoon or knife." He handed out forks, and with their long, nimble fingers, the gnome kids adapted quickly, mastering the unfamiliar cutlery with surprising speed.

The troll's voice cut through the chatter, gruff and simple: "Enough food for all." Then he left the room.

G noted the children's skill with the forks, their dexterity hinting at their innate ability to handle delicate tasks, almost magical in their deftness.

As the meal progressed, the rock gnome kids began to manage the forks and the passing of dishes more smoothly. The atmosphere was cheerful and relaxed, with the delightful aroma of food filling the room and contributing to the jovial mood.

Phan approached G, holding a brooch that shimmered in the dim light. Her expression was a calculated blend of solemnity and a hint of mischief. "This," she began, presenting the brooch to him, "is your passport among the dark elves. It will alter your appearance to resemble one of our esteemed elders. It's much like the disguise I wear—clever and necessary. Such items are banned in the capital, where their use is a serious offense. Here, though, the young elite use them to access forbidden areas of the city." She turned the brooch over in her hand, revealing intricate script. "This one was likely lifted by a pickpocket who couldn't decipher the dark elvish inscribed here. They would never have sold it if they knew its how to activate it."

G, holding the brooch, raised an eyebrow. "An old dark elf, huh? I was hoping it'd make me look like a young prince. Does it also teach me to complain about the weather and grumble about modern music? Perhaps instruct on how to lecture the youth on the virtues of the 'good old days'? " he joked, trying to lighten the mood. Phan gave him a puzzled look.

G looked at the item in her hand, sighed, and analyzed the brooch.

Magic Item: Dark Elf Elder Brooch

The Dark Elf Elder Brooch is a magnificent piece of magical craftsmanship that has been created with great care and attention to detail. It is crafted from a smooth obsidian stone that has been polished to a high shine, and it is adorned with intricate silver filigree.

At the center of the brooch, there is a small creature carved into it. The creature is reminiscent of a cameo, with its delicate features and finely detailed design. The creature is that of a dark elf elder, and it is carved with such precision and skill that it appears to be almost alive.

The filigree that surrounds the cameo is just as detailed, with intricate swirls and patterns that seem to move and shift as the light catches them. The silver itself is of the highest quality, gleaming in the light and reflecting the colors around it like a mirror.

When the wearer speaks the command word, the brooch comes to life. The cameo seems to glow with an inner light, and the silver filigree seems to pulse and shift as the transformation takes place. The wearer's face and arms take on a dark blue hue, with their skin becoming wrinkled and aged. Their hair turns white, and their eyes become a piercing shade of purple, completing the transformation into an old, wizened dark elf.

Ignoring his jest, Phan continued with clinical precision. "Looking the part is just the beginning. To be an elder is to embody centuries of gravity. You must stand upright, move deliberately, and speak sparingly. Your presence should radiate wisdom, and most dark elf elders are harsh and direct with others when speaking."

G humorously straightened his posture, holding his back as if it ached. "Centuries of wisdom or centuries of regret?"

A slight smile briefly touched the corner of Phan's mouth, though she didn't engage further with the banter. "Activate the brooch by holding it and saying 'elder visage,' in dark elvish, and you'll see—skin wrinkled, hair whitened, eyes a deep purple. But your demeanor will tell the real story."

Phan handed G a more suitable folded robe, eyeing his current outfit with a critical eye. "That won't do," she commented, "It's hardly the epitome of elder fashion, wear this."

G unfolded the robe and held it up by the shoulders, examining it closely. He frowned slightly, sizing it against his body to check the fit.

"That's easily handled," G said, focusing mana into his robe. The magical fabric shimmered, absorbing the new robe Phan had brought, imitating its style and color perfectly. He then pulsed a bit more mana to pull small pieces of black chitin shell and leather armor along the arms and down the legs, enhancing its density for subtle protection.

"Like this?" G asked, turning for Phan's inspection.

She frowned at his outfit. The robe shifted through several configurations, each change followed by a snicker from the gnome children watching the spectacle. They giggled as the robe transitioned from overly ornate to bizarrely simple, each iteration missing the mark.

"Not quite," Phan said. "Think less ostentatious, more dignified. Your role is to appear as a pilgrim from the capital visiting the temple in Mirbor. "

Taking her advice, G concentrated, adjusting the robe's hue to a darker shade and refining the armor integration to just hint at its presence—enough to be effective without obvious bulk.

The children's laughter subsided as they watched G's robe finally match the sophisticated yet subtly armored appearance that Phan approved of. "There," G said, examining himself.

Phan nodded, satisfied.

"Let's hope it impresses more than just the local kids," G remarked, glancing at the gnome children who were now whispering and smiling, clearly entertained.

Phan smiled slightly, "Remember, every step is a century, every word a lesson. You're not just wearing a robe; you're assuming a legacy." and demonstrated how to glide like a dark elf. However, G struggled to mimic her movements and nearly fell over.

The group of seven rock gnome kids who were watching the lesson burst into laughter, imitating G's clumsy steps, holding their arms out like little scarecrows.

Phan looked angrily at the young Rock Gnomes and turned back to G, "It takes practice. You need to keep your back straight, your shoulders relaxed, and your hips moving more. Keep your feet close to the ground and your arms loose and flowing."

G groaned in frustration, "This feels like I'm a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time."

Phan reassured him, "Don't worry, we'll get there eventually. This is necessary, as your walking might give us away to the guards or other dark elves. Let's try again."

G was starting to think she was doing this out of some cruel pleasure at seeing him fail miserably. He again attempted to walk like a dark elf but still struggled. The rock gnome kids continued to giggle uncontrollably.

Phan scolded them again, "This is serious. We need to get past the guards, and G's walking is crucial for our success. Hush!" The children quieted for a moment at least.

G concentrated harder, and after a few steps, he managed to keep his balance. Phan nodded in approval. "Better," she said flatly, G took that as encouragement or at least all that he was expecting he'd get from her.

"Phan, what is fashion like in the capital? Does everyone wear robes like these? "asked G.

Phan's eyes momentarily drifted into the distance after G's question about the attire of the dark elves in the capital, reflecting a blend of nostalgia and caution. She leaned back, her posture tensed slightly as if the weight of her memories and the present dangers were converging in her mind.

"The fashion of the dark elf capital," she began slowly, as if each word were carefully plucked from a deep well of thought, "is quite distinctive and serves more than mere aesthetic purposes. Our attire combines the practicality of a warrior with the elegance of ceremonial robes. The tunics are close-fitting, made from a leather-like material that's flexible yet resilient, akin to the armor of nocturnal hunters."

She paused, her gaze sharpening. "Over this, robes flow, cut sharply and precisely. These are not just garments but symbols—crafted to project authority and grace, adorned with patterns in silver that capture the faintest light, resembling the pathways illuminated by bioluminescent fungi in our underground world."

As Phan spoke, G sensed Tocai pushing mana into his robe, which was transformed subtly under her detailed description. It darkened, adopting the somber tones of the underground realms, and black chitin plates resembling flexible armor integrated seamlessly with the flowing fabric, decorated with the intricate silver filigree of the dark elf capital's elite.

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"These designs," Phan continued, pointing at the new weavings in his robe, "are steeped in our history and mysticism. They declare one's lineage and loyalties without a word. Your garment now mirrors that tradition—silent yet potent."

She hesitated, then added a stern note of warning. "However, while this guise will serve you well in many places, I must caution you against venturing into the capital itself. Since the war with the other planes of existence, the city has fortified its defenses. The magical wards there are potent and sensitive; they would detect an outsider like you almost instantly."

G absorbed her words, the gravity of the situation settling over him. "Mirbor may not have such defenses, but the capital is another matter entirely. It is well-guarded, not just by soldiers but by ancient magics woven into the very fabric of the city. An uninvited guest would find few welcomes there."

Phan looked at G with a mix of earnestness and concern. "It's important to understand the depth of what you're mimicking. These aren't just clothes or a simple disguise. You're adopting an identity that holds significant weight in our society. Be mindful of that, and tread carefully."

G nodded, feeling the weight of his newly acquired guise more acutely. "I understand. It's more than just dressing the part—it's about moving through a world with its own rules and dangers."

As the late evening continued into what amounted to dawn in Mirbor, the Rock Goblin children long ago being told to get to bed, G's practice continued. The gravity of Phan's warning lingered in the air, blending with the rustle of G's transformed robes. G moved with more purpose now, his actions not just an imitation but a careful dance of respect and caution for the culture he was about to navigate.

" I need to go to the markets," G said, keeping his quest to find Tocai a magical reliquary of some sort to live in, a secret.

"Why?" Gerkag asked.

"I need a magical receptacle for a project I'm working on," G replied.

As a distant bell tolled, marking the transition to what counted as morning in the underground city of Mirbor, Phan, Gerkag, and G navigated the cluttered alleys of Muck Town's market. Lit by the soft glow of luminescent mushrooms and the occasional flicker from magic sconces, G tucked his goggles into his robe but kept his hood up, maintaining the shroud over his now elderly features. Phan had again brought up her own disguise, and they now looked like an elderly dark elf couple with Gerkag as their retainer or guide.

The alleys buzzed with the early morning crowd. Makeshift booths crammed with cheap trinkets and dubious wares lined the paths, drawing a diverse throng of desperate shoppers—goblins, trolls, and hobgoblins, each looking to barter their way to a better deal.

The market was a vibrant hub of subterranean life, echoing with the chaotic noise of goblin shouts and the unique dialect of Muck Town pidgin, a rough blend of common tongues spoken at high volume and with vigorous hand gestures. Goblin shopkeepers, animated and eager to sell, busily opened their stalls for the day, their voices rising in a competitive clamor. "Skarnik's best prices, come see, come buy!" one shouted in gruff Goblin, while another hawked, "Trinkets for trade, deals for days!" in the more universally understood Muck Town pidgin, trying to catch the attention of every passerby.

The air was thick with the chaos of bargaining— copper coins clinked, goods exchanged hands, and occasionally, a troll's loud guffaw pierced the din as they stumbled upon an unexpected bargain. A full-on brawl erupted at one booth, leaving G uncertain whether it was aggressive haggling or outright theft. This lively atmosphere wove a dark and gritty tapestry of underground commerce.

Despite the pervasive smell and the dubious quality of goods on display, G couldn't help but be surprised by the sheer vibrancy of the evil-smelling market. The energy was palpable; even the smallest goblin merchants displayed an enterprising spirit, aggressively peddling what was essentially junk. It was a bizarre kind of diligence, he thought, the relentless drive of even the most nefarious characters in Muck Town to make a day's profit from any passerby willing to listen.

Their first stop was "Zog's Potions and Trinkets," a dreary stall overseen by a goblin with a warty nose. The air was thick with the odor of stale spices and herbs of dubious origin, and shelves sagged under the weight of potions and poorly crafted trinkets. G picked up a dagger, its blade cracked and dull. He grimaced, placing it back on the shelf with a soft clink. Zog offered them an Elixir of Invisibility, which purportedly granted invisibility at the risk of blindness; a Lucky Charm filled with dubious bones meant for fortune; and a Flaming Dagger, its flame sputtering as G held it up. Each item earned a skeptical look from Phan, who shook her head slightly, signaling it was time to move on. G nodded in agreement, the lackluster offerings proving disappointing.

Next, they approached the chaotic stall of "The Sneaky Boys," where disorder reigned. Tools, weapons, and various gadgets were strewn haphazardly across the space, the air thick with the smell of oil and rust. G picked up a rusty lockpick set, inspected a smoke bomb that seemed more likely to cough than explode, and examined a pocket crossbow lacking both bowstring and bolts. Each item elicited a skeptical look from Phan, who again shook her head. G placed the items down with a resigned sigh, their search for quality proving futile here as well.

The final shop they visited was "The Goblin's Den," a somewhat sturdier establishment promising a better class of goods. Inside, the air was musty with the scent of old leather and the metallic tang of weapons. Here, they found Goblin's Fireworks, small pouches of brightly colored powders that promised noise and light without fire; and a Goblin's Staff of the Elements, a majestic but nearly depleted artifact capable of summoning a burst of elemental energy. G handled the staff delicately, its cracked gem faintly glimmering with residual magic. After a moment of consideration and a final disapproving shake of Phan's head at the lack of substantial magic, G purchased the fireworks for their potential as a distraction rather than for combat and they left.

With each stop, G grew increasingly aware of the limitations of Muck Town's market. As they left the dimly lit market square, G pulled his hood closer around his face. The sound of the distant bell still resonated in his ears, a stark reminder of the underground day's progression.

Gerkag turned to G with a determined look. "I want to show you where Kargan is being held. I think your disguise will hold up. We'll gather some information and then reconvene to plan our next move. If it looks tough, I know some folks we can contact who can give us assistance if we need to fight."

G nodded, relieved to be leaving the chaos of Muck Town behind. The stench of the market lingered in his nostrils, an unpleasant reminder of the shadowy figures and dubious dealings they had just witnessed.

As they made their way to the mercenary district, the surroundings shifted dramatically. The disarray of Muck Town gave way to more orderly, albeit somber, environments. Gerkag, feigning uncertainty, paused to ask for directions, claiming they were searching for a renowned shop known for magical items. This deception was designed to mislead onlookers into believing they were merely newcomers searching for specific goods. This approach brought them close to an imposing structure of octagonal Tudor architecture, a robust relic from the days when dwarves mastered such constructions. Today, it serves a darker purpose as a prison and guard post, tightly controlled by mercenary hobgoblins working for a dark elf queen.

"One of my regulars told me he saw the hobgoblins take Kargan into this building," Gerkag whispered, casting a wary glance around.

With its sturdy stone walls and formidable architecture, the building stood defiantly against the passage of time. "I wish we could get a closer look inside," Gerkag muttered, surveying their surroundings for any unwanted attention.

G felt a surge of optimism as his ring pulsed quietly, instilling a sudden confidence in their risky plan. Inspired, he smiled at Phan and said, "That's actually a great idea." With a reassuring nod, he confidently slipped his arm through Phan's, and together, they headed toward the prison's main entrance. Their steps were measured and discreet, blending seamlessly with the sparse crowd milling about the area, as they moved closer to the foreboding structure that held Kragan.

What are you doing, G? Tocai's voice echoed in his mind, his tone laced with concern.

"Just scouting out the situation. Don't worry, I've got this," G reassured his familiar silently as he walked casually toward one of the guards.

G was pretty sure Tocai had just sent him an image of a facepalm, or at least that's what it felt like as his familiar fell silent again.

Their approach was cautious yet deliberate, their disguises as elderly dark elves a thin veil against the scrutinous eyes of the prison guards. As they neared, G readied himself for any outcome. His heart pounded from the deception and the gravity of what they were about to undertake, yet oddly enough, he still felt good about it as he rubbed the ring on his finger with his thumb.

"Good day to you, sirs!" G greeted warmly in fluent dark elven, his smile broadening. "We've traveled far and heard much about the guardians of this formidable establishment. We would be honored to briefly glimpse the inside, to marvel at your role in maintaining such security."

Visibly surprised by the friendly address, the guard replied with caution, "This facility is neither a shop nor open to the public, elder. It is a barracks and prison."

Undeterred by the correction, G's tone remained light and admiring. "Ah, my apologies for the confusion! My wife and I—adventurers at heart—are keen to learn more about the famed security and your wares here. Even a brief visit would delight us immensely and would be a tale to cherish."

Phan nodded, adding with respect, "Indeed, the tales of your dedication have reached even the distant corners we hail from. A quick look would surely be the highlight of our journey."

Their exchanges drew hesitant glances between the guards. "Allowing visitors isn't usual protocol," one guard remarked, his voice tinged with reluctance.

Phan leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "I must apologize for my husband; his hearing hasn't been the same since sitting through those countless parades and all those soldiers marching by in the capital. We wouldn't impose long. Perhaps a swift glance? It would mean the world to him, and of course, we'd sing praises of your gracious assistance upon our return."

Smiling warmly, Phan thanked them in advance. "You are such kind young men. I'm surprised you aren't already stationed in the capital, guarding some wealthy merchant's home. They always have the best food, you know. Frargus and Mekeri, I won't forget. We will be sure to give you our highest recommendations when we return."

The guards, recognizing the stature of an elder dark elf and wary of the potential consequences of disrespect, hesitated. The influence of such figures was known to sway queens, generals, and family patriarchs. Frargus eventually yielded, his voice carrying a mix of reverence and caution. "An elder's visit is not to be taken lightly. My name's Frargus, and this is Mekeri. We shall grant you a brief tour, elder, but we must ask that you respect the protocols." Their compliance was tinged with an unspoken awareness that mishandling an interaction with an elder could lead to severe repercussions, far beyond the immediate moment.

With a reluctant but now slightly proud smile, Frargus led them inside, allowing them a fleeting look at the stronghold they had so cleverly talked their way into.

The prison was made of solid grey stone and heavily fortified with thick walls and small arrow-slit windows. The roof was steeply pitched and made of dark grey slate shingles that had seen better days. The main entrance was an arched door made of heavy wood with iron reinforcements and a small iron portcullis that could be lowered in case of an attack. Above the entrance, a small balcony with a wooden railing provided the guards with a vantage point.

Inside the prison, the air was damp and musty, with the sound of dripping water echoing throughout the halls. The cells were small and cramped, with rough-hewn stone walls and floors. Each cell had a small barred window that looked out onto the bleak and empty courtyard.

The guard post was located on the top floor of the building and consisted of a large room with a table and several chairs. Several guards were stationed there, keeping watch over the prisoners and the surrounding area. The walls of the guard post were decorated with weapons and shields, giving the room a militaristic atmosphere.

G and Phan beamed excitedly and grateful as they were led inside for a brief tour.