Kael's vision swam. The Market of Shadows swirled around him—a chaotic tapestry of flickering lanterns, shadowed faces, and pungent smells that assaulted his fading senses. The world was a blur of colors and sounds, the smells of the market, usually so familiar, assaulting his nostrils, each scent amplified by the poison burning in his veins. He clung to the girl, her small hand in his, the cool touch of her scales a stark contrast to the feverish heat burning in his veins.
They weaved through the crowd, a tide of humanity that seemed to pulse with a chaotic energy, their progress slow, treacherous. His legs felt like lead, each step a Herculean effort against the tide of exhaustion and the Blightmaw’s poison.
They had to hurry. He could feel it, the poison spreading, tendrils of cold fire snaking through his veins, his vision blurring, his breath a ragged rasp in his chest.
But the girl was beside him. Her hand in his, her grip surprisingly strong, anchoring him in the midst of the chaos. “This way,” She urged him forward, her scaled hand supporting him through the maze of the marketplace, a thread of purpose in the disorienting whirl. She moved with a confidence he couldn't muster, her gaze sweeping across the stalls, her senses alert.
The stall appeared through the hazy mist of his vision - a jumble of crystals and shimmering ores that shimmered in the flickering light of the oil lamps. He stumbled, leaning heavily against the girl.
“Wait here.” he rasped, his vision blurring again. “I need to—“
Before he could finish, she was already moving, slipping through the throng of bodies, her small frame a phantom navigating the crowded pathways. He watched, a detached, almost dreamlike awareness, as she approached the stall. A strange mixture of pride and fear knotted in his gut. She was strong, capable, more sure of herself in this marketplace than he’d ever been.
He wanted to let go, let the darkness claim him, but her voice, sharp and clear, cut through the fog of his pain. “You have good stock, merchant,” Her voice was clear, her tone firm. He couldn’t hear the merchant’s response over the din of the market. He stumbled closer. “How much for this?”
She’d stepped forward, her voice ringing with an authority that surprised him. The Iridescent Shard gleamed in her hand, catching the lamplight, reflecting it in a thousand fractured rainbows. When did she get that? How? Wasn't it just in his pocket?
The stall owner, a woman with a hard face and watchful eyes, looked down at the offered shard, her expression unreadable. She picked it up, her fingers calloused, tracing the smooth, pulsing surface. Her gaze shifted to the lizardfolk girl, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. He could see the woman’s appraisal, a calculating gleam, the recognition of a desperate situation.
“It’s uncommon. Pure. Powerful.” The girl's words were clipped, precise, each syllable weighted. She was a natural.
The woman grunted, but he could see the gleam of interest in her eyes as she inspected the shard. Kael’s grip tightened, desperation clawing at his heart.
The dance of bartering commenced—a back-and-forth, a push and pull of words, of numbers, of greed and need, their voices blending into the cacophony of the marketplace.
“Eight bronze,” the merchant woman said, her tone flat, dismissive. The offer was an insult, the barest acknowledgment of the shard’s worth, a ploy to gauge the girl’s desperation.
The lizardfolk girl’s eyes narrowed, a flash of something dangerous glinting in their depths. She didn’t hesitate. “One iron. Eight bronze,” she countered, her voice steady, unwavering. Each word was a calculated strike, cutting through the noise around them, daring the merchant to take her seriously.
The woman’s lips thinned into a hard line, her gaze flicking over the girl with a mixture of irritation and grudging respect. She was used to dealing with the desperate, with those who would crumble under the weight of her dismissive offers, but this one... this one was different. “One iron,” she said, her voice firm, testing the waters, pushing back with just enough force to maintain the upper hand.
The girl didn’t miss a beat. “One iron, four bronze,” she replied, the words slipping out like a blade sliding between ribs, quick and precise. Her posture was tense but controlled, every muscle coiled, ready to pounce or retreat as the situation demanded. The crowd around them ebbed and flowed, a chaotic tide that seemed to bend around their confrontation, as if sensing the gravity of the exchange.
The woman’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but she could see the determination in the girl’s stance, the unyielding resolve that radiated from her in waves. She glanced back at the shard, the vibrant, swirling colors within its depths shimmering, shifting, as if alive, as if holding a promise of power just out of reach. She knew it was worth more, much more, but she also knew the risk of pushing too hard, of losing this deal to another, hungrier buyer.
“Done,” she snapped, her voice sharp, final. She snatched the shard from the girl’s outstretched hand, her fingers closing around it with a possessive grip, as if afraid it might disappear. She reached into her pouch, pulling out a small handful of coins, the metal clinking softly against her palm as she counted them out. One iron, four bronze, each coin dropping into the girl’s hand with a dull, metallic chime.
The girl didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. She accepted the coins with a steady hand, tucking them away into the folds of her clothing without a second glance, her eyes never leaving the merchant’s face. There was no thank you, no acknowledgment, just a brief, piercing look that seemed to say _I know what you’re doing, and I won’t forget it._
Without another word, she turned away, her movements smooth, controlled, her chin held high. She moved on to the next stall, her gaze scanning the goods with a practiced eye, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. Kael watched her, his heart still hammering in his chest, a mixture of awe and confusion swirling within him.
The process repeated, but this time the stakes felt different, more personal. The girl stepped up to the stall, the coarse hide draped over her arm like a heavy shroud. The merchant, a burly man with a thick, bristling beard and eyes that shone with a hard, calculating glint, barely glanced up at her approach. His focus was on the hide, his fingers running over its rough texture, feeling the strength and resilience in the layers of scaled skin.
“Where’d you get this?” he growled, his voice low and suspicious, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Looks like swamp beast hide. Tough, but not worth much. Three bronze, tops.”
The girl didn’t even blink. “Three bronze?” she repeated, her voice steady, almost casual. “For Course Hide? This isn’t some common leather, old man. It’s thick, water-resistant, and nearly impossible to tear. You’ll sell it to some noble’s guard for thrice that to make armor, if you know what you’re doing.”
He snorted, the sound more animal than human. “Hah! Armor, you say? Maybe for a kennel boy. You see any nobles around these parts? This hide’s coarse, uneven, not fit for more than boots or maybe a saddle if someone’s feeling fancy.” He gave her a long, appraising look, trying to gauge how much she knew, how much he could push. “I’ll give you two bronze, and that’s being generous.”
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She lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze head-on. “Two bronze? You must think I’m desperate or stupid. Look at it again.” She spread the hide out on the counter between them, her fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the scales, highlighting the thickness and the deep, earthy color of the leather. “See how tough it is? How the scales overlap perfectly? That’s not just any beast. That’s from a Swamp Draker, and it’s not even cured yet. Imagine what it’ll be worth once it’s processed properly.”
The merchant’s eyes flickered with interest despite himself, but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. “Swamp Draker, you say? Nice story, girl. But unless you’ve got proof, it’s still just a lump of hide to me. Draker or no, I’ll still have to pay to get it cured and treated before I can sell it. I’ve got to think of costs.”
She crossed her arms, her stance shifting subtly, the tension in her frame easing just enough to show she wasn’t backing down. “You know what this is worth, and I know you’re lowballing me. I’ll take three bronze, and you’ll still make more than enough to cover your costs and then some.”
He grunted, his expression darkening. “Three bronze for uncured hide? You’re dreaming, girl. Two and a half, and that’s final.”
She shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Three bronze, and I walk away happy. And you know, happy customers come back. Maybe next time I’ll bring you something even better.”
He leaned back, his thick arms crossing over his chest, the muscles bulging beneath his sweat-stained tunic. He was trying to look intimidating, but she wasn’t buying it. After a long moment, he let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping just a bit. “Fine. Three bronze. But if it turns out to be any less than you’ve promised, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re peddling scraps.”
She nodded, a brisk, business-like motion. “Deal.”
He grumbled under his breath as he reached into the heavy purse hanging from his belt, the coins clinking softly as he counted them out, each one dropping into her outstretched hand with a sullen, metallic ring. “One... two... three. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
She pocketed the coins, but her eyes never left his. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
She turned on her heel, her movements smooth and assured, and walked back to Kael, who was watching her with wide eyes, a mixture of admiration and confusion on his face. She handed him one of the coins without a word, pressing them into his palm with a quick, firm squeeze.
“What—” he began, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.
“Don’t ask. Just take them.” There was a hard edge to her voice, but it softened as she looked up at him, her gaze steady and reassuring. “You gave me the hide. It’s only fair you get your share.”
He nodded, his grip tightening around the coins, their weight unfamiliar but comforting against his skin. “Thank you.”
Her hand went to her pocket and returned. “Ten bronze and one iron. The teeth and the shard.” She pressed them into his palm, her touch firm, and Kael felt a wave of hope washing over him, a desperate prayer answered.
“You are… a good trader,” He managed a weak smile, her success giving him strength. They had enough now.
But would it be in time?
His gaze darted towards a nearby stalls, a wave of dizziness making the world sway, a chorus of agony echoing from his shattered ribs, the poison clawing deeper, but his resolve hardened. He would not fall. Not now. He tugged the girl's hand, her scales a lifeline in the fog that was starting to cloud his vision.
They moved quickly, weaving through the dense crowds. Kael stumbled, the weight of his injuries pulling him down, but the girl was there. She grabbed his arm, keeping him upright. “The… herbs…” The words a rasping gasp, but he was already pointing, hope guiding their path.
The old woman’s stall, a haven of earthy scents and shadowed promises — its shelves stacked high with jars and bottles, each filled with promises of cures and remedies —, emerged from the crowd. It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d been here. The memory of their conversation — her gruff sympathy, her warning about trouble — echoed in his mind. The woman behind the stall, her gaze sharp, her face a mask of indifference, recognized him instantly.
“Back again, boy?” Her voice was as sharp as her gaze, a subtle mockery of his plight, a reminder that in this world, weakness was an unforgiving sin.
But before he could respond, before he could even formulate a coherent thought, the girl stepped forward. “We need something strong. An antidote. Something to cleanse the blood.”
He could barely hear the words over the blood rushing in his ears, but they were clear, concise, devoid of the hesitancy, the fear that clung to him.
“Poisoned, is he?” The woman’s gaze narrowed, and for a moment, Kael thought he saw a flicker of sympathy there, a spark of understanding that surprised him. It was quickly replaced by a professional assessment, her eyes traveling down to his chest, her lips pursed as she took in the state of his clothes, the tremors that racked his body. She gestured to a row of small, clay pots lined up on the counter.
“This’ll do.” Her finger, gnarled and calloused, tapped a pot labeled with a skull and crossbones, a stark symbol that sent a shiver down his spine. But there was also an edge of… urgency? Was she enjoying his desperation?
“Five bronze.”
“Five?” he croaked, disbelief mingling with the desperation that clawed at him. “That’s… too much. Do you have something, anything… cheaper?” He fumbled with the coins, their weight a mockery now, their number a sentence. The girl’s gaze, hard and focused, met his, a silent reassurance that settled the churning panic in his gut.
"Give her the coins." The order was soft, but firm.
He placed them in the woman’s calloused palm.
"Don’t look like you took my advice, last time.” The woman’s words, laced with a strange amusement, lingered in the air as she handed him a small, clay pot. A sneer? A smile? Or just a tic he was too delirious to discern? He couldn’t think straight, the pain in his chest and leg an anchor, dragging him down.
The woman passed him the antidote, and he ripped the lid from the pot, ignoring the girl’s startled cry, the potion inside smelling of bitter herbs and something else, something metallic that reminded him of the Void. It tasted awful - sharp, acrid, a searing burn as he forced it down, his body rejecting every drop. The world blurred again, but this time it felt… different.
“Hold on.” He could feel the girl's arm around his waist. Her warmth was grounding. “Hold… on.”
A tremor shook his entire body as the potion spread through him, a searing coldness battling against the poison's fire, the sensation leaving him weak and breathless
A gentle pressure on his shoulder, a familiar voice in his ear, pulled him back from the void.
“Easy, easy. It takes a moment.” Her words, a mix of halting phrases and a soft, hissing cadence, a reminder of what he had done to her, to her world. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt heavy, glued shut. His mind, still sluggish, couldn't quite process what had happened. Where he was, who he was.
A surge of warmth flowed through him, a soothing sensation that spread outwards from his chest, easing the aches in his muscles, the burning in his wounds. It was… as if the world were coming back into focus, a slow, gradual process. The pain in his ribs, though still present, seemed to fade, a dull ache instead of the searing agony. And his head, once throbbing with the insistent pulse of the poison, was clear.
“It worked.” The words emerged as a breathy sigh, a mix of disbelief and relief. The taste of metal on his tongue, the remnants of the poison, was replaced by something sweeter, something that smelled vaguely floral. The scent lingered, a phantom touch against his skin.
“You’ll be alright.” The words, a gentle reassurance. He wanted to argue. The village was gone. He was still weak. A failure. It felt like a lie, a betrayal of the shared truth of their ordeal.
“I… Thank you.” It was the only answer he could muster. He tried to smile.
Skill Acquired!
You Have Acquired The Skill
Poison Resistance
Provides increased resistance to toxins and poisons, reducing their effects and durations.
Skill Type: Miscellaneous
Skill Rank: Novice
Metabolism +1