It was night but by no means a silent one. From the warehouses in the docks to the merchant estates in the Coindistrict and from the wooden polehouses in Greenside to the labyrinth of towers in the city centre: Tower City never shut up. Boats came in and left, wagons rode its cramped streets and griffons flew between and around its many spires. Merchants discussed contracts, beggars begged and thieves sneaked around in the shadows. Between the stalls and banners of Nest market, located on a giant bridge spanning two ruined towers, two bird dealers argued over who had the best prices. In The Red Tree, an inn and place of many pleasures, an old bard told stories about the heroes of the Old Empire to a couple of off-duty ladies of the night. Under the moonlight surrounded by fallen statues and bonfires, two murderers fight for their lives in the Pit of Luck. In a treetop, located in the Daggerwood that forms the border between the city and the wilderness, a druid sang songs from his homeland as family and friends gathered to honour their fallen comrades.

In the harbour workers carried big vertical boxes on a three-master with red sails. The Collector looked down on them from the steering deck. Next to her stood a heavy-set man with long black hair, a broken face and a big griffon on the back of his leather jacket. She was happy with the steady growth of her collection but she doesn’t like what the man tells her. Idiots. That bitch with the shield must go. She actually reminded her of someone. Could it be..? No, impossible. She decided not to overthink it. This was only one person not minding her own business but still, her employers were very discrete. The Collector had always been proud of her work ethic and she didn’t want problems. She also feared her employers, which was probably the biggest reason for her current concern.

The Silver Spear was once a hotel of renown, meant for foreign ambassadors. Now it was a living carcass, filled with the lowest of criminals , worse than vermin or corpse flies. The state of the hotel reflected the low character of its inhabitants. Vines held the building prisoner, mold was everywhere and an eternal smell of death and piss surrounded the once mighty estate. From its attic to its cellars, it was filled with traders in drugs, flesh and other, more nasty things. As the group of five soldiers came in, they were beset by offers and questions. Need some sundust? Hey, fellas, want a ride with two Beastmen? I know you want to! Over here! Free product! Hey handsome, want to test my three wives? Even though they had tried to hide it, the dealers surrounding them could still spot their true identities from a mile away. The commoner’s clothes did nothing to help them. They were a regular man’s idea of how the poor dressed. The five declined offer after offer until one of them finally had the guts to ask someone where they could find a fleshtrader. Everyone knew Kulber was the man they needed. Kulber had taken some great pains to assure his status as foremost fleshtrader around the Spear. He’d cracked skulls to get to the top and even though the newcomers didn’t know this, they felt it. They found him on the second floor, a random mix between big cages, cheap matrasses and bathtubs. A skinny man smiled at them as they entered the floor. He had all the bearings of a proper merchant. His teeth were pearly white, his clothes perfumed and his skin soft. The only ugly thing about him was the big knife he kept playing with as he spoke. ‘Evening, gentlemen. Care for some amusement?’ They didn’t dare to look around them, didn’t want to. One of them spoke up. ‘No, thank you. We’d like to close a deal. We have a man we’d like to…sell.’ Kulber’s smile got broader. ‘A man you say? What are his peculiarities? Why should I buy your man and pick some homeless bugger from the street?’ He spoke with a clear and warm voice. The five men were scared. ‘He is a mage. A Maker. He has a dustling. ‘ The eyes of the fleshtrader lightened up. He was already coming up with all the possible things he could do with this mage and his magical creature. ‘I’ll give you five thousand for him. A thousand coins for each man. What do you think?’ The five looked at each other and agreed. This would get them their freedom. ‘Agreed. He’s in a hiding place now but we’ll bring him around tomorrow.’ Kulber nodded. ‘Perfect. I’ll pay you after the delivery. Fine doing business with you, gentlemen.’ They shook hands and went home.

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That night, five Duskhunters got roaring drunk on the streets of Tower City. They had been together hunting not only dustlings and their owners but also mutants since right after the Age of War had ended. They had had their fun, sure. The king didn’t have to know everything that went on while they were on their travels. Alas, their profession bound them eternally to the Academy and that’s where the problem was. The friends had each sworn an agreement. On their next assignment they’d sell the mage, disappear and live of the money. The Wildlands was the perfect location for this plan so when they came across poor Icaros Flint, they didn’t have to think long about it.

In a small alley, Cantra Halvani smoked glasleaf while gambling with some street urchins. The sound of dice on street stones echoed through the night. After this, she would get drunk. Fuck you, uncle.

Somewhere in a dark cellar Icaros cried. He talked non-stop to Pounce, comforting the dustling and telling it that everything would be all right. The Dusthunters had given him bread and water, then left him alone in the darkness. Even though he was in the grip of fear, sleep did eventually came.