“These shells are an unverified item. I’m afraid the Guild won’t buy them from you before you can prove they are a valid crafting material,” the bored looking clerk dismisses Honey’s protests with a wave of his hand. “For mana stones, undead armor, and the rest I can give you 100 gold. Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll leave it then,” Honey growls.

“If you insist,” the clerk muffles a yawn. “Just remember that anyone caught buying or selling material from the Dungeon, without Guild authorization, will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

My eyes widen in surprise, my mouth not far behind.

“It’s illegal to sell material from the Dungeon?” I ask.

“Of course,” the clerk nods. “It’s a law to protect both craftsmen and consumers. They passed it a couple years ago. Unanimous vote, if I recall correctly.”

“We don’t need a history lesson,” Honey snaps at the man. “Give us the 100. We’ll be back later with material verification.”

“Sure thing. Just remember it must be verified by a Guild craftsman. Doesn’t matter what field,” the clerk is not effected by Honey’s rude attitude as he pushes a pouch across the table.

Honey snatches the pouch off the table and immediately dumps the contents out to verify the amount. Once satisfied she separates it into four equally sized piles. She gestures for us to each take our share. Quinn and Mordai grab their pile, but Quinn stops me before I grab mine.

“Snowflake, be careful with how you spend this. Debt collects interest around here. Not only that, but making weapons out of Source is a dangerous venture,” Quinn whispers in my ear. “What happens if you run low on Source? You should buy yourself some real weapons, so I don’t have to worry about you as much.”

“Mmmm,” I wordlessly agree. Despite the impudence of her telling me what I should do, she has a good point.

“Snowflake,” this time its Honey who stops me from taking my share. “Your armor is pretty beat up from our last fight. Think you could go commission some new armor with these shells? It would be a huge windfall for us if you could get them verified.”

“Sure,” I snatch up my pile of gold and shoot Mordai a glare, suspicious he’ll be the one to tell me to do something next. Mordai notices the glare and rolls his eyes at me. Cheeky bastard.

“Well, I’m off to tell the Guild we made it back alive,” Quinn says and hands me her satchel. "The shells are in here, take it with you."

“I’ve got some errands to run,” Honey adds.

“Should we meet up drinks later?” Mordai asks.

“Sounds good.”

“Sure, why not.”

“Dear god, I could use a drink.”

***

“Sorry bud, I don’t make armor out of strange bugs. You’ll have to find a naturalist armorer for that,” the dwarf speaks loudly and with large hand movements. “If you find any unverified metals I’d be happy to cut you a deal, though.”

“Have you found any unverified metals in the Dungeon before?” I ask casually as I examine the weapons and armor littering the workshop.

“I wish,” the dwarf sighs and pulls on his beard. “Us craftsfolk aren’t allowed anywhere near the Dungeon.”

“Hmm?” I tear my eyes away from a particularly shiny shield. “Whys that?”

“Err, well the official story is that we’re too valuable to risk losing,” the dwarf pulls his beard in a manner that almost looks painful.

It looks like he regrets saying anything. My curiosity engaged, I take a glance at his emotional palette. The orange-yellow of worry dominates the colors around him. Yup, he said something he shouldn’t have and now he regrets it. A little push here and a pull there. Carefully so he doesn’t notice…

“What about the unofficial reason?” I try my best to sound harmless and innocent.

“Well, uh, I really shouldn’t be telling you this,” the dwarf hesitates. I wait, silently, for him to continue. After a few seconds, he caves. “You see, people like me who have System certified jobs get experiences and levels from doing a good job. The gossip is that the Guildmaster doesn’t want us in the Dungeon cause if anyone reaches Rank 2 in their class without moving up to the next level, they’ll be a challenge to his authority.”

The dwarf shuffles from side to side, nervously fiddling with his beard. I’m a little surprised he is so worried. Sure, the information is useful, but it isn’t exactly mind-blowing or immediately applicable. Everybody knows the Guild is screwing the whole city, so this is no big surprise. If my job as a Floor Master ever stops pending and becomes official I’ll be able to power level, I guess. I wonder how hard getting a System certified job is?

“If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me, right?” The dwarf pesters me for a promise of silence.

“Sure,” I agree. I feel like he is blowing this out of proportion. “Could you point me to a naturalist armorer to get this material verified?”

“Sure, sure. No problem,” the dwarf calms down, with a little extra help from yours truly. “Two streets down you’ll see a rundown little shop by the name of Bonehammer. Tell the Dryad there that I sent you and you should be able to get a discount. The little guy is a bit touchy, but he does good work.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I wave goodbye to the dwarf as I head for the door. “Come on girls.”

Nevasca follows me out the door, one of her tails snagging Kandra who is admiring her new form in a particularly shiny breastplate.

We weave through the crowds of people hawking goods and Adventurers looking for the best weapons and armors for the right price. Kandra, in the guise of a large bipedal bird, gets a lot of strange looks. Her bones glow through her skin, catching attention wherever we go. I half expected people to pull out their weapons with a monster obviously in their midst, but this isn’t the case. They just think she is pretty. Besides, there are plenty of monster-like famliars wandering around, so it isn't too bad.

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Kandra's slime rendered feathers, glowing purple at their base and fading to red at their tip, flutter in an eye-catching way. I can see the admiration rising from the people who glance her way, but I find it a little odd considering there is no breeze. I don't worry though. Having a vain familiar is no issue as long as she is decent in a fight. I’ll just have to be careful that Nevasca doesn’t get jealous.

Ducking and weaving through the alleys, I ruffle Nevasca’s fur and remind her she is a good girl. Her tails whip excitedly at my praise, her sendings showing me sunshine and warmth.

“Hey Kandra, I’ve got a question for you,” I address the slime as we near the recommended shop. Without waiting for her to acknowledge me, I continue. “Can you still create slimes?”

“Master,” the slime speeds up to walk right next to me. “I am not sure, but I think so. Would you like me to try?”

“No, not right now. I have another question though,” we stop outside of a neglected shop. A large hammer made of bone decorates the sign hanging above the door. “If you can still create slimes, is it possible for you to create one that’s just a body? A shell without a will of its own?”

“I believe so, Master,” Kandra replies, but sounds unsure. A swirl of optimism tells me she is faking her lack of confidence. I file that fact aware for later and focus on the matter at hand.

“Okay, we’ll deal with that later. For now, pretend to be dumb whenever we go anywhere. See if you can pick up any useful information,” with these instructions I push my way into the shop.

Much like the dwarf’s workshop, this one is cluttered with weapons and armor. The only difference is the materials everything is made of. Here everything crafted from scales, bones, claws, etc. As advertised.

“Hello?” I call out, not seeing anyone in the front part of the store. Not hearing a reply, I venture further in, my familiars close behind me.

“Is anyone there?” I continue to make myself known.

With a lithe grace, Nevasca jumps on to a counter at the rear of the store. She sniffs around intently, searching for something. Her nose jerks as she catches on to a scent. Her head traces the path of the scent, her body contorting into odd shapes to follow the motions. With a jerk, one of her tails removes a carpet behind the counter and opens a trapdoor built into the floor.

With the trapdoor open, I can hear grunting and cursing coming from the basement. I send for Nevasca to replace the trapdoor and motion for my two familiars to follow me back out the store’s entrance.

“Kandra,” I command. “Shift into something small and inconspicuous. I want you to sneak down there and see what’s going on. Meet us out here when you’re done.”

Kandra, to her credit, nods and does as I say without complaint. Her beak twists into a grimace as she compacts her body. The bones fold in on each other, becoming denser. When she is finished, she is the size and shape of a housecat. I imagine her bone structure is a miniature version of one of those large cats we fought on the beats floors. Maybe a panther? She slinks back into the shop, disappearing. A few minutes later she returns with her report.

“There is a dryad in the basement, practicing battle magic,” she informs me, transforming back into a large flightless bird. "It seems very weak, but determined."

“Oh,” I say. “Well that’s underwhelming. Plan B it is.”

The three of us re-enter the shop, stomping around and making as much noise as possible. Well, Kandra and I stomp loudly. Nevasca is pouncing or random pieces of armor. After a few minutes of stomping and loudly admiring pieces of craftmanship, a dryad storms out from behind the counter.

“What’s with the racket?!” the dryad, barely taller than the waist high counter, demands. A long braid hangs down between its antlers. It is very pretty, but also lacking definite masculine or feminine features.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I feign innocence. “Were we being loud?”

“Yes, you were!” the pint-sized dryad hisses. “What do you want?”

“I am looking for a naturalist armorer,” I tell it. “A dwarf sent us. Is the owner of this shop in?”

“I am the owner,” the dryad glares at me and tugs on the long braid hanging down between its antlers. “There are a lot of dwarves in this city. Who sent you?”

“You’re the owner? That’s surprising. I thought someone who owned a shop would be happy to see a customer,” I return its glare, with a little added attitude. “Sure, there are a lot of dwarves in this city, but how many of them would recommend you?”

If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure I’d be dead right now. In fact, the dryad’s gaze is so hostile, that Nevasca is strategically positioning herself to murder the poor little thing.

“What do you want?” The dryad growls.

“I need a material verified as useful for crafting,” I say, making an effort to dampen its aggressiveness and raise its curiosity. “It is from an undiscovered bug creature in the Dungeon. I’d like to commission a set of armor out of it.”

“Let me see,” it impudently holds out its hand, but I let it slide.

I take out the carapaces from Quinn’s satchel, showing them to the shop owner. It examines the shells, tapping them from a hammer it withdrew from the utility belt slung around its waist.

“Looks like a decent material,” it comments. “But I’m currently too busy to make a set of verification worthy armor. I’d make an exception for a truly worthy material, but this doesn’t seem all that amazing. Find someone else.”

Ugh, what a pain in the ass. Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a dick, but still! I’ve got weapons to buy, libraries to explore, and drinks to have. I don’t want to go around looking for a new blacksmith.

“Are you sure?” I ask, tweaking its emotions just a touch.

“Yes, I’m sure,” it says without hesitation.

“What is so important that you can’t do your job?” I shoot back.

“It’s none of your fucking business. I’m a busy person, so please close the door on you way out,” it barks at me, its eyes glowing green. Nevasca’s tail is directly behind it now, ready to take its head off.

Frankly, I’m sick of being bossed around. Maybe it’s my Tyrant instincts speaking, but I’m over this shit. Everyone is always telling me what the fuck to do. I’m not going to put up with it. Not this time. I have a finite amount of patience, and this little brat is the last straw.

“Kandra, lock the door,” I command. “Little dryad, we’re going to have a talk about how you treat people.”

“Fucking try me,” the dryad bristles, a small wind picking up inside the store.

“Oh, I’m not going to fight you,” I say. “Why would I? I’m a battle-hardened mage and you’re nothing but a helpless little creature who has to practice magic in the basement. Pathetic. I wonder how the Guild would react if they knew? Maybe they’d completely burn your Source capacity out of you?”

I feel bad as soon as I say it. The green and blue of terror and grief consume it. The wind dies away and tears well up in its eyes. The little dryad collapses to its knees, bawling. Snot and tears stream down its face. I try to alter its emotions, but nothing is working. I fucking broke it.

“Shhh, shhh,” I crouch down to its level. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m sure you’re great at magic.”

“You don’t understand!” it sobs, glaring at me between tears.

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” I sigh. Should’ve just left. Me and my big mouth. For some reason, I just wanted to crush the uppity brat so much. I don’t know what came over me. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll keep your secret and show you a couple tricks, in exchange you verify this material for me, okay?”

“I can’t believe you’re blackmailing me!” it hiccups.

“It’s a good deal,” I groan.

“Prove it,” its crying slows. “Show me battle magic worth my time.”

Drawing my hand back in overhand position like I’m about to throw something, I do as requested. An ice spear forms in my hand and I hurl it at a large set of bone armor. In midair, the spear splits into multiple of itself, impaling the armor in five places. The ice explodes, ripping the armor and a few weapons around it into pieces.

“Good enough?” I ask.

“Weak,” scoffs the dryad. “Even I can make an ice spear.”

“Fine,” I growl. “Fear, make an appearance.”

Out of whirlwind of ice and snow, Fear materializes. Mist wisps from its surface, giving it a mysterious and intimidating aura. The spikes decorating the armor glimmer menacingly, emphasized by the purple glow swirling underneath the surface.

“Go smash some stuff,” I tell it.

Wordlessly, it follows my command. Spiked fists raised in the air, it wails on a set of expensive looking scale armor.

“Stop! Stop! That’s wyvern scale armor! Your broke ass can’t afford to pay for that shit!” the dryad shouts. “I’ll make the armor! You happy now? Bully.”