image [https://i.imgur.com/2rZJQMG.jpg]
While Rowan Crewes acted like a suave merchant and gentleman explorer, he looked like he could hold his own in a tight corner. His age lines augmented expressive features and accented his natural charisma, and surprisingly, it wasn’t offputting.
The man wore a brimmed hat—wide by city standards, but it suited him. I had never been a hat person. Hats had too much personality and often upstaged the person wearing them. The only thing that annoyed me more than hats were nose rings—which Rowan wore. I had a hard time looking at people with facial piercings. Rings and studs drew my focus, preventing me from looking a person in the eyes. They made conversations difficult.
But I must admit, Rowan pulled off the hat and the jewelry. He acted like he’d been born to lead and make big-picture decisions. His relaxing manner reminded me of a late-night, easy-listening DJ putting his audience to sleep. Haggling seemed beneath him, which, of course, worked in his favor.
“I believe it’s Miss Fabulosa. How are you, my dear?”
Of course, Rowan remembered her name. She had a gorgeous avatar and had dropped gobs of gold on her crazy saber, Phantom Blade. Rowan greeted us with casual enthusiasm, hot tea, and a tray of sweet biscuits.
Fabulosa clapped her hands silently together. “Ew-wee! Cookies for lunch! I love it! Rowan, this here is my partner, Apache. He’s the lieutenant governor of Hawkhurst, the settlement I told you about.” If Rowan had been a player, he’d see my nameplate and title—L.T. Governor, Hawkhurst.
“Indeed? We don’t get many lieutenant governors in here.” He whispered to Fabulosa behind his flattened palm as if he spilled a trade secret. “They usually have people to do their dickering.”
Fabulosa laughed and playfully slapped the air. “Bless his heart, but he’s probably not very good at it. Go easy on him—it’s his first time. His girlfriend sends him on tasks like this to keep him busy.”
I smirked at her. Unless I wanted to be the butt of more jokes, I probably should speed up this discussion.
Thankfully, the magic shop’s purveyor turned the conversation back to business. “How may I help you? Have you given any more thought to that scroll, Mineral Empathy? It’s still my only one—and it’s available.”
“Sorry, hon. Patch here is a rock whisperer and already has it. I’m more interested in combat abilities and damage spells.”
While I acted as our group’s resident skills monkey, I wished she considered me a combat-oriented player. If she lowered Rowan’s expectations for selling magic arms, it might inadvertently keep prices down.
I tried to sound casual. “Do you expect to get any more scrolls?” It seemed a shame his only spell amounted to one I already owned.
Rowan considered my question. “Scrolls are incredibly rare. They lead to greater spells and abilities. I only have the one, Mineral Empathy, and I’m selling it for 60 gold.”
I made a mental note of the steep price. But I always wanted to find new magic. Perhaps Arlington offered more variety.
Before I could segue into a discussion about his gnoll guards, Fabulosa asked Rowan another question. “Did you ever find those things I was looking for?”
Rowan reached for a stack of frilly undergarments meant for armor. “They’re drabber than your sartorial leanings, my dear. But I find the patterns quite fetching. If they complement your accouterments, I’ll tailor them to your fancy.”
Fabulosa considered the permutations of the accessories. Occasionally, she murmured things to herself. “This is cute.” “Oh, that’s perdy too.” “C-Belle would love this.”
While Fabulosa considered fashion options, Rowan unfurled bolts of cloth and opened boxes of garments. I wondered which held a lesser grip on my interest—shopping for clothes or talking economics. As he introduced his fabric lines, he mistook my glazed-over look for dissatisfaction with his selection.
Fabulosa turned her attention to a green bodice. “Rowan, Apache is looking for your guards—the gnolls who hang outside your shop.”
Rowan looked suspicious, defensive, and disappointed to learn his wares had competition for attention. “My gnolls! Whatever for?”
I leaped out of my seat and dove my hand into my void bag. “I found this journal.” He crossed his arms as I presented a copy of the book I’d retrieved from the gnoll warlock. “I wanted to know if your gnolls could translate any of it.”
“I must confess, I’d never seen gnoll script before. Who knew the brutes could write? Perhaps we could ask them when Rolly returns. He’s running an errand.” Rowan touched the papers with wariness, not wanting the conversation to wander into the weeds until we conducted business.
I took the hint. “What about general magic items? Do you have any?”
His eyebrows raised, and he gestured to a rack of lackluster charms.
“What about the good stuff? Like the things you sold to Fabulosa on her last visit.”
Rowan smiled and stiffened. It seemed like I’d earned a measure of respect, which I wasn’t sure I wanted. He probably would charge more now.
He paraded several items in front of us. They offered small buffs—most of it wasn’t impressive.
Fabulosa batted her eyelashes. “Have you picked up anything new since my last visit?”
“I’m afraid it’s a sellers’ market. This past year, most magic shops have sold their inventory. Young adventurers as handsome as yourselves have all but cleaned us out.”
Fabulosa and I exchanged a glance at Rowan’s comment. Other contestants had bought magic items.
Most items had no price tags on them. As we reviewed them, I surprised myself by how shrewdly I negotiated. I couldn’t say if my bartering acumen came from my 27 willpower, my experience of finding treasure, or that I grew up poor.
Rowan spent the rest of the morning showing us his best merchandise. By the time the gnoll arrived, I had considered several items.
The store offered four level 20 cure poison potions, two level 35 antivenoms, and a level 20 cure disease potion. I wanted them all. We passed on the 50-point health and mana potions since I could make them myself. By now, Rowan had learned what kind of merchandise captured my interest, and I enjoyed watching him poo-poo his low-level wares. He apologized for not having any arrowheads since Fabulosa had cleaned him out before, but he unveiled a couple of wands.
Stolen story; please report.
Item
Wand of Minor Undead Control
Rarity
Masterwork (green)
Description
Level 10 wand
Item use—Once per day, target undead obeys wielder’s commands for 1 minute for every level under 11.
The Book of Dungeons limited wand usage to once a day. The description took a little effort to understand. It could control an undead level 8 for three minutes or a level 1 for ten. Even one minute seemed like a long time in combat, and taking an enemy out of battle meant it could take out another.
Controlling undead didn’t seem too evil, but a level 10 creature wasn’t worthwhile.
I inspected the other wand.
Item
Wand of Beast Control
Rarity
Rare (yellow)
Description
Level 20 wand
Item use—Once per day, target beast obeys wielder’s commands for one minute for every level under 21. Concentration must be maintained to sustain the effect.
I already had Animal Communion, so this wand seemed somewhat redundant.
Control tactics offered power and flexibility. Controlled monsters could preoccupy another enemy or disrupt casters in the rear. They could provide tactical advantages, like charging formations and causing havoc in an enemy’s ranks—but no complicated commands.
It involved dark magic, and I wasn’t sure beasts with significant willpower would succumb to a wand’s influence, regardless of level. It also required someone to hold it, which meant one less weapon or shield. These wands weren’t the only way to win a battle, and their levels weren’t spectacular, so I passed.
However, I had no qualms about the other items.
Item
Charm of Protection—Dark Magic
Rarity
Rare (yellow)
Description
Level 20 charm slot item
Item use—Once per day, bearer may create a 5-foot aura around them that gives +20 willpower versus dark magic that lasts for 5 minutes.
Another charm created a circle of protection versus primal magic, and both made auras that emanated effects, protecting allies. Buying these charms seemed an obvious decision.
The best items included two vests of mithril. Each gave +30 armor and didn’t interfere with casting spells. Rowan inspected the light ring mail as if he’d never seen them. “These arrived only days ago. I’m afraid I’ll need to price them at 250 gold pieces each.”
I squinted skeptically. “How firm are you on the price?”
“I’m afraid the mithril vests are so new I might have priced them too low. I couldn’t live with myself if I undervalued something so rare.”
The tone sounded too slick for his own good. A New Jersey boy like me could smell a shakedown a mile away. I did what every negotiator did—I proved I could walk away. “500 is too much for us. If you need more time, we’ll pass so you can collect more opinions.”
We respected the other’s situation. Even though magic items made a seller’s market, I ultimately negotiated from a stronger position as the person who walked away first. We performed our roles in the ritual, so neither side lost face.
I strengthened my position by not quibbling over the cost of the other items, purchasing the antivenom and anti-poison potions for 16 gold and the charms for 60 gold pieces each.
I had never used gold cylinders to pay for anything. They roughly equaled ten gold pieces, but most things weren’t expensive enough to spend them. Rowan weighed the cylinders on his scale and rubbed them against a touchstone to verify their purity.
Rowan furrowed his brow. “It’s pure gold, and they’re magical, although, for what purpose, I cannot fathom. Do you have any more?”
I nodded without giving more information.
Rowan showed the tact not to press further. While he tallied the amounts in his ledger, I could tell the cylinders preoccupied his thoughts.
Fabulosa handed some clothing items to Rowan. “I like the sleeves. If you have collars that match, I’d like to see those. I’ll pick up accessories after getting Charitybelle’s opinion. We’ll come by later—maybe tomorrow.”
Iris was all business when she arrived. Fabulosa showed her some garments she had purchased, calling attention to the frilly sleeves that poked from her armor, but Iris showed only polite interest. “I’m afraid these would fade and muddy quickly in the field.”
“Yeah, but they look cute, don’t they?” Fabulosa showed her a pair of earrings she picked out earlier. They looked more like Christmas tree decorations than jewelry, but neither Iris nor I would say so.
Iris held up her hand to ward off Rowan, who smelled a potential customer. “I’m Fort Krek to the core. I stick to rugged gear. Speaking of which—the L.T. and I ran into a sap monster on the way here. He’s nearly ruined his robe.”
Everyone looked at me.
I turned to Rowan. “Oh, yeah! I forgot. I’m not wearing my cassock anymore, but it’s in my inventory. Do you know of any service that can clean it?”
“Hmm. I think a heated alcohol solution would do the trick. I know an alchemist who keeps a vat of it handy. Can you leave your robe for a day or two?”
I nodded enthusiastically, and we handed over my sap-covered armor and weapons. I scrutinized Rowan’s face when I handed him my Cassock of Rewind, but his face betrayed no sign of being impressed. It might have been a miscalculation to have shown it to him before finalizing a price on the mithril armor, but I wanted my robe back more than anything else.
While Fabulosa showed Iris what she picked out, I pressed Rowan to introduce his gnoll agent.
“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” Rowan parted a curtain to a back room and called for someone named Rolly.
Moments later, an enormous hyena’s head poked through the curtain. I could see why someone would use them as bodyguards, assassins, or debt collectors. The gnoll had to stoop, paws on his knees, to clear the door’s lintel. He must have been eleven feet tall.
Throughout my abbreviated telling about how I’d found the journal, Rolly remained silent and gave no facial cues, nods, or head tilts to show he followed my story. I wasn’t altogether confident he understood the common tongue at all. He didn’t even look at the journal when I offered it.
The floorboards creaked, seemingly in distress, whenever the gnoll shifted his weight. Rolly turned to Rowan after my story and enunciated a few gruff, sloppy syllables I didn’t understand.
Rowan nodded and turned to me. “He says you should ask a gnoll named Ruk. He’s at a local thieves’ guild in the Bottoms.”
I raised my eyebrows as if to question him.
“You’ll find the Bottoms in the Tenderloin by the Eastriver Slaughterhouse.”
Iris’s expression tightened. “The Bottoms are a bit rough. We’re reviewing guard candidates. You’ll want to take some with you. They can show you the way around, at least.” Iris ribbed Fabulosa. “There’s more than one reason they call it The Tenderloin.”
When Rowan cocked his eyebrow at me, I recognized the subtle challenge. Was I brave enough to go alone?
It flew against every goal I had in this game, but people had conflicting interests. I had an ego, and I felt comfortable in slums. I grew up in them.
I immediately took the bait from being tested by an older, charismatic father figure. Perhaps I didn’t want to back down in front of two capable warriors, Fabulosa and Iris. Sometimes, we define ourselves by our mistakes. “I don’t need protection.”
Fabulosa didn’t sound like she wanted to argue but made a half-hearted effort. “Patch. There’s no reason to go alone.”
I didn’t think Rowan would risk losing hundreds of gold by endangering a client. “I can handle it. What’s the name of the thieves’ guild?”
Rowan crossed his burly arms. “It’s a little outfit in Tully’s Pub. They call themselves The Gang of Three. Ruk is their leader. He’s a cagey one, he is. Who knows? He might even like you.”
My bravado hadn’t perturbed Fabulosa. A spunky gamer like her understands the romance of taking risks. As we parted ways outside of Rowan’s establishment, she winked. “Be careful—or not.”