Bahumbus clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the cramped workshop. “Alright, bird boy,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “You’re easier to equip than your tall friend over here.” He shot a glance at Eugene, who was leaning against a shelf stacked precariously with mechanical odds and ends. “You don’t need anything too fancy. Just enough to keep you alive and preaching, right?”
Puffing up proudly, Qlaark crowed, “Indeed! I don’t need much, just tools to spread Ranvar’s message... and maybe not get stabbed while doing it.”
The artificer smirked. “Lucky for you, I specialize in not getting stabbed.”
He reached into a cluttered drawer and pulled out a pair of simple stainless steel bracelets, holding them up for Qlaark to see. "First up, these beauties."
Qlaark squinted. “They look... normal.”
“That’s the point,” Bahumbus grunted, handing them over. “No sense in drawing attention to yourself in this city. The more magical something looks, the more likely some thief’s gonna try to swipe it.”
Eugene nodded. “Smart.”
“These,” Bahumbus continued, pointing to the bracelets, “are tuned for endurance. One boosts your overall health, makes you a little tougher to knock down. The other speeds up your natural healing. You’ll still feel the pain, mind you, but you’ll bounce back faster.”
The toucan man eagerly slipped them on, clicking his beak in approval. “They feel... normal.” He pecked one bracelet experimentally. “Are you sure they work?”
Bahumbus rolled his eyes. “Try not eating for a day and see how much more sprightly you feel.”
Qlaark wiggled his fingers. “Alright, alright, I believe you.”
Next, Bahumbus pulled a folded piece of fabric from a hook on the wall and shook it out, revealing a simple, well-stitched linen robe in muted earth tones. He held it out with a flourish. “And this... might just save your life.”
Qlaark gingerly took the robe, running his wing over the smooth fabric. “What’s so special about it?”
Seeing Bahumbus grin reminded Eugene of Santa Claus. “Shield spell, featherhead. Low-level, but strong enough that someone’s gotta hit you hard to break through. Perfect for street preaching in the wrong part of town.”
Qlaark’s eyes widened. “You mean I won’t get pelted with fruit anymore?”
Bahumbus snorted. “If they’re throwing fruit or even knives, you’ll be fine.
Eugene chuckled. “I’ve seen him rile up crowds before. That might come in handy.”
Qlaark draped the robe over his shoulders, admiring it in the dim workshop light. “I look respectable.”
“Sure,” Bahumbus said dryly, “let’s go with that.”
With a grunt, he turned back to his workbench and picked up a small, delicate mechanical bird. It was no taller than three inches, its metallic wings folded neatly against its brass-and-copper body. The bird shifted slightly in his palm, tilting its head in a lifelike manner, its tiny eyes glinting with enchantment.
Bahumbus carefully placed it on the workbench and tapped it twice. The bird suddenly sprang to life, flitting up into the air and circling the room with precise, graceful movements.
“This,” Bahumbus declared, watching Qlaark's beak drop open in awe, “is the Aviary of Echoes.”
Qlaark watched as the bird perched on a shelf, tilting its head and fluffing its tiny metal feathers. “It’s... beautiful,” he whispered.
“Yeah, yeah.” Bahumbus chuckled, “But it’s more than a pretty face.” He tapped his temple. “This little guy is enchanted to listen and transcribe information that’s pertinent to you. Gossip, rumors, political nonsense—whatever's floating around. Then, when you ask it, it’ll repeat it back to you.”
The toucanfolks’ feathers ruffled in excitement. “I could use this for Ranvar’s work... I could know exactly what people are thinking before I start my sermons!” He clasped his hands together. “This is divine.”
“Close,” Bahumbus said, smirking. “It’s artificer craftsmanship, which is pretty much the same thing.”
Eugene grinned, watching Qlaark bounce on his feet with excitement. “You’re really spoiling him, huh?”
“Eh.” Bahumbus shrugged, “It’s fun watching people actually appreciate my work.” He shot Qlaark a warning glance. “But don’t let it go to your head, preacher. The bird has limits. You can’t listen to everyone in the city at once. Stick to a smaller radius, and it’ll pick up what matters most.”
He nodded eagerly in return, extending his arm. The bird fluttered over and landed gracefully on his wrist, chirping once in acknowledgment. “I shall name him... Quill.”
“Fine.” Bahumbus groaned, “Just don’t expect it to come when you call. It’s not a pet.”
Beaming with excitement, Qlaark admired his new mechanical companion. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"
"Glad you like it. I don't make junk, after all," Bahumbus said, crossing his arms. He leaned back casually, watching the toucanfolk revel in his new gear. "Alright, preacher boy. You're equipped. You happy?"
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With an enthusiastic nod, Qlaark responded, "Oh, I am beyond happy."
"Good," Bahumbus replied with a smirk. "Because now it’s his turn." He pointed at Eugene. "And outfitting this one’s gonna be a lot more complicated."
Feeling the weight of Bahumbus’ stare, Eugene straightened. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
A grin spread across the artificer’s face. "Oh, you’ll see. Let’s just say I’ve got options."
The sound of clapping hands echoed off the walls as Bahumbus signaled his intent. "Alright, boys. Let’s see what we can do for our reluctant warlock here."
Eugene swallowed hard, a growing sense of inevitability tightening in his chest. He could already feel the strangeness ahead.
----------------------------------------
Bahumbus cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together with a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “Alright, kid,” he said, eyeing Eugene up and down like a blacksmith sizing up raw ore. “You’re gonna be a bit more complicated than our feathered friend here.”
“Complicated how?” Eugene shifted uneasily.
Digging into a nearby crate, Bahumbus chuckled. “Well, let’s just say outfitting a warlock—especially one who doesn't even know if he wants to be one—is a bit more delicate than slapping some shiny bracelets on a preacher bird.” He pulled out a pair of scuffed leather boots and tossed them at Eugene. “Start with these.”
Eugene caught them with a grunt, examining them closely. They looked surprisingly mundane—worn brown leather, creased with age but sturdy and flexible. The soles, however, seemed untouched by wear.
“Uh, these don’t exactly scream ‘magic,’” Eugene said, turning one over in his hand.
Bahumbus smirked. “That’s the point, genius. You don’t want people noticing magic until you want them to. Who do you think you are, Krungus?” He leaned on the workbench, crossing his arms. “Put ‘em on.”
Eugene slid his feet into the boots, and the moment they settled in, he felt... lighter. His muscles tensed in a way that suggested he could sprint farther, jump higher, maybe even pull off a move or two that his normally clumsy body wouldn't dare attempt.
“They enhance agility,” Bahumbus explained, watching Eugene test his balance. “You’ll move quicker, react faster, and jump a bit higher than you should be able to. Nothing superhuman, but enough to make a difference in a fight—or a chase.”
Eugene took a cautious step, feeling an unfamiliar spring in his step. “Alright... I’ll admit, this is pretty cool.”
Qlaark, perched nearby, clicked his beak. “I’d give my left wing for a pair of those,” he muttered enviously.
Bahumbus snorted. “Too bad you’ve only got two.”
The artificer turned back to his workbench and yanked out a bundle of black fabric, shaking it out to reveal a long, flowing robe. The fabric was deep and matte, swallowing the dim light of the workshop rather than reflecting it. Intricate silver embroidery lined the hems, forming swirling patterns that seemed to shift when Eugene looked too closely.
“Here’s your next piece,” Bahumbus said, tossing it over to Eugene. “This one’s important.”
Eugene ran his hands over the fabric, surprised at how light it felt, yet there was a weight to it—an undeniable presence, like holding a security blanket for grown-ups. “What’s it do?”
“Same thing as Qlaark’s gear,” Bahumbus said, nodding to the toucanfolk. “Toughens you up, makes you harder to kill. And it’s got a nice little shielding enchantment woven into it. Someone’s gotta put in some serious effort to get through.” He leaned in, tapping Eugene’s chest with a stubby finger. “It won’t stop you from getting knocked around, but it’ll keep you standing longer.”
Eugene pulled the robe over his head, feeling the fabric settle around him like an embrace. “Feels... good.”
Bahumbus gave a satisfied nod. “That’s because it’s made with quality, kid. Not your cheap knockoff market junk.”
Once Eugene had his boots and robe settled, Bahumbus motioned for them to follow him deeper into the workshop. In the farthest corner, partially hidden behind stacks of scrap metal and half-assembled devices, stood a massive, gnarled tree trunk. The wood was dark and rich, its twisted knots and curling bark telling the story of centuries. It sat rooted into the stone floor, as if it had simply grown there rather than being placed.
“This,” Bahumbus said, gesturing grandly, “is where we make magic.”
Eugene squinted. “It’s... a tree?”
Bahumbus rolled his eyes. “It’s wood, boy. The best kind. Old, gnarled, and full of potential.” He pulled out a bundle of finely honed knives from a leather roll, laying them out carefully on the workbench. Each blade shimmered faintly with magical runes. “Now watch closely.”
With a flick of his fingers and a murmured incantation, the knives rose into the air, hovering in place before diving toward the trunk with precise, almost surgical, grace. They carved and sliced in coordinated movements, shavings curling away as the wood took shape.
Eugene and Qlaark watched in awe as the rough tree transformed, slowly but surely, into an elegant staff. The top curled into a delicate hook, an unmistakable place for something to hang.
Eugene swallowed. “That’s for the lantern, isn’t it?”
Bahumbus grinned. “You catch on fast.”
Minutes later, the knives settled back onto the table, and Bahumbus picked up the unfinished staff, running a hand down its smooth surface. “Now for the good stuff.”
He placed the staff on the workbench and began adding layers of enchantments. First, he etched inscriptions into the wood, each sigil glowing briefly before fading. Then, with a practiced hand, he embedded small gemstones—sapphire for protection, amethyst for endurance, and a single opal that shimmered with an inner fire.
Lastly, he took out a vial of thick, golden oil and massaged it into the wood, the scent of something ancient and herbal filling the air.
When he was done, the staff was a masterpiece—beautiful and powerful. “This,” Bahumbus said proudly, “is going to save your ass more times than you can count.”
He hooked the lantern onto the staff and murmured a final spell, the wood humming with energy. “Stick it in the ground, and boom—disappears. No one will find it unless you want it found. Same enchantment I use on this place.”
Running a hand over the smooth wood, Eugene felt the latent power within. “That... is really cool.”
“I sure hope you two know how expensive it would be to purchase items of this quality,” Bahumbus said with a grin. "And I hope you understand I’m doing this to help you stay alive, given your apparent upcoming role in all of this. I’ve never sold one of what I’m about to give you, but I’d wager it’s worth no less than a hundred thousand gold."
With that, he reached for a small, black velvet box. Opening it carefully, he revealed a tiny ruby—deep, dark, and cut with unnerving precision. Faint runes shimmered on its surface, whispering secrets only magic could understand.
Eugene's eyes widened. “And... what is it?”
“This is a Void Ruby,” Bahumbus said, his tone turning serious. “It’s an implant.”
Eugene’s stomach twisted. “Implant... like, inside me?”
Bahumbus nodded. “Goes in through your ear canal. Won’t hurt for long.” He held it up for Eugene to see. “It’s a knowledge interface. Lets you see everything—your inventory, spells, injuries, and even appraises items for gold value. Perfect for an offworlder.”
"Krungus has one, doesn’t he?" Eugene asked, swallowing hard.
“Yeah, inside his glasses,” Bahumbus confirmed. “Modified it beyond recognition, but yours will be clean, new. You’ll know things instantly. No more fumbling around.”
Eugene hesitated for a moment, then squared his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
Bahumbus grinned. “You won’t regret it. Oh, and one last thing.” He handed over an old sack.
The sight of it made Eugene’s eyes light up. A Bag of Holding. Without wasting a moment, he dumped all he was carrying inside.