Upon entering, the stillness of urgency filled the air. The hall was adorned with emblems, shining gear sets, and ornate carpets of exotic pelts. It smelled of class, the luxury that only bags of gold could afford. But here, of all places?

In a ghetto on the world's edge, a palace resided with this eclectic taste. I understood that even in the grimiest of holes, money is accumulated by a certain few. But as I walked down the hall and noted the armor sets and lances that hung from the rafters in the warrior's display, I began running the market calculations. Yeah, sure, I'd been gone for 6 years. But even six years ago, these sets were vintage and highly sought after by collectors and cosmetic fashionistas.

These sets didn't drop anymore; they were removed from the drop table long ago. And with scarcity comes a price that only the top earners could afford, let alone to this degree. The whole place rivaled the Museum of Antiquity itself.

I continued my slow walk down the hall like a child in a church, my reverence of a holy nature. Then, something out of my peripheral caught my eye. Doubling back, turning my head like a swivel, I saw it.

Stopping inches away from a set that made my heart jump.

Lamour's Treasure Set.

The boots, with their tassels and spooks, mimicked the style of Western boots. The helmet was a metallic cowboy hat with the curves and edges of a bonafide westerner. The golden sheriff's badge was the piece of resistance that lay smack in the middle of the glorious gear set.

Everything I had ever wanted...

My mouth watered, and my eyes followed suit.

It's beautiful….I whispered, now only inches away from what was once my grail gear set.

The damn thing would have bankrupted my guild if purchased, I laughed, and even then, they still wanted me to place a bid on it when it had randomly appeared on the auction house.

That shows how much you guys loved me. They were willing to sick the ship to give their captain his dream set. What fools. God, do I miss you guys.

Words broke my little monologue.

Please refrain from touching the set. That face you are currently making tells me you know how much it is worth.

Turning, I was met by a man of the gentry variant, with his slick back hair, polished features, and dignified air about him.

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Finger, sir.

Looking down, I noticed that finger still hung in the air like a child who annoyed their sisters by not touching them.

Bringing my hand down, I was reading a question when the man interjected and turned away from me, both within the same breath.

This way, sir. We weren't expecting another, but you've made it this far, which means you are meant to attend.

Turning, he revealed a pressed uniform that fit around his strong but small frame. The man gave off a natural confidence, like a man set on the path he walks, even if that means he's a servant to those in charge. But, then again, aren't we all servants to someone or something? No matter the station, something always lies above. At least this man knows where he stands and walks firmly towards it.

Shaking off my thoughts, I followed the nicely dressed man down the hall, which grew in exorbitance with each passing step. Gear sets long locked adorned the aisles, weapons that hummed with power rested on adorned boards, beasts of the mythic Calibur were stuffed and displayed for all to see.

Turning into a room, the man opened the door and ushered me in. Without hesitation, as if I grew to trust the man just from aura alone, I walked into what could have easily been a trap.

Upon entering, I was hit by two things. First, the glares sent me spiraling to find an empty sheet, which I found quickly. Second, a shift in atmosphere and tension filled the room.

From here on out, many people in equally fancy attire would take the floor. Orators sounded natural, but they fit the underground crown with golden smiles and pompous bellies. Talks of the streets, the unfit working conditions, the damnation of the port, and their prejudiced ways domineered the dialogue.

These men brought up excellent points.

"Insufferable masses take and never think of giving. Of the underbelly that rots while the surface thrives."

Phrases with didactic pressures filled the room, which made you feel but never move. They pontificated but have yet to give concrete resolutions.

What exactly would they do?

How exactly would they get this done?

This was mankind's most significant problem. The problem was that men like these would devote their lives to a single theory. They would latch on to a general school of thought and spend their following years building upon it, first one story, then expanding until they reached the levels of these men. High in the air, their buildings of thought would scrape the sky. Great men with great thoughts, you would think.

But then comes the wretch who throws it all out of whack. What if the original theory was wrong? What if it was flawed? Even the most minor crack in the foundation could send their towering buildings toppling.

So, they surround themselves with like-minded builders. Ones who wouldn't nitpick the flaws of another structure because doing so would be damning your own, and they would want nothing to do with that.

A part of me wanted to speak up, but talking was never my strong point. Being the orator never suited me, so I let them continue their dribble.

And they did; men who loved the sound of their voices and the validity of their arguments galvanized one another like an attractive woman does a man.

Minutes turned to hours as the men continued to drool.

Above me, a timer has appeared.

Wait for her to join the talk.

Ticking down, I still have thirty minutes to go.

As much as I wanted to not meddle in things, I was growing a headache from all the yapping.

With a jolt, I said.

Enough talking in circles, boys; where's she at? I came to hear her, not a bunch of hard bodies with nothing worth wasting an afternoon over.

Silence spread, and my head began to ease at its addition. It felt good, like an old friend home from the battlefield. In all the ruckus, I had forgotten how lovely the cold quiet was.

The men didn't speak, as if the pronoun caught their tongue.

My timer above my head rapidly depleted.

[Expedited]

Bonus unlocked.

Check your Inbox for hidden quest rewards.

Sweet, next time I'm near a mailbox, I'll check that out.

The doors practically came off their hinges as a gust of wind invaded the room. Behind the wind came a woman just as powerful, looking just as dangerous and capricious as Mother Nature herself. Her hair was jet black, her face was porcelain perfection, and the lines on her face marked wisdom, not age. She was beautiful in a way that a mother nun was sexy—in the way that no one admits out loud but feels in their loins.

Growing hot myself, I couldn't help but stare.

A storm had just entered the room, and we were given no time to seek shelter.