After a hearty and somewhat moody breakfast in the company of Remicra, Dave headed to the Adventurers Guild, his thoughts a whirlwind of plans. The morning sun cast a warm glow upon the bustling streets, as the city slowly awakened from its slumber.

He spotted Cedez and Avanda standing beneath the gate of the old, white cathedral, the laughter and charm of the vixen already weaving merriment with a group of nearby adventurers. Silver-blue eyes of the dark foxgirl sparkled like diamonds upon a dark treasure hoard, as she effortlessly captivated her audience.

"Ah, the man of the hour," Cedez turned to Dave and grinned.

She disconnected from the group and, with a sly wink, grabbed him by his elbow, ferrying him into the cathedral. Avanda tipped her wide-rimmed white and gold hat, greeting him as well.

Cedez led Dave and Avanda to one of the many colorful tents that dotted the cavernous interior.

"Lestrade, this is the armor-making adventurer I mentioned earlier!" Cedez declared enthusiastically. "Dave, this is Lestrade Vim. She sells dresses."

Dave greeted the dress proprietor with a polite nod, his eyes still taking in the mesmerizing array of magical garments that surrounded him beneath the ever-glow of magic lanterns that hovered above his head.

"I'll rent you this small table in my tent for a silver for the day," Lestrade offered. "You'll need to calculate the total of your sales when the market closes this evening and deposit 10% as tax to the desk of the Guild Secretary," she explained with the practiced ease of a seasoned merchant.

Dave took a moment to observe Lestrade. She was a statuesque, pale, approximately forty-year old woman with cascading locks of raven hair, which framed her visage. Lestrade's attire was as elegant as the dresses she sold, a deep indigo gown that hugged her curves.

He could not help but feel a bit jealous of the poise and confidence with which Lestrade navigated her tent. Dave accepted her terms and paid the silver, eager to begin his journey as a merchant.

"I'll handle the sales," Cedez grinned mischievously. "You stay handsome, stand in front of the table and model the merchandise!"

Dave nodded, a warm flush spreading across his cheeks. He wasn't used to being complimented so unabashedly.

The Guild market was soon in full swing, tents filling up with vendors.

Avanda began to circle Dave like a shark, making comments about his armor. Gold-white locks cascaded around her shoulders like sunrays, framing her face. Cedez chatted to the barrier witch, enthusiasm unflagging. She helped Dave measure Avanda for her future armor set with a roll of measuring tape that Dave brought from the smithy.

As Dave posed in the Bakelite armor, Avanda set to work. She slowly carved barrier hexagrams into the plastic surface with a runic tool that dripped some kind of crystal ink into the plastic, her deft fingers tracing intricate patterns with practiced ease to infuse them with her primary skill.

After about thirty minutes of her labor, the obsidian bracelet on Dave's wrist flashed with a new notification.

[Unassigned barrier runes detected on user’s armor. Connect to personal mana reserves? Y/N.]

Dave confirmed the connection. The runes within his armor suddenly sparked.

With a sly smile, the barrier witch expertly struck Dave's chest with a long knife. The air right above the plastic material shimmered, and a shield woven from gold threads flashed into existence, not letting the knife reach the armor. The barrier was a tapestry of arcane energy, its ethereal threads glowing with a fierce, protective power. In a moment it faded away into gold wisps.

Dave felt a bit woozy from the sudden rush of energy that coursed through and out of him, but his eyes widened in awe at the barrier's effectiveness.

"There you go," Avanda smiled. "One set done. Ninety-nine to go."

"How does it work exactly?" Dave inquired.

"The stronger a user is magically, the better the barrier is," Avanda explained. "From what I can tell, you're quite low level, so you can block one or two weak physical strikes before it fails you."

"Can it block... magic?" He asked.

"Only if the wearer is a high-level mage," Avanda shook her white-gold locks. "And has a good understanding of what kind of magic is being weaponized against them."

"Thanks," Dave smiled at Avanda, as he contemplated the newfound mystical power that now lay dormant within his armor.

"What do you think is a good price to sell the armor at?" He turned to the foxkin, seeking Cedez's expertise in the matter of the price of local goods. He had already looked at the prices of armor over the past two weeks, but there was nothing that was as lightweight and sturdy as bamboo-reinforced plastic.

"Hrmmm," the dark vixen mused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully as she leaned over the small, round table. "Ten silvers for the standard version, I'd say. Fifteen for the barrier-reinforced one."

"Sounds good," Dave agreed as Sherlock played a tune of affirmation in his soul.

As the day progressed, Dave stood by the entrance of their side of the tent, clad in Bakelite. The unique, plastic surface painted like bushes drew in curious stares.

The foxkin's charm and enthusiasm seemed to cast a spell on the clientele, who stopped by the tent. She wove tales of great future battles and daring feats that the armor could endure, effortlessly drawing them in with her infectious energy and wit. With the power of her resplendent storytelling, the Bakelite armor was marketed as a must-have item for any adventurer seeking to brave the deadly wilds and dungeons surrounding Shandria.

As Dave watched Cedez work, he couldn't help but be impressed by her skill in making even the most mundane transactions feel like thrilling exchanges. It was as though she had imbued the very air of the tent with a sense of wonder, leaving the adventurers who stopped by with lighter pockets and eager anticipation for the rare treasure they had just invested in.

The day went on, as Cedez expertly sold the barrier-rune reinforced Bakelite armor and wrote out sale bills with a flourish using magic-binding contracts, a pack of which she purchased from Lestrade.

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Dave’s bag of silver coins grew fuller as Cedez took downpayments for the armor.

When the big clock in the center of the cathedral struck twelve, its sonorous chimes reverberating through the hallowed space, Dave and Cedez took a well-deserved break from their bustling enterprise. They made their way to the pub tent in the middle of the church.

As Dave chewed on his Wyvern sandwich, the tender meat tinged with exotic spices, he found himself staring at the dark-haired foxgirl. He couldn't help but be grateful for her presence, feeling somewhat distressed by the huge crowd of people and creatures that had pawed the armor on his body all day long.

"Say, what does the law of Shandria say about finding something very valuable in the wilds?" Dave probed.

Cedez considered his question for a moment before replying. "If an adventurer finds something in the wilderness, be it armor on a dead man, a pile of gold, a magic sword, or an overturned cart of a merchant filled with corpses, it's theirs to keep," she explained. "So, if you were to find something interesting during your adventuring, it would rightfully be yours. Everything beyond Shandria proper is up for grabs."

“I see,” Dave mulled. “Doesn’t that encourage banditry?”

“It sure does,” the vixen agreed. “Going alone far outside of town is dangerous business. If you don’t run into monsters you will inevitably run into bandits willing to deprive you of your loot. Caravans going between towns of her Shadow-grace hire adventurer guards to protect their wares. If a bandit is captured alive by the caravan security, they’re collared and sold in the next town with the assistance of the Bondsmen's Guild. You’re quite clever to paint your armor like bushes, being hard to spot from afar is a big plus.”

"Thanks," Dave said. "Could you help me with another job later?"

“What kind of job?" she inquired, her large, dark, fox ears twitching with interest.

"Well," Dave said. "I need to convince a local mermaid to help me fish something out of a mountain lake."

Cedez's eyes widened with intrigue, and she leaned forward. "What exactly are we fishing for?" she asked.

Dave hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal to her.

He found himself completely disarmed as he stared into the big, silver-blue eyes of Cedez, his resolve slipping away into the unreachable distance. The rational part of his mind momentarily wondered if some kind of charisma magic was at work or if the enigmatic foxgirl simply captured his trust with the way she handled the sale of Bakelite armor, constantly showering him in compliments and witty jabs.

"Well… I found a bit of old-ass scrap metal in a mountain lake," Dave explained, his voice a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. "Bakelite is nice and all, but it's useless for making heavy arrowheads."

"Oh? You're going to be expanding your operation to make weapons?" Cedez leaned forward, a pyramidal blue pin glinting at the front of her leather collar, her eyes alight with interest. “You do know that it might be easier to buy scrap metal in a marketplace, right?”

"Sure," Dave shrugged, his words betraying a hint of uncertainty. "But I'm wagering on the slim possibility that this lake has more undiscovered secrets. I doubt anyone has conducted a thorough investigation of it, given the presence of countless, voracious metal insects, eager to strip one's flesh in mere moments. This collaboration with a mermaid is simply a trial, a preliminary step in a far grander scheme."

"A scheme...?" Cedez inquired, her eyebrow arching inquisitively.

"Your skill lies in communication, and your connections run deep within Shandria," Dave elucidated. "From my understanding, each individual on Arxtruria possesses unique abilities or innate talents. Consider Avanda, for example - she's a prodigious Barrier mage. If I can compile a comprehensive database of useful talents, I can layer various skills to address problems in unconventional ways, ultimately yielding innovations that will surpass my barrier-rune reinforced Bakelite."

A mischievous grin spread across Cedez's face, her sharp teeth gleaming with the promise of a cunning plan. "I'll procure you a mermaid. In exchange, secure me a bath pass for a week."

"Deal," he exhaled, a palpable sense of relief washing over him. Life was undeniably more manageable with Cedez at his side, deftly navigating conversations and bridging the gaps between him and the various skilled denizens of Shandria.

“You know, you could have simply placed a request in the Adventurers Guild for a mermaid,” she said idly.

“How many adventurer mermaids are there?” Dave asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Cedez pondered. “Shandria isn’t close to a big enough body of water to have underwater dungeons. All of them work at the baths.”

“Exactly,” Dave affirmed. “I don’t want to wait until someone who is both an adventurer and a mermaid looks at the job board. It’s much easier to go directly to a talented individual and ask them if they could help me for a bit of coin.”

“True that,” the foxgirl mulled.

"That brings me to another line of inquiry," Dave mused. "What exactly are dungeons?"

"Dungeons," Cedez began, her voice taking on the tone of a seasoned scholar, "are semi-self-aware magogenic zones. When a particularly powerful archmage succumbs to the march of mortality in the wilds, their passing can leave an imprint upon the world. This imprint takes the form of a magical manifestation of their innate skill, a potent force that refuses to dissipate. When left unattended, the deceased mage's corporeal remains undergo a transformation, crystallizing into a dungeon core. Over time, this core begins to exert its influence on the surrounding environment, reshaping it according to its arcane whims."

Dave's eyebrows went up. "And just how aware are dungeons?"

Cedez waved her dark paw with a nonchalant air. "Dungeons possess a certain level of awareness, I suppose. If situated underground, a dungeon can use its inherent magic to manipulate natural caverns, molding them into rough approximations of rooms or chambers, complete with chests or furniture - echoes of the dearest memories once held by the mage. If any creature perishes in the cavern, the dungeon's magic will likewise take over the crystalline core of the beast and reshape it, refashioning it with its own alignment."

“So,” the ex-programmer pondered the freaky metal fish he saw in the lake. “Say a wood mage died in a cavern… would nearby bats become more wood-like?”

“Pretty much,” Cedez nodded. “Dungeons are manifestations of someone’s skill that refuses to die, they all have ridiculous themes and actively try to kill you with 'em. If you destroy the dungeon core, the affected beasts will remain for a while, but no new rooms will form.”

With the look of one grappling with the preposterous, Dave asked. "Surely, a dungeon like that can't transmute living beings into wood, right?"

Cedez shook her head reassuringly as she elucidated the arcane principles at play. "Fear not, Sir Dave! The mana that courses within your body, attuned as it is to your own unique essence, provides a stalwart shield against such transmutation. A dungeon's magic, potent though it may be, is held in check by the living spirit that animates every person and creature. Only in the moment of their demise, when this vital spark is extinguished, can the dungeon's magic alter one's corporeal form."

"Why does a dungeon kill people?" Dave inquired.

Cedez, regarded him with a glance before she shrugged, countering his question with one of her own. "Why do wild beasts kill people?"

"They want food?" Dave pondered aloud.

"Yes," Cedez affirmed, taking a leisurely bite of her sandwich, as if to emphasize the point. "Dungeons, like living creatures, require sustenance to survive. They feed on mana, the life force that flows within every living being. When someone perishes within a dungeon, their mana is absorbed, and their corpse is transformed into an extension of the dungeon, a sentinel tasked with protecting the core."

"I see," the ex-programmer murmured. "I noticed a quest on the job board earlier, concerning an old manor infested with poltergeists. Is a dungeon core perhaps similar to a ghost, a lingering memory trapped within crystallized mana? Is it possible to reason with it? Has anyone ever attempted to establish a dialogue with a dungeon, or perhaps even collaborate with it?"

Cedez's eyes sparkled as she considered Dave's questions.

"Alas," the foxgirl spread her arms in a gesture of resignation. "As far as I'm aware, there is no local mage with a skill that would grant them the ability to converse with a dungeon. Dungeons are far more inclined to pierce one's heart with something pointy and sharp first and inquire after the particulars later. Presumably. Dungeon cores lack mouths, after all, and their actions are, at best, a mystery. They possess just enough fragments of human memories to fashion cunning spike traps, yet they fall woefully short of creating a monster capable of engaging in civilized discourse."

"I wager you'd make for quite the chatty dungeon," Dave quipped.

Cedez's laughter cascaded forth like a waterfall of shimmering chimes in response.