"I screwed up pretty bad, didn't I?" Dave slouched into the ornate armchair with an expression of abject defeat.
His Archmage companion regarded him with a mix of sympathy and amusement. "You managed to dishearten a young woman who, if the stars align correctly and the political machinations don't go awry, might one day rule the city of Shandria," Alaster said nonchalantly, "but all is not lost. Seek her out, offer a sincere apology and perhaps she will find it in her heart to forgive you."
"Yeah," Dave agreed. "I suppose I don't have a choice, since I haven't seen her or Murdoc in Rimzadria for days now."
"May the winds of fortune be at your back, young mage," the old man intoned sagely and the rich tapestries of the Archmage's opulent office disintegrated into the ethereal mist of a fading dream.
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The first rays of morning light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow upon the room. Dave's rose from his bed, the remnants of his conversation with the Archmage still fresh in his mind. He found Remicra in the kitchen, her lithe, sinuous form bent over the stove as she prepared breakfast. Her iridescent scales caught the light, scattering a myriad of colors around the room.
"What's the plan for today?" she inquired, her voice a melodic purr.
"I'm heading out," he replied.
Remicra cocked her head. "For?"
"To purchase some slaves," Dave sighed, looking resigned to the task ahead. "We're not going to be able to fulfill our Bakelite orders without additional help."
"Very well," the dragoness said.
Dave hesitated, then added, "And I need to see if I can find Cedez."
At the mention of the name, Remicra's eyes narrowed, and her dragon tail twitched involuntarily, betraying the roiling emotions that simmered beneath the surface of her breakfast-preoccupied demeanor.
"Why do we even need her?" Remicra demanded. Her nostrils flared. "We've been managing just fine without her meddling presence. She's not causing us any trouble, and I see no reason for us to go out of our way to seek her out."
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Dave shifted uneasily, rubbing his arm as if trying to erase the lingering guilt that clung to his skin. "I feel bad," he admitted. "I yelled at her without understanding what or more precisely who she really is, and that's not fair to her."
Remicra snorted. "What she is, is an irritant. A distraction," she insisted with disdain. "We don't need her meddling in our affairs. If she chooses to keep her distance because you've managed to ruffle her fur, then I say good riddance."
Dave crossed his arms, his jaw set in a stubborn line. He refused to back down, despite Remy's palpable disapproval.
"What?" Remicra challenged. "Don't tell me you've grown fond of a mere ward echo!"
"She's a person, not some inanimate object," Dave countered. "I've learned some things from Lord Rim that have made me see her in a different light."
"Oh? You're taking advice from an insane dungeon core that's been relentlessly pelting us with rocks?" The dragoness asked, her tail flicking angrily behind her as she struggled to comprehend Dave's sudden change of heart.
"Yes," Dave said.
He proceeded to recount his conversation with Alaster. As he spoke, he couldn't help but notice how his companion's expression shifted subtly, transitioning from disdain to grudging acceptance.
"I see," Remicra conceded. "I suppose there may be some merit in having the future sovereign of Shandria on our side, especially since our activities are not exactly within the confines of the law." She sighed. "Very well. Find her and offer your apologies. Try not to get arrested."
Dave nodded, a surge of gratitude filling his chest. He quickly finished his breakfast and bid Remicra farewell for the day. He then put an inconspicuous gray robe on and passed through the imposing front gate of Rimzadria Estate.
As he walked through the bustling streets of the town, Dave couldn't help but be swept up in the lively atmosphere. The cobblestone pathways wove through a tapestry of colorful storefronts, each one vying for the attention of passerby with vibrant displays of wares and the enticing aromas of freshly baked goods. The air was filled with the cacophony of laughter, conversation, and the clatter of beast hooves against stone.
After some meandering through the maze of streets, occasionally asking for directions, he eventually found himself at the entrance of the Bondsmen Guild - a looming, white, Roman-style building that seemed to cast a shadow over the surrounding area, both literally and metaphorically.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open as Dave pushed his way inside.
The interior of the Guild was a stark contrast to the lively world outside. The air was thick with an oppressive silence, disturbed only by the occasional shuffle of feet and the whispers of sales associates as they guided prospective buyers to private rooms. Dave felt a shiver run down his spine, the weight of the place settling upon him like a smothering blanket.
He had barely taken a few steps before he was approached by a sales associate, a bald, tall man with a showman's flair, a lush mustache and a smile that seemed to stretch just a bit too wide. The salesman looked like a mixture of a dark elf and a human and was wearing a black suit and a dark robe with gold trim. His eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of enthusiasm and greed as he clasped his hands together and asked, "Ah, welcome, welcome! I'm bondsman Zippermin. What type of slave are you looking to purchase today?"
As the question hung in the air, Dave steeled himself, preparing to delve into the dark world of people-acquisition.