You approach the jewelry stand, Iolanthe, and take in the wares presented before looking up at the teller. Bracelets and necklaces hang on smooth, wooden hooks to the right of the stall, and rings sit in neat piles on similarly made mannequin fingers below the display. On the left is an array of gemstones, topaz and rubies and amethysts that gleam as if they were shined a mere second before you walked up. Finally, your eyes raise up to the man behind the stall, and you find a short fellow with a wide, glittering grin. One of his canines has been replaced with a golden tooth.
“Hello, hello! Welcome to Gazza’s Glittering Gems. I take it a pretty lady like yourself is in the market for something sparkly.” He leans forward, bushy brows raising and falling as if he couldn't contain his excitement.
Upon closer inspection, you notice that he is actually stood on a box behind the counter. Gazza appears to be a halfling.“Maybe,” Iolanthe said noncommittally with an air of boredom, eyeing the jewellery already on display. “‘Sparkly’ doesn’t often come across well under the light.” She did, however, restrain herself from following it up with, ‘Sometimes it looks cheap.’ It probably wouldn’t do her any favours with the halfling.
While most she inspected were not worthy of a second glance, two necklaces caught her eye. One had a beautiful opalescent stone, but was unfortunately elven in design, and if she wanted that she would have stayed in Emalsari. The other was dark purple, and Io could imagine herself wearing an outfit of all-black, with kohl smudged around her eyes. “How much would this one be?”
“Ah, this piece was lovingly made by my spouse. It’ll rub you about… One hundred and twenty five gold?” He leans forward and smiles, “But for you, perhaps one hundred and ten gold would suffice. It would look absolutely gorgeous with your eyes, my dear.” Gazza holds the gem up, comparing it to the green of your eyes, and he nods agreeably.
“Yes yes! Such a lovely contrast! Now, my darling elf, are you interested in buying this piece?”
Iolanthe smiled placidly, and fiddled with her earrings as if giving it some thought. “Oh, wow, I wasn’t expecting to be purchasing anything of great expense today.
That I’m definitely going to have to think about.” She let out a contemplative ‘hmm’. One hundred and ten, then, would be the baseline for a haggle, and while Io was tempted to see just how low she could get him to drop, it was unlikely that she would end up buying the necklace either way.
It did look so very worth the full price.
Just a shame she was unfortunately lacking in coin.
“Tell you what––this is something I need to sleep on. ‘Will it fit in with the rest of my wardrobe?’ is no easy question to answer. I’ll be back to have another look tomorrow and I’ll decide then and there,” she said, with no intentions of returning the following day.
Maybe the second-hand books wouldn’t be so expensive.
Gazza nods and waves you off with a jolly, “See you then!” And you move on to the stall containing piles and piles of musty books. There is a human woman sitting in the back of the stall, staring down at a strange stone tablet in her lap. She is rather young looking, probably around the age of sixteen or seventeen, and her thick hair is tied up on top of her head in a curly bun. Her chiton is a light blue color and falls past her ankles, and a pair of small spectacles sit on the bridge of her nose, sliding down every other minute as she continues reading lower on to the tablet. She does not seem to notice you, Io.
“Hello,” Io said after a few moments, nails tapping against the surface. “Sorry to interrupt, but you wouldn’t happen to have anything that might be of interest to a student at the Spire, would you? Grimoires or spellbooks or something along those lines?” She idly inspected the grimy looking tomes in the piles, probably pawed at by all sorts over the years. “Asking for a friend.”
The girl turns to you, her eyes scanning your face as if trying to parse if she has seen you before. At the mention of the Spire, though, her stoic face lights up and she quickly stands and leans forward on the stand’s counter.
“A student of the Spire you say? Well, I have plenty of books here that might interest your friend.” She smiles wide and turns towards a particularly old pile, very carefully peeling off the top most layer of tomes until she is able to find a thick book with a faded green cover. She passes it to you.
“This is an old journal left behind at my father’s library. It is full of arcane research notes. It is of no use to me, as I can’t read it, but perhaps you can find a use for it.” She smiles, “It’ll run you about five gold— oh, and I also have…” The girl turns and clambers over a few piles, reaching out for a newer looking book situated at the very back corner of the stand. She manages to grab it without much issue, but on the way back accidentally knocks over a particularly unsteady tower. Books scatter across her feet, and she curses vividly as she attempts to step over them and return to the front.
“And this is ‘The Threads of Life’ by Professor Veleda Methusael— a book on the different resurrections and dark magics that bring beings back from the dead. This one is about ten gold.”
The name “Methusael” rings a bell, and after a moment of reflection, Io,
you realize this is a book written by one of the more popular Necromancy professors at the Spire. She is known for being extremely sweet, and she teaches Necromancy in a very nuanced way.
Io inspected the book of necromancy with some trepidation. She neither took it as a class nor had any inclination to, if only because it had ‘'connotations’. She supposed if she wanted a copy, she could ask around at the Spire.
“Is your father a wizard, or..?” The other book seemed promising, if a little ‘'theoretical’ for her tastes. “Mind if I have a leaf through that?”
“Oh no, he just collects books and artifacts and such. He finds them interesting.” The girl slides the notebook forward, “Feel free, though I hope you can read Celestial.”
When you open the book you are greeted with tea stained pages littered with gorgeous, unreadable text. The ink on the paper is golden and seems to have a faint glow, as if infused with magic. The tome is filled cover to cover with strange alchemical symbols, magic circles, and wild equations. You cannot read it, Io, but there is a slight tug on your mind as you scan the text.
You are not able to parse out what this feeling is, however.“We’ve had that book for awhile. My dad always wanted to keep it around but… Between you and me, I feel like I’m being watched when I try to read it.” She glances off to one side, then the other. There is a tenseness to her that you do not understand, Io. “It’s certainly something impressive. Would you like to take it?”
“Hm. I’ve heard of cursed books before, some that make it feel like you’re being watched. Very dangerous,”
Io offered, without knowing if it was true or not. “Not sure I’d be willing to take the risk for five gold.”
The girl purses her lips and stares down at the book wearily. Fear settles behind her eyes, disguised only by her quick reaction to replace it with a shaky smile.
“Ah, well, if that's the case… Why don’t I pass it on for two gold?” She bows her head politely and straightens her back and she raises up to her full height. She has a good few inches on you, Io. “It really isn’t something I want my dad keeping around the house, you know? And— since you’re from the Spire, maybe you can get rid of it’s curse!”
Iolanthe rubbed her chin contemplatively and hid a pleased smile behind her hand. “Yes,” she said in a serious tone, “I would be willing to take it off your hands for that. The teachers at the Spire might have a better idea of what to do with it, how to make it safe.” She reached into her belt pouch to retrieve the required coins and slid them over to the stall owner. “It’s a shame about the strangeness, isn’t it? The designs inside it are lovely.”
“Father says they’re summoning circles.” The girl takes the coin and reaches up behind the top-most part of the front of the stall, stowing it away in something out of sight. “Whatever beauty you see there can in reality be a deadly portal— oh, what am I saying! Good luck with that book, Miss Elf.” And with another polite bow the girl sits and falls back into contemplating over the stone tablet she had been holding before.
For the next six hours you peruse the marketplace and town square of Alanla, finding various deals in its many shops and hearing countless rumors involving family names and the occasional frantic retelling of a disappearing or dying neighbor.
In the magic shop you find a sale on minor health potions, “Two for the price of one! A once in a lifetime deal!”
In one of the clothing stores there is a clearance section, though many of the outfits are used or torn or missing baubles. Illian silk still feels lovely on your skin, however, and the starting price of two copper per piece is rather attractive.
There, Io found a smooth shawl that was in a similar style to those worn by some of the women outside, fine and extravagant even by her tastes. There was just one problem with the deal she found, a slight mismatch in the pattern and a misshapen clasp that diminished its value, but nothing a little magic couldn’t fix.
Still,
after a good twenty-five minutes of haggling with the shopkeep, she managed to walk out of the shop with it for half the price. In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing Zev hadn’t tagged along on her shopping trip––not that she felt silly arguing for a discount on an already small amount. As she pulled it around her shoulders in the late afternoon heat, she brushed her fingers over the faults, hiding them with a
quick sorcerer’s trick.
Finally, you end your day in the metal-working shop. Illian made weapons are much more broad than the usual Emalsari rapiers and bows, but they look sturdy and clean and all seem to bare a Lion crest. Some time traveling with Zev through Illio gives you the knowledge that the Lion is the symbol of the nation. While you wander around the shop, which seems surprisingly bare of any workers, you eventually find yourself out back in the open air square, though you are surrounded by the heat of a furnace and the clanging of metal on metal. A blacksmith tiefling and his human apprentice or assistant (you cannot tell the difference) are working on what appears to be an elegant longsword in the back corner of the small workshop area. Some children watch from behind a wooden fence that surrounded the entire open-air section, eyes bulging with intense curiosity as the white-hot metal melds into the shape of a blade.
When you take another step forward, the human looks up at you and gives a weary smile. He looks to be in his early twenties, and his dark, coarse hair is cropped close to his head. His skin is dark brown and covered in soot and scorch marks, and when he meets your gaze he was impressively gentle eyes. He moves to approach you as the tiefling grabs the sword and slides it into the quench tank.
“Sorry, ma’am. We’ll be closing up soon and don’t have any more classes set for today. We can’t have you wanderin’ around back here.”
“My apologies––I just thought I’d sneak a peek. I love a good sword,” Iolanthe said, tucking her red hair behind her ear. The warmth of the shop clung to her skin and she tugged at the fringes of her new shawl. Almost too quickly, she continued, with a nod towards their current work-in-progress, “Is that for a commission?”
“Oh, ah, yes.” You can’t tell if he’s blushing, but his eyes caught on the sliver of shoulder still visible despite the shawl, “It is for the lord of the Kyrkos house. We are quite proud to be in charge of the creation of a blade for such a powerful family.” He smiles proudly and then shyly produces his large, calloused hand. “I am Belen, by the way. I haven’t seen you around before– are you from out of town?”
“Iolanthe Alastrarra––Io for short. A pleasure.” She shook the offered hand, and made sure to laugh in a ladylike manner. “And is it that obvious? Yes, just visiting; I’m on leave from the Spire.”
“The Spire! Well, it’s an honor to be visited by someone so well educated?” Belen struggles through the compliment and now you can see a faint ruddy hue on his cheeks and ears. His face breaks into a cheesy smile, “Well, I’m, uh, I’m about to be off work soon, so maybe I can—“
Belen is cut off by a loud gasp as the children who had been watching him work before have now turned to stare up at a tall half-elf man. You notice that he shares the complexion that many Emalsari elves do (tan, shiny, fine-boned), and he is moving with the grace of a performer as he chants off the lines to an epic story.
“Hello again, my friends! Would you like to hear a story?” The children chitter and cheer, some of them pulling on his hair and hands as he bends down to their level and urge him to continue.
“Alright, alright! Well! I have just the
perfect tale for you all tonight.” He draws a long breath and concentrates. “It begins... with a kiss. No, no ordinary kiss; no small peck, no dismissive, half-hearted, fleeting thing.” The young girls swoon, the boys gag, a few adults nearby roll their eyes at the hopeless romantic announcing his presence to the town. “But a kiss... upon the hand.” With a flourish, the man bats his eyelashes and lifts an arm over his head, causing the silky fabric of his shirt to bob and flow. He laughs, loud and confident mixed within the shrill squeaking of the children, and starts his tale.
Io, you are most drawn to his eyes– one blue, one gold. They are rather stunning, and certainly peculiar. They scan the faces of the children as this man prances his way through his fairytale. Next to you Belen chuckles and mutters, “Looks like he’s back in town…” And when you return your gaze to him you also
notice the hulking shape of Zev entering the marketplace just as the surrounding lanterns are lit around the fountain.
Belen coughs and straightens his back, catching your attention again. “So, would you like me to show you around or…?”
“I would like that,” Io said, but the corners of her lips turned down into an apologetic frown. “It’s just, I made some plans with a friend for tonight––but tomorrow, if it’s alright, and you’re not too busy––” she glanced in the direction of the other blacksmith, still toiling away, but when she looked back it was with a small grin, “I’ll see if I can drop by?”
“Yes! Sure, sure—“
“Belen!”
Belen turns just in time to catch a dirty rage, saving him from a face full of soot and sweat. The tiefling blacksmith lifts a half-finished sheath over her shoulder and snorts, “Quit flirting and run this off to Adonis for fixing before he closes for the night. You, elf girl, quit distracting my boy.” Despite the demands, there seems to be a lack of heat behind her words, and she even offers you a sly wink,
“Come back tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be having a showing then.” And she vanishes behind a curtain which you can assume leads back to the main showroom. Belen bows his head politely, face red and shoulders tense, and with a final shy smile he rushes over to grab the sheath and vanishes behind the curtain as well.
Io, you are left alone in the warm work area. Zev is wandering aimless through the square, the storyteller is finishing up his loud tale, and dusk has claimed Illio’s hot sun, replacing it with a comfortable late-summer chill.
