After he’d changed into his gear, strapped on his other pistols, and threw on his red cloak, Barris made one last move to open his chest and select on a decently sized coin-purse. His chest had been specially designed to act his own portable safe, essentially, and all of the Dwarf’s most valuable possessions were within it. It was also where he stored the raw components for his gunpowder, tools, and any items or fetishes he held dear. 

Counting out a suitable stack of silver coins of a dozen different currencies, no need to stick out too much with gold, and a couple choice gems in a sapphire and emerald, he tied the small pouch off and stuffed it in his pocket. He grimaced at the chest afterwards, though not financially dire, it had been quite a while since Barris had actually added to his coffers. He hated whenever that happened, he liked seeing his piles of quantifiable fortune grow bigger, not shrink. His last job was supposed to do that, but instead he was now several months out with no material wealth of any kind coming in. He was lucky in that the Talon Company was paying his expenses, he’d regret having to pay for all of this himself.

Looking over his shoulder at the door in a paranoid habit, he shut the lid on his chest, locking it with a key he kept on his person, and resetting the position of the patterns on it to a random configuration. Even if one were to steal his key and chest, they wouldn’t open it in a hurry.

Barris then briskly walked out of his room, but not before remembering to grab his new badge on the way out. He stuffed it under his cloak, no need to show it off unless he felt it’d be useful, and no need to stick out like a stiff prick.

Giving a casual salute to Mira on the way out, the dwarf gunslinger threw on his hood and entered the muddy streets of Ardent’s Fall as his unlikely companions had done earlier, and headed off towards the Mercantile District.

Several blocks and a few winding paths took him right to the heart of it.


The markets weren’t as busy as they normally were, especially considering that the festival was just last night. Still, Barris could hear a cacophony of sounds ranging from hammer meeting steel to the loud shouts of various merchants peddling their wares. There was many a whisper to be heard for the perceptive ear. If Barris wasn’t mistaken he’d swear he’d heard one of the merchants proclaim to have one of Viceroy Cadby’s ears for sale. Lucky for him the guard patrol seemed to be stretched rather thin. 

Throughout the marketplace are smells both inviting and horrendous. The livestock paraded about the square via farmers looking to sell their produce wasn’t helping. There was a particular melancholy that hung over the morning air. There was a thin cloud of smoke that hugged that same air just above the marketplace. The smells of burning wood accompanying the fog. Most of the townspeople seem fearful, but most also seem determined to hide it. One woman in particular, with a paranoid look about her face, just seems to be sweeping a rug over and over again in front of her homely shop. 

Looming over the marketplace like its protector is the Temple of Cristo. The church itself is rather imposing given its more humble surroundings. The greyed bricks are stained with age, but carry with them an elegance one might expect of a noble estate. Banners hung about the various walls that made up the temple. The blue and gold banners were adorned with a sigil in the shape of a sun pierced by a spear. Barris would recognize this symbol as representation of Cristo. Officially, the religion of the dwarves of Viguard was that of the Stone Testament, but practically many dwarves were converted to The Faith of the Ten by human missionaries in the earlier years of the Owl Age. Outside of the church you see a priest, dressed in modest robes, having a rather animated conversation with a woman clad in silver armor. 

((Barris is too far away to make out any of their conversation. ))

Barris, spied the temple past the anxious stalls and shops, and who he assumed his mark was outside it, because how many other women in shining armour would there be at the same temple he was looking for? He’d have to make sure she was elf, he supposed.

But first thing’s first, while Barris kept his eye on the temple and who he likely suspected his mark to be, he idly walked around the various stalls, tapping his fingers against the pocket where his purse was, pretending to browse various wares or entrances to shops, but really the dwarf was looking for one of the other main stains of major cities, street urchins. He’d not been in Ardent’s Fall long, but if this city was like any other in the world, he was willing to bet that there were more than a few kids or individuals down on their luck and looking to make some quick cash, on charity or otherwise, and he was in the market looking for at least one of such individuals before getting to his formal business. What better place to look for urchins then beside religious temples, or in the most likely place in a city for people with cash to spend to be hanging around a market? Barris had the complete package here.

Looking again to the church, Barris can see a group of petty beggars assembled under a makeshift tent across the small road. They appear to be asking random passers-by for coin. There is an older man, along with a few children and a dog huddled underneath the tent. Their body language doesn’t imply any particular closeness, and the elder doesn’t seem to resemble the children in any remarkable fashion. 

Barris’ gestures instead caught the attention of a nearby vendor. “Hello, fine sir,may the [Stone] Mother bless you,” the merchant started. His curly black hair was tinged with grey as was his goatee. He had a pudgy face, but one that was clearly, at one point in his life, quite handsome. He had a small gut, but was mildly fit considering. His robes were foreign, and his accent was Dalic. “Might I interest you in my fine treasures? Many a great secrets lie hidden within my inventory, that’s the Mocenigo guarantee,” the merchant gestured to behind him. The stockpile of barrels and containers was masked by the shadows of the tent. 

Barris, coming to a stop as to not look too out of place, and because he enjoyed a little banter, chose to humour the Merchant Mocenigo for a moment, turning to formally face him and his stall after making sure his mark was still where he left her.

“You got half a minute, Master Moncengio, after all, you’ve got a whole bazaar of competitors all vying for my money and time. What do you have over all of them that would most interest me?”

The merchant’s grin grew wider with a puckish maliciousness. “I have honesty, and an assortment of weapons and armor that might actually keep you alive. You’ll forgive for my presumptuous nature, but I noticed your stride. I can tell that you’re a mine of the future. You needn’t waste your time on petty merchants that offer you bows and swords.”

“Crafted, by the infamous Mar Vladwell Branchstock of Gnomish fame, is a rather explosive weapon to suit your needs.” The merchant reaches into a small trunk, as if routine, and brandishes before Barris a rather intricately designed pistol. “Don’t let it’s pretty design deceive you. This dragoon firearm is enchanted with the hardiest of magics. Its silver bullets leave a pretty corpse, and halt the hordes of undead that plague the fogs of Vicelles.” The merchant gestured Barris closer. “I’ve heard the fogs have breached Riverrun, and threaten to bring with it the terrors of that wretched country, here,” Moncenigo warned with hushed whispers. He backed away returning to a rather delighted demeanor. 

“Branchstock drew the schematics for this beast of a weapon after falling in love with the beautiful Gabriella Driskell. You’d be quite the lucky man to possess such a firearm. I’m sure the gnome wouldn’t look too kindly on you, but this transaction will be our little secret.” 

Barris raised his eyebrows as the Merchant peddled his story, while it was certainly a good pitch and he found it uncanny how he’d have guessed to play to his distaste for the undead, Barris was still skeptical. He’d been out of the loop on the firearm manufacture for a while, much less on the news out of Vicelles, so for all he knew it could be bullshit . . . but there was a way he knew to prove if the firearm at least was genuine, his old master Chartwick had taught him so.

The dwarf extended his hand to Moncengio.

“If I may? A firearms enthusiast such as myself aught to least gauge the function as much appearance of this piece. I assure you, I won’t bring the guard on your head with actually firing it.”

“Of course, good sir. Just be mindful of fingerprints. My reputation for diligence keeps the coin steady.” The merchant carefully removed the firearm from its casing. The wood was slick, and gleamed  slightly in the morning sun, the silver plating served as the weapon’s decorative statement. “Silver is more precious to a Vicellian woman than a rose,” the merchant said as if marveling at his own product. 

In Barris’ hands the gun felt sleek, and while there was a heaviness to it it felt more lightweight than most contemporary models. 

The dwarf gunslinger tested his aim with the pistol, mimicking his usual movement for drawing and moving with it in his hand in slight motions, using the opportunity to turn and check on the temple entrance, after which he’d check the side of the gun for any kind of marks of identification. For Gnomes, like all proud craftsmen, loved to print their marks on their works of art. Whether singularly from Masters, or merely their Union marks, he knew enough to know that either a very clever forgery or the real deal would have one or the other upon it.

While there was no such branding on the weapon perhaps the more dire observation that Barris had made was that the woman was no longer standing at the Temple entrance. Instead, it was only the priest from before. Even from the distance Barris could read the discomfort on the priest’s face. One arm extended outward past the marketplace for a moment before the priest withdrew it in defeat. 

“Oh,” the merchant fumbled. “I assume you’re looking for the brand of authenticity,” the merchant sighed to himself, not it nervousness, but rather in defeat. “I..have an explanation for that.” No doubt the story he’d meant to tell was long. 

Barris sighed, he would have swore openly if he wasn’t trying to be a bit more subtle. He carefully placed the pistol back on the counter.

“Unfortunately I don’t have time for that at the moment. But hang on to that thought til later, I might stop back on my way when I actually have some. Hopefully it’ll be bereft of needless exaggeration too. Until later, perhaps, Master Moncengio.”

With that, the dwarf briskly walked away from the stall, not listening to anything else the merchant might say, straight for the Temple.