The heat of the summer sun beat down on the open air market. I pull my wide brimmed straw hat lower to block out more of the sun’s light from my eyes, and to provide a bit of extra shade as I push my way through the crowd towards the largest building in the town center. As I pass beneath the blue awning that covered the entrance I push up the brim of my hat and swing open the heavy, iron-wrought wooden doors. The chatter of the market fades as the door shuts behind me, and I am left in silence in a dark room. 

“Welcome!” A friendly, reverberating baritone greets me from beyond the darkness. “May I see your tag?” 

From the darkness strides out a man with long, dark hair tied up in a ponytail that reached beyond the nape of his thick neck. He wore a deep purple silk shirt with a v-cut that showed off his well-defined collar bone. A beard, equally as dark, hugged his pointed, angular face. He seemed about the same age as my father, judging by the creases at the corners of his eyes — though with fewer streaks of white in his hair. Bright blue eyes stared at me from the middle of his pale; almost luminescent, skin. The faint hint of lavender lingered in the air near him. 

“Oh.” I feel my cheeks burn, “Y-yeah, of course.” I fish around in my pockets for a moment until my fingers brush against the triangular wooden tag and I pull it out and hand it to him. “Here you are.” 

He takes it and looks it over for a moment. 

“Kara Kessington, eh?” He hands my tag back to me. I take it and shove it back into my pocket, “Are you related to the Kessingtons that own that place on the pier?” He asks. 

“I am.” I smile. “They’re my parents. Have you eaten there before? I don’t think I’ve seen you there.” 

“No, I haven’t.” He answers with a wolfish smile, “Unfortunately my work leaves me little time to myself. My help has brought me some things from them before. I especially like their steaks. Anyways, please come in. Have a look around, if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” 

He flashes that nearly vulpine smile again as he pivots on the heel of his well polished boots and takes long, measured strides through the darkness. As he stepped down the halls a cyan light illuminates the room, emitting from blue crystals locked in a cage of iron netting bolted to the wooden rafters that ran parallel to one another along the length of the room. Shelves, filled with all manners of things, sat on the well polished marble floor that glowed a faint blue as it caught the cyan light. 

The man walked up to a counter halfway across the room; blocked off by a waist high wall, and a swinging door that swung closed as he walked through it. The room continued on behind it where it ended at a white wall, with three doorways. I can hear the sound of many people working back there. To the left, on the eastern side of the building is cordoned off staircase that lead down into a dark pit. A sign hangs off the rope barrier that blocks the way that reads, “Stone rank or higher required for entry.” 

I wander through the aisles, my mind locking as I contemplate the amount of choices I have. I only have a silver and a half in my pocket; as that was all of the pay I had gotten out of my last three jobs. Nothing I needed was on the shelves, it seems. Although my mind could barely register what was on the shelves. There were bags, and rope and lanterns and metal wires for snares, but nothing that I needed. 

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” The man’s voice breaks me out of my trance. 

“Ah, yeah.” I say, “Where are your uh...” it takes a moment for my mind to unlock, “Your uh, bowstrings and fletching materials and things like that?” 

“Oh, that’s over there.” He motions to a row of shelves on the opposite side of the store, “That’s where we have all of our weapons and materials for weapon maintenance. If you want something made, speak to me and I’ll give you a quote.” 

“Alright, thank you.” I answer as I head to where he had gestured to. 

Weapons line the shelves. Everything from iron tipped spears, to sabers and even a few rarer things like flintlocks and muskets. 

“How much for this knife?” I hold up a rather large skinning knife in a leather sheathe. 

“20 copper pieces.”  He smiles at me as he answers.

“Thank you.” Once more I feel my cheeks burn. I hold onto the knife and continue my search. 

As I was searching through the archery sections of the shelves, the chatter of the marketplace arose once more as the door squeals open. 

“Welcome!” The man’s voice resounded off of the marble floors and into the rafters. 

For a moment it sounded as if he were speaking in two separate voices. It must have been the echo, I tell myself. The lingering scent of lavender which had been following me throughout the store now is joined by the faintest hint of vanilla. 

“Hello there!” A feminine voice calls from the front door. “Still need to see my tag?”

The din of the market fades once more as the door swings shut. A woman is standing there, just a bit older than I am. She wears a green pointed hat over her head. Long blonde strands of hair flow from underneath and fall over her shoulders, draped with a green and tan robe. I recognize her right away. Charlotte Goodman, perhaps the most famous mage this side of the Frontier. I had seen her a couple of times while I was working for my mother and father at out restaurant and had heard more about her exploits from our patrons. 

“Policy.” The man replied with a smile. 

The woman pulls her tag off her belt and I catch sight of a silvery glint dance through the air around her finger. 

“This enough?” 

“That’s enough. Come in Charlotte.”

“Good. Good.” 

The woman in the robes enters with a confident strides — her shoes echoing off the marble. She catches sight of me watching from the shelves and flashes a smile at me before returning her attention to the man at the counter. 

“I heard from Lizzie at the headquarters that my order was ready.” 

“You heard right. I’ll go get it.”

The man turned on his heel and vanished in one of the rooms beyond the counter, and Charlotte Goodman stepped across the room. I finish gathering what I needed; including a new quiver, a fletching kit, some new arrows and some arrow heads. I gather it all together in the quiver, and head to the counter to wait. 

“Hey there.” Charlotte says as I stand behind her. “Are you new to the guild? Never seen you before.” Her golden eyes look at me, and a smile paints her face.

“Y-yeah,” I manage to stammer, “Only joined a few weeks ago.” 

“Really?” She smiles and then looks me over, “Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like we’ve met.” 

“My parents own a place on the pier.” I answer, “I think you came in a few times.” 

“Ohhh, the Kessingtons’ place? I love it. Was going to go there after this. You’re Kara, then? My, you’ve grown.” She says with a smile, “So what made you want to join the guild? Didn’t like working for your parents?” 

I shake my head. 

“No, no.” I answer, my eyes darting between the marble floor and her face, “I loved working there, it’s just that...how do I say.” I drum my fingers along the length of the quiver, “I grew up hearing stories of great Guildsmen from people who would visit my parent’s place, you know? And I guess I kind of want to be the one they’re telling stories about.” 

I had never told anyone about that. My cheeks burn and my mind swims. I catch a glimpse of a purplish glint from a golden band on her left index finger. 

“Er, sorry.” I say, “I don’t know why I said all of that. But, yeah. That’s why. Kind of embarrassing to say. Really.” I run my fingers through my hair, pulling at the reddish curls beneath my straw hat. 

“No need to be sorry.” Charlotte answered, “You just told the truth. It’s an admirable goal.” 

“Here we are.” The man’s voice echoes from across the counter. 

The heavy clacking of his boots against the marble floors lulled the both of us to silence as he approached with something resting in the crooks of his arms wrapped up in a lilac colored cloth. He puts it down on the counter. 

“Is this it?” Charlotte asks, leaning in, “Mind if I see it before I finish paying?” 

“Of course.” He pulled the cloth off of the item. 

A staff about as tall as Charlotte herself lay across the counter. The main body of it was made of an inch wide, and round piece of dark wood, polished to the point of it reflecting the light shining down from the ceiling. Three opaque white orbs were entwined within the wood like knots on a branch. They held a peculiar, cloudy light that illuminated the counter top. The wooden shaft ended at white curling, spiraling horn attached by a brass ring. The horn wrapped around a blue glowing stone about the size of my fist. It pulsates with the same light blue that emanated from the clusters of stones in the iron nettings bolted along the rafter. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” She runs her fingers along the length of the staff, “What kind of wood is it?” 

“It’s a branch from a pine tree that had been struck by lightning,” the man answered, “Felt it was right.” 

“What are those orbs for?” I chirp up from behind. 

“It’s so that the flow of mana doesn’t cause the wood to fracture.” Charlotte answers, “And this horn.” She traces the outline of the spiral, “Is from a ram that’s found in the plains to the east, near the Spine of Atoria. They’re able to call lightning and direct it with their horns. Me and a few others were requested to get rid of a herd that had been harassing the hunters of a frontier town. And this,” she places her hand on the rough blue stone in the middle, “is the Core from it.” 

“Really? Does that help?” 

Charlotte nods. 

“A Magic item is much more powerful if their Activators,” She taps her finger first on the horn and then on the monster core in the middle, “come from the same source.” She looks to the man at the counter, “Thank you, Florent.” 

Just as she pulls the pouch dangling on her waist, and takes out two shiny golden coins, I begin to feel a burning on my leg; as if I had shoved hot coal into my pocket. Likewise, I hear Charlotte hiss and the two gold coins slip from her fingers and clatter on the counter top. I pat frantically at my leg and feel the weight of the journal that I had left at home press up against me. I pull it out, and Charlotte does the same. I flip through it and after about a dozen or so pages I come across a page with bold red letters inked into it the message: 

 FISHERMEN IN THE TOWN OF PIERSMOUTH HAVE BEEN REPORTING BEING ATTACKED BY MONSTERS AS THEY SET OUT INTO THE BAY. PUT A STOP TO IT.