Chapter 312: Learnings in the Market
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“Demons, Third Apostle. Demons have come to Thameland.”
“What?” Izas asked. “This is not time for poetic language, Eldin.”
“I’m not exaggerating, Third Apostle. Were that I was.” The squat man launched into a story of demons, summoners, and cultists.
Izas’ mood fell further and further with every word.
Cultists. Demons. Summoners. Raiders.
All caused indirectly by the Generasians.
The Heroes might not have placed blame on the foreigners for such a blunder…but Izas was not so forgiving. The ancient priest closed his eyes as the last of Eldin’s words reached him.
“Two sets of foreigners. One bent on poking into matters they should not while rejecting our divine saviour. The other set on conjuring demons and bringing more chaos to our realm. Trouble spreads through our lands.” He looked up at the closest statue of Uldar standing atop a columbarium.
In a way, it looked like the bronze features of Izas’ god watched him in judgement. “Do you test us, holy lord?” he whispered.
Eldin cleared his throat after allowing the older man a few heartbeats of silence. “What will we do, Third Apostle?”
“Have the Heroes decided what they will do?” Izas asked.
“They’re going to join with the Generasians,” Eldin said. “And work with them to hunt both the enemy's forces, and these demon collaborators. The king’s offered a bounty to anyone who brings these cultists in. Dead. One gold coin per head.”
“Hmmmm. I see. Then this is what we will do. Your duties are done for now, Eldin, and I must consult with the First Apostle.” Izas laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You are weary, my friend, I can tell. Go. Get yourself something to eat, tend to your prayers, and rest. There will be a time when I will call on you again.”
He looked down at the priest’s calloused hands. “Perhaps it will be necessary for you to unite the divinity of Uldar’s holy service with the skills won in your past life, Eldin.”
There was a moment of silence. “...if it comes to that, Third Apostle,” Eldin said. “May Uldar watch over you.”
With a bow, Eldin left the mausoleum.
Izas closed his eyes, considering the report and the changes coming to Thameland. More chaos. More trouble. More foreigners who do not understand the precious balances that occurred in our realm.
It had to be stopped.
As quickly as his old bones could manage, he strode from the mausoleum and down the escarpment to the deepest chambers of the sanctuary. Quietly, he slipped into the sanctum of the First Apostle and, making the sign of Uldar over his heart, fell to his knees, prostrating himself before the dark alcove.
Within, he knew the First Apostle kept to his quiet contemplations.
“Izas, you have come,” the ancient voice came from the dark. “I did not imagine I would see you again so soon.”
“It is with tidings that I’ve come, First Apostle.” Izas kept his head bowed low. “The Heroes have visited the Generasians…more trouble brews in Thameland.”
“Oh? Do they seek to betray us?” A dark note entered the First Apostle’s voice. There was a threat hidden in those gentle tones: the mark of a man willing to do anything under the right circumstances. And the mark of man who had.
“They have not betrayed us…yet,” the Third Apostle said. “They have begun their digging and intend to dig deep, but at this point, nothing troubling has been unearthed. Though I fear that day may come in time. No, it is not they who cause the great trouble I bring to you. Not directly. There are other foreigners who have come to Thameland. Others who bring darkness with them.”
“Speak of them, Izas.”
And so Izas spoke, repeating Eldin’s words nearly word for word. Dozens of years of mental techniques had kept his mind sharp, and his memory mightier than most, despite his advanced age.
When he had finished, silence came from the alcove for a time.
“...things shift,” the First Apostle finally said. “It is too early to take great action…but our eyes must remain open. I will consult the hidden scriptures to know if Uldar prophesied these events.”
“And what shall I do, First Apostle?”
“You have some freedom to act,” came the reply. “Select a group of subtle layfolk. See what can be done to…guide the Generasians’ discoveries.”
“It will be done, First Apostle.” Izas lowered his head. “As Uldar guides us, we shall guide them. The cycle must continue. All power to our god.”
###
Power was addictive.
That was clearer to Alex with each new triumph.
He was nearing his next success and longed for that moment.
Another week had flown by, marked by another journey to Thameland, and a return to Generasi with mornings, afternoons and evenings filled with practice. Daily practice had led to daily progress—both great and small—and the cusp of a major breakthrough.
He checked his notebook.
Cleanse Flesh. 97% complete.
Just seeing that number threatened to send him leaping with excitement. He fought a strong urge to give into one of those “decorumless moments” Isolde loved to needle him about, and go running around, pumping his fists, and screaming uncontrollably the minute he completed Cleanse Flesh. He was almost there, almost at 100%. Soon, the spell would be complete, but when it was, he’d have to fight the urge to go berserk in public. Normally, in a place as busy and crowded as the one he was in, getting distracted by everything around would’ve been easy. There was so much going on: scores of new sights, scents and sounds everywhere. But, his thoughts were mostly on the spell and what mastering it would mean. Images of power, as appealing as the perfect meal, or Theresa fresh from her bath kept playing through his mind.
His mana thrummed each time he threw himself at the spell, a promise for the victory to come.
And it was coming.
‘I wonder how often new wizards think about the power they hold, how it feels, what it means, what it can do?’ He organised his notes on a stone table carved with decorative glyphs in nesting circles in front of him. The symbols looked like magical glyphs, but had no actual power. He looked up from the table to the crowds around him. ‘How many of you went into wizardry for pure power? Is that what still drives you?’
Of course, no one heard his thoughts.
But even if they could, he doubted they would have answered.
They were bustling about, consumed by their own thoughts, just as he was.
Today, he’d decided to study in one of the largest markets in Generasi: Borgia’s Square was named for a local merchant family of great prominence. ‘It’s a shame I couldn’t come here before, but running into Uldar’s priests was something I couldn’t risk.’ But with most of them sent back to Thameland, with Claygon by his side, and with his time fighting beside the Heroes…he felt braver, a lot more secure. Of course, he’d still made it a point to choose the market square furthest from the temple district, but being cautious wasn’t such a bad thing.
The square held sights that were wondrous even to someone who’d gotten used to the city.
Carts filled with crops freshly picked that morning from local farms, vineyards and greenhouses were ladened with fruit, vegetables and mushrooms in a rainbow of colours. Their aroma drifted through the air, mixing with enticing scents of smoked meats from butcher’s stalls, and carts belonging to spice traders and herbalists.
Meat—fresh, smoked and salted—was being carved by a sea of vendors, shoppers argued over the choicest cuts. Fish—fresh from the sea—hung from rows of hooks in dozens of fishmonger stalls, some so enormous, that floating scaffolding supported the largest ones.
Alex smiled, looking at a fifteen-foot long sabrefish.
“Grimloch would go through you in about two days,” he whispered, as his interest moved to different products.
Stalls displaying crockpots, charcoal grills, spits over magical fires, and portable, mana-powered ovens cooking a variety of dishes, caught his attention. Homebrews in wooden barrels, both large and small, were filled with a host of ales, wines, and spirits. They weren’t the most prized vintages or brews in Generasi, but they were fresh, and many had unique flavours crafted from careful, adventurous experimentation. The scents drifting from the oak barrels mixed with the smells of many fantastic foods in the market: butter bread, tarts, spiced sausages, melted cheese, mulled wine, finely spiced stews and more, reached Alex’s nose.
He’d already picked up a nice lunch of steamed clams and rice fried in a spicy sauce and was washing it down at the table with a large cup of herbal tea. Selina, Theresa, and Brutus would’ve loved the market, but his sister had classes, and Theresa was at work today.
“Well, there’s always next time,” he said. “And I’m definitely paying this place another visit.”
There was too much to see in a single visit. His eye suddenly caught sight of…
Magic items.
“Potions!” A merchant called from across the street. Behind him, a shelf floated, packed to the brim with potion bottles. “Potions for strength of the arm! Strength in the head! Strength in the bed! We have ‘em all here!”
“I want your strongest potion, potion-seller!” a brightly dressed man called, striding up to the merchant’s stall.
He grinned. “I’m not sure you can handle my strongest potion!”
Next to his stall was a woman selling a field of miniature, magical constructs all laid out on a brightly coloured carpet. Even magical beasts in cages—some large and some small—were on display for any buyer with deep enough pockets, and an adventurous spirit.
All of these wonders and more were spread across blankets, in booths and on carts throughout the square, a space big enough to fit one of Alric’s longer blocks into it.
Even the sky was full: flying merchants perched on floating carts and soaring carpets. They called to customers shopping on airborne brooms, on the backs of winged familiars shaped like enormous beetles, drake-like creatures with enormous wingspans, and colourful flying rugs.
A thousand voices filled the air as deals were struck, bargains made, and fortunes ruined in a multitude of places at the same time. In the middle of it all, on a platform floating high above the square, a song was being performed with the enthusiasm of a massive choir by a half-dozen bards.
And The Fool watched it all.
And he listened.
And he learned.
As deals were hatched and bargains struck, he took in information like a sponge in water, storing it for later review with the Mark. He focused on the merchants, listening to how they bargained, engaged with customers, struck deals, and haggled. Every proposal. Every counter proposal. The way merchants got the attention of passersby.
From each interaction, he learned something new about how deals were crafted, sales made, and the power of subtle persuasion. It was like a class in tactics. Alex turned his attention to a smiling merchant who was trying to sell a bauble to an older wizard. The seller focused entirely on his customer, asking how the wizard’s day was going, then threw in sincere sounding questions about the older man’s family.
Alex watched as rapport built as the conversation continued.
That’s when the customer began showing greater interest in the merchandise.
But the truly amazing part?
By the time the sale was over, the merchant had convinced the customer that it was his own idea to buy what was being sold.
Alex couldn’t help but admire the hustle.
He made note of how the merchant operated, his techniques would come in handy for step one in the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension.
“Isn’t this nice, Claygon?” Alex asked his golem, who stood nearby. “Learning while learning.” He tapped his notebook. “Best way to do it.”
Claygon didn’t respond as the wind blew through a tiny flower laurel on the very tip of his head. Shoppers had recognized Claygon from the Games, and several had come over, filled with questions for Alex. Some wanted to shake hands with the golem. A set of twins wanted to give him flowers woven into a laurel to wear on his helmet, even though the wreath barely fit the tip of it. But, Claygon didn’t seem to mind as the children screamed in delight while getting a ride in his massive hand.
Alex just smiled, and took a sip of tea.
“Alright, here we go, time for another try.” The young wizard was getting ready to dive into Cleanse Flesh again when he caught sight of two familiar figures. Walking through the market were two brothers he hadn’t seen in months and who Alex had thought he’d likely never see again. He half-stood from the table, waving at the two large selachar who were studying a pair of compasses.
“Fan’Dor!” Gel’Dor, Alex called to the captain and first mate of The Red Siren. “Here! Over here!”
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“Demons, Third Apostle. Demons have come to Thameland.”
“What?” Izas asked. “This is not time for poetic language, Eldin.”
“I’m not exaggerating, Third Apostle. Were that I was.” The squat man launched into a story of demons, summoners, and cultists.
Izas’ mood fell further and further with every word.
Cultists. Demons. Summoners. Raiders.
All caused indirectly by the Generasians.
The Heroes might not have placed blame on the foreigners for such a blunder…but Izas was not so forgiving. The ancient priest closed his eyes as the last of Eldin’s words reached him.
“Two sets of foreigners. One bent on poking into matters they should not while rejecting our divine saviour. The other set on conjuring demons and bringing more chaos to our realm. Trouble spreads through our lands.” He looked up at the closest statue of Uldar standing atop a columbarium.
In a way, it looked like the bronze features of Izas’ god watched him in judgement. “Do you test us, holy lord?” he whispered.
Eldin cleared his throat after allowing the older man a few heartbeats of silence. “What will we do, Third Apostle?”
“Have the Heroes decided what they will do?” Izas asked.
“They’re going to join with the Generasians,” Eldin said. “And work with them to hunt both the enemy's forces, and these demon collaborators. The king’s offered a bounty to anyone who brings these cultists in. Dead. One gold coin per head.”
“Hmmmm. I see. Then this is what we will do. Your duties are done for now, Eldin, and I must consult with the First Apostle.” Izas laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You are weary, my friend, I can tell. Go. Get yourself something to eat, tend to your prayers, and rest. There will be a time when I will call on you again.”
He looked down at the priest’s calloused hands. “Perhaps it will be necessary for you to unite the divinity of Uldar’s holy service with the skills won in your past life, Eldin.”
There was a moment of silence. “...if it comes to that, Third Apostle,” Eldin said. “May Uldar watch over you.”
With a bow, Eldin left the mausoleum.
Izas closed his eyes, considering the report and the changes coming to Thameland. More chaos. More trouble. More foreigners who do not understand the precious balances that occurred in our realm.
It had to be stopped.
As quickly as his old bones could manage, he strode from the mausoleum and down the escarpment to the deepest chambers of the sanctuary. Quietly, he slipped into the sanctum of the First Apostle and, making the sign of Uldar over his heart, fell to his knees, prostrating himself before the dark alcove.
Within, he knew the First Apostle kept to his quiet contemplations.
“Izas, you have come,” the ancient voice came from the dark. “I did not imagine I would see you again so soon.”
“It is with tidings that I’ve come, First Apostle.” Izas kept his head bowed low. “The Heroes have visited the Generasians…more trouble brews in Thameland.”
“Oh? Do they seek to betray us?” A dark note entered the First Apostle’s voice. There was a threat hidden in those gentle tones: the mark of a man willing to do anything under the right circumstances. And the mark of man who had.
“They have not betrayed us…yet,” the Third Apostle said. “They have begun their digging and intend to dig deep, but at this point, nothing troubling has been unearthed. Though I fear that day may come in time. No, it is not they who cause the great trouble I bring to you. Not directly. There are other foreigners who have come to Thameland. Others who bring darkness with them.”
“Speak of them, Izas.”
And so Izas spoke, repeating Eldin’s words nearly word for word. Dozens of years of mental techniques had kept his mind sharp, and his memory mightier than most, despite his advanced age.
When he had finished, silence came from the alcove for a time.
“...things shift,” the First Apostle finally said. “It is too early to take great action…but our eyes must remain open. I will consult the hidden scriptures to know if Uldar prophesied these events.”
“And what shall I do, First Apostle?”
“You have some freedom to act,” came the reply. “Select a group of subtle layfolk. See what can be done to…guide the Generasians’ discoveries.”
“It will be done, First Apostle.” Izas lowered his head. “As Uldar guides us, we shall guide them. The cycle must continue. All power to our god.”
###
Power was addictive.
That was clearer to Alex with each new triumph.
He was nearing his next success and longed for that moment.
Another week had flown by, marked by another journey to Thameland, and a return to Generasi with mornings, afternoons and evenings filled with practice. Daily practice had led to daily progress—both great and small—and the cusp of a major breakthrough.
He checked his notebook.
Cleanse Flesh. 97% complete.
Just seeing that number threatened to send him leaping with excitement. He fought a strong urge to give into one of those “decorumless moments” Isolde loved to needle him about, and go running around, pumping his fists, and screaming uncontrollably the minute he completed Cleanse Flesh. He was almost there, almost at 100%. Soon, the spell would be complete, but when it was, he’d have to fight the urge to go berserk in public. Normally, in a place as busy and crowded as the one he was in, getting distracted by everything around would’ve been easy. There was so much going on: scores of new sights, scents and sounds everywhere. But, his thoughts were mostly on the spell and what mastering it would mean. Images of power, as appealing as the perfect meal, or Theresa fresh from her bath kept playing through his mind.
His mana thrummed each time he threw himself at the spell, a promise for the victory to come.
And it was coming.
‘I wonder how often new wizards think about the power they hold, how it feels, what it means, what it can do?’ He organised his notes on a stone table carved with decorative glyphs in nesting circles in front of him. The symbols looked like magical glyphs, but had no actual power. He looked up from the table to the crowds around him. ‘How many of you went into wizardry for pure power? Is that what still drives you?’
Of course, no one heard his thoughts.
But even if they could, he doubted they would have answered.
They were bustling about, consumed by their own thoughts, just as he was.
Today, he’d decided to study in one of the largest markets in Generasi: Borgia’s Square was named for a local merchant family of great prominence. ‘It’s a shame I couldn’t come here before, but running into Uldar’s priests was something I couldn’t risk.’ But with most of them sent back to Thameland, with Claygon by his side, and with his time fighting beside the Heroes…he felt braver, a lot more secure. Of course, he’d still made it a point to choose the market square furthest from the temple district, but being cautious wasn’t such a bad thing.
The square held sights that were wondrous even to someone who’d gotten used to the city.
Carts filled with crops freshly picked that morning from local farms, vineyards and greenhouses were ladened with fruit, vegetables and mushrooms in a rainbow of colours. Their aroma drifted through the air, mixing with enticing scents of smoked meats from butcher’s stalls, and carts belonging to spice traders and herbalists.
Meat—fresh, smoked and salted—was being carved by a sea of vendors, shoppers argued over the choicest cuts. Fish—fresh from the sea—hung from rows of hooks in dozens of fishmonger stalls, some so enormous, that floating scaffolding supported the largest ones.
Alex smiled, looking at a fifteen-foot long sabrefish.
“Grimloch would go through you in about two days,” he whispered, as his interest moved to different products.
Stalls displaying crockpots, charcoal grills, spits over magical fires, and portable, mana-powered ovens cooking a variety of dishes, caught his attention. Homebrews in wooden barrels, both large and small, were filled with a host of ales, wines, and spirits. They weren’t the most prized vintages or brews in Generasi, but they were fresh, and many had unique flavours crafted from careful, adventurous experimentation. The scents drifting from the oak barrels mixed with the smells of many fantastic foods in the market: butter bread, tarts, spiced sausages, melted cheese, mulled wine, finely spiced stews and more, reached Alex’s nose.
He’d already picked up a nice lunch of steamed clams and rice fried in a spicy sauce and was washing it down at the table with a large cup of herbal tea. Selina, Theresa, and Brutus would’ve loved the market, but his sister had classes, and Theresa was at work today.
“Well, there’s always next time,” he said. “And I’m definitely paying this place another visit.”
There was too much to see in a single visit. His eye suddenly caught sight of…
Magic items.
“Potions!” A merchant called from across the street. Behind him, a shelf floated, packed to the brim with potion bottles. “Potions for strength of the arm! Strength in the head! Strength in the bed! We have ‘em all here!”
“I want your strongest potion, potion-seller!” a brightly dressed man called, striding up to the merchant’s stall.
He grinned. “I’m not sure you can handle my strongest potion!”
Next to his stall was a woman selling a field of miniature, magical constructs all laid out on a brightly coloured carpet. Even magical beasts in cages—some large and some small—were on display for any buyer with deep enough pockets, and an adventurous spirit.
All of these wonders and more were spread across blankets, in booths and on carts throughout the square, a space big enough to fit one of Alric’s longer blocks into it.
Even the sky was full: flying merchants perched on floating carts and soaring carpets. They called to customers shopping on airborne brooms, on the backs of winged familiars shaped like enormous beetles, drake-like creatures with enormous wingspans, and colourful flying rugs.
A thousand voices filled the air as deals were struck, bargains made, and fortunes ruined in a multitude of places at the same time. In the middle of it all, on a platform floating high above the square, a song was being performed with the enthusiasm of a massive choir by a half-dozen bards.
And The Fool watched it all.
And he listened.
And he learned.
As deals were hatched and bargains struck, he took in information like a sponge in water, storing it for later review with the Mark. He focused on the merchants, listening to how they bargained, engaged with customers, struck deals, and haggled. Every proposal. Every counter proposal. The way merchants got the attention of passersby.
From each interaction, he learned something new about how deals were crafted, sales made, and the power of subtle persuasion. It was like a class in tactics. Alex turned his attention to a smiling merchant who was trying to sell a bauble to an older wizard. The seller focused entirely on his customer, asking how the wizard’s day was going, then threw in sincere sounding questions about the older man’s family.
Alex watched as rapport built as the conversation continued.
That’s when the customer began showing greater interest in the merchandise.
But the truly amazing part?
By the time the sale was over, the merchant had convinced the customer that it was his own idea to buy what was being sold.
Alex couldn’t help but admire the hustle.
He made note of how the merchant operated, his techniques would come in handy for step one in the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension.
“Isn’t this nice, Claygon?” Alex asked his golem, who stood nearby. “Learning while learning.” He tapped his notebook. “Best way to do it.”
Claygon didn’t respond as the wind blew through a tiny flower laurel on the very tip of his head. Shoppers had recognized Claygon from the Games, and several had come over, filled with questions for Alex. Some wanted to shake hands with the golem. A set of twins wanted to give him flowers woven into a laurel to wear on his helmet, even though the wreath barely fit the tip of it. But, Claygon didn’t seem to mind as the children screamed in delight while getting a ride in his massive hand.
Alex just smiled, and took a sip of tea.
“Alright, here we go, time for another try.” The young wizard was getting ready to dive into Cleanse Flesh again when he caught sight of two familiar figures. Walking through the market were two brothers he hadn’t seen in months and who Alex had thought he’d likely never see again. He half-stood from the table, waving at the two large selachar who were studying a pair of compasses.
“Fan’Dor!” Gel’Dor, Alex called to the captain and first mate of The Red Siren. “Here! Over here!”
Demons, Third Apostle. Demons have come to Thameland.What? Izas asked. This is not time for poetic language, Eldin.I'm not exaggerating, Third Apostle. Were that I was. The squat man launched into a story of demons, summoners, and cultists.Izas' mood fell further and further with every word.Cultists. Demons. Summoners. Raiders.All caused indirectly by the Generasians.The Heroes might not have placed blame on the foreigners for such a blunderbut Izas was not so forgiving. The ancient priest closed his eyes as the last of Eldin's words reached him.Two sets of foreigners. One bent on poking into matters they should not while rejecting our divine saviour. The other set on conjuring demons and bringing more chaos to our realm. Trouble spreads through our lands. He looked up at the closest statue of Uldar standing atop a columbarium.In a way, it looked like the bronze features of Izas' god watched him in judgement. Do you test us, holy lord? he whispered.Eldin cleared his throat after allowing the older man a few heartbeats of silence. What will we do, Third Apostle?Have the Heroes decided what they will do? Izas asked.They're going to join with the Generasians, Eldin said. And work with them to hunt both the enemy's forces, and these demon collaborators. The king's offered a bounty to anyone who brings these cultists in. Dead. One gold coin per head.Hmmmm. I see. Then this is what we will do. Your duties are done for now, Eldin, and I must consult with the First Apostle. Izas laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. You are weary, my friend, I can tell. Go. Get yourself something to eat, tend to your prayers, and rest. There will be a time when I will call on you again.He looked down at the priest's calloused hands. Perhaps it will be necessary for you to unite the divinity of Uldar's holy service with the skills won in your past life, Eldin.There was a moment of silence. ...if it comes to that, Third Apostle, Eldin said. May Uldar watch over you.With a bow, Eldin left the mausoleum.Izas closed his eyes, considering the report and the changes coming to Thameland. More chaos. More trouble. More foreigners who do not understand the precious balances that occurred in our realm.It had to be stopped.As quickly as his old bones could manage, he strode from the mausoleum and down the escarpment to the deepest chambers of the sanctuary. Quietly, he slipped into the sanctum of the First Apostle and, making the sign of Uldar over his heart, fell to his knees, prostrating himself before the dark alcove.Within, he knew the First Apostle kept to his quiet contemplations.Izas, you have come, the ancient voice came from the dark. I did not imagine I would see you again so soon.It is with tidings that I've come, First Apostle. Izas kept his head bowed low. The Heroes have visited the Generasiansmore trouble brews in Thameland.Oh? Do they seek to betray us? A dark note entered the First Apostle's voice. There was a threat hidden in those gentle tones: the mark of a man willing to do anything under the right circumstances. And the mark of man who had.They have not betrayed usyet, the Third Apostle said. They have begun their digging and intend to dig deep, but at this point, nothing troubling has been unearthed. Though I fear that day may come in time. No, it is not they who cause the great trouble I bring to you. Not directly. There are other foreigners who have come to Thameland. Others who bring darkness with them.Speak of them, Izas.And so Izas spoke, repeating Eldin's words nearly word for word. Dozens of years of mental techniques had kept his mind sharp, and his memory mightier than most, despite his advanced age.When he had finished, silence came from the alcove for a time....things shift, the First Apostle finally said. It is too early to take great actionbut our eyes must remain open. I will consult the hidden scriptures to know if Uldar prophesied these events.And what shall I do, First Apostle?You have some freedom to act, came the reply. Select a group of subtle layfolk. See what can be done toguide the Generasians' discoveries.It will be done, First Apostle. Izas lowered his head. As Uldar guides us, we shall guide them. The cycle must continue. All power to our god.###Power was addictive.That was clearer to Alex with each new triumph.He was nearing his next success and longed for that moment.Another week had flown by, marked by another journey to Thameland, and a return to Generasi with mornings, afternoons and evenings filled with practice. Daily practice had led to daily progressboth great and smalland the cusp of a major breakthrough.He checked his notebook.Cleanse Flesh. 97% complete.Just seeing that number threatened to send him leaping with excitement. He fought a strong urge to give into one of those decorumless moments Isolde loved to needle him about, and go running around, pumping his fists, and screaming uncontrollably the minute he completed Cleanse Flesh. He was almost there, almost at 100%. Soon, the spell would be complete, but when it was, he'd have to fight the urge to go berserk in public. Normally, in a place as busy and crowded as the one he was in, getting distracted by everything around would've been easy. There was so much going on: scores of new sights, scents and sounds everywhere. But, his thoughts were mostly on the spell and what mastering it would mean. Images of power, as appealing as the perfect meal, or Theresa fresh from her bath kept playing through his mind.His mana thrummed each time he threw himself at the spell, a promise for the victory to come.And it was coming.I wonder how often new wizards think about the power they hold, how it feels, what it means, what it can do?' He organised his notes on a stone table carved with decorative glyphs in nesting circles in front of him. The symbols looked like magical glyphs, but had no actual power. He looked up from the table to the crowds around him. How many of you went into wizardry for pure power? Is that what still drives you?'Of course, no one heard his thoughts.But even if they could, he doubted they would have answered.They were bustling about, consumed by their own thoughts, just as he was.Today, he'd decided to study in one of the largest markets in Generasi: Borgia's Square was named for a local merchant family of great prominence. It's a shame I couldn't come here before, but running into Uldar's priests was something I couldn't risk.' But with most of them sent back to Thameland, with Claygon by his side, and with his time fighting beside the Heroeshe felt braver, a lot more secure. Of course, he'd still made it a point to choose the market square furthest from the temple district, but being cautious wasn't such a bad thing.The square held sights that were wondrous even to someone who'd gotten used to the city.Carts filled with crops freshly picked that morning from local farms, vineyards and greenhouses were ladened with fruit, vegetables and mushrooms in a rainbow of colours. Their aroma drifted through the air, mixing with enticing scents of smoked meats from butcher's stalls, and carts belonging to spice traders and herbalists.Meatfresh, smoked and saltedwas being carved by a sea of vendors, shoppers argued over the choicest cuts. Fishfresh from the seahung from rows of hooks in dozens of fishmonger stalls, some so enormous, that floating scaffolding supported the largest ones.Alex smiled, looking at a fifteen-foot long sabrefish.Grimloch would go through you in about two days, he whispered, as his interest moved to different products.Stalls displaying crockpots, charcoal grills, spits over magical fires, and portable, mana-powered ovens cooking a variety of dishes, caught his attention. Homebrews in wooden barrels, both large and small, were filled with a host of ales, wines, and spirits. They weren't the most prized vintages or brews in Generasi, but they were fresh, and many had unique flavours crafted from careful, adventurous experimentation. The scents drifting from the oak barrels mixed with the smells of many fantastic foods in the market: butter bread, tarts, spiced sausages, melted cheese, mulled wine, finely spiced stews and more, reached Alex's nose.He'd already picked up a nice lunch of steamed clams and rice fried in a spicy sauce and was washing it down at the table with a large cup of herbal tea. Selina, Theresa, and Brutus would've loved the market, but his sister had classes, and Theresa was at work today.Well, there's always next time, he said. And I'm definitely paying this place another visit.There was too much to see in a single visit. His eye suddenly caught sight ofMagic items.Potions! A merchant called from across the street. Behind him, a shelf floated, packed to the brim with potion bottles. Potions for strength of the arm! Strength in the head! Strength in the bed! We have em all here!I want your strongest potion, potion-seller! a brightly dressed man called, striding up to the merchant's stall.He grinned. I'm not sure you can handle my strongest potion!Next to his stall was a woman selling a field of miniature, magical constructs all laid out on a brightly coloured carpet. Even magical beasts in cagessome large and some smallwere on display for any buyer with deep enough pockets, and an adventurous spirit.All of these wonders and more were spread across blankets, in booths and on carts throughout the square, a space big enough to fit one of Alric's longer blocks into it.Even the sky was full: flying merchants perched on floating carts and soaring carpets. They called to customers shopping on airborne brooms, on the backs of winged familiars shaped like enormous beetles, drake-like creatures with enormous wingspans, and colourful flying rugs.A thousand voices filled the air as deals were struck, bargains made, and fortunes ruined in a multitude of places at the same time. In the middle of it all, on a platform floating high above the square, a song was being performed with the enthusiasm of a massive choir by a half-dozen bards.And The Fool watched it all.And he listened.And he learned.As deals were hatched and bargains struck, he took in information like a sponge in water, storing it for later review with the Mark. He focused on the merchants, listening to how they bargained, engaged with customers, struck deals, and haggled. Every proposal. Every counter proposal. The way merchants got the attention of passersby.From each interaction, he learned something new about how deals were crafted, sales made, and the power of subtle persuasion. It was like a class in tactics. Alex turned his attention to a smiling merchant who was trying to sell a bauble to an older wizard. The seller focused entirely on his customer, asking how the wizard's day was going, then threw in sincere sounding questions about the older man's family.Alex watched as rapport built as the conversation continued.That's when the customer began showing greater interest in the merchandise.But the truly amazing part?By the time the sale was over, the merchant had convinced the customer that it was his own idea to buy what was being sold.Alex couldn't help but admire the hustle.He made note of how the merchant operated, his techniques would come in handy for step one in the financial part of Operation Grand Summoning Ascension.Isn't this nice, Claygon? Alex asked his golem, who stood nearby. Learning while learning. He tapped his notebook. Best way to do it.Claygon didn't respond as the wind blew through a tiny flower laurel on the very tip of his head. Shoppers had recognized Claygon from the Games, and several had come over, filled with questions for Alex. Some wanted to shake hands with the golem. A set of twins wanted to give him flowers woven into a laurel to wear on his helmet, even though the wreath barely fit the tip of it. But, Claygon didn't seem to mind as the children screamed in delight while getting a ride in his massive hand.Alex just smiled, and took a sip of tea.Alright, here we go, time for another try. The young wizard was getting ready to dive into Cleanse Flesh again when he caught sight of two familiar figures. Walking through the market were two brothers he hadn't seen in months and who Alex had thought he'd likely never see again. He half-stood from the table, waving at the two large selachar who were studying a pair of compasses.Fan'Dor! Gel'Dor, Alex called to the captain and first mate of The Red Siren. Here! Over here!
