The black market of Duskwatch was a city buried beneath stone and secrecy, concealed from noble eyes and the laws of the land. Burizan, a former bandit now an errand boy for the spymaster of Echlion, stood slack-jawed as he entered the tunnel and saw the hidden world before him. The underground black market bustled—like a carnival where vendors wear disguises and the prizes are blood-soaked.
Sickly pale green mana lanterns hung from iron rods lighting the cobbled pathways. Wooden sales booths cluttered the vast cavern in crooked rows, each vendor shouting ridiculously loud. Vendors hawked "pure" mana cores, claiming to sell cores harvested from the Seven-Star beasts. Bottles of glowing liquid promised youth restored, bones enhanced, skin unbreakable—and the more the vendors promised, the more insane the claims became.
Burizan stood out, as his size set him apart, and waddling through the vendors was akin to a wandering boar wondering into a jewelry shop. Whispers followed him in the crowd. Whispers tinged with greed and interest. However, he kept walking purposefully, through all this temptation to make a stop, as a booth selling fried boar belly almost broke his will.
At the center of the market, you couldn't miss the main auction house. Built to resemble a dome, it was shaded by the tall, engraved stone pillars lining the outside of the circumference with stern sentinels nestled beneath heavy cloaks. It was there fortunes were made. Slaves, some elven and some beastkin, were chained down on the outside edges, suppressed in weight and spirit, staring glassy eyed into the between spaces of existence. Burizan swallowed. He may have been a common bandit, but even that was a grim scenario to endure.
After the passing of spoiled time, he finally approached a shop built into the wall of the cave. This shop felt purposely quiet and private compared to the outside hawkers and god-awful incantation chants. Scrolls were piled perfectly, incense was suspended on a brass ball over a small table. The old man was leaning against the back of the shop, gray strands mingling with his beard, a monocle hovered over one eye.
The man looked up. "What do you want, fat one?"
"Information..." Burizan said, and tried to mimic his tone, "About skyshard blades."
The man raised an eyebrow. "A little bit more expensive than you think."
Burizan pulled on the leather drawstring with his other hand under his cloak and let it fall onto the counter with some clinks. The shopkeeper's expressions flipped completely, "Chote!" he yelled to the back of the shop. "get the skyshard archives!"
A faint voice called back but a tiny figure had stepped out—a dwarf boy, probably only ten years old, thin as a willow and locked in a simple iron collar. The boy bowed to Burizan and then turned and scampered off into a side chamber.
While they waited, Burizan leaned in. "I was hearing talk about an auction. Big one. Artifacts, rare creatures, elves."
The man rubbed his beard and held out his hand. Burizan sighed and placed another pouch in his hand.
"It was supposed to be last month but got postponed, because of the gate situation," the man said. "Next month? It's on. And yes, rare stock. Elves from the archipelago, first-tier relics - some cursed some holy. It should be something."
Burizan nodded thoughtfully. Before he could think of his next question, Chote returned carrying a scroll tightly with both hands. The man unrolled it and laid it down in front of Burizan.
"There is," the man explained, "a thing about these blades. They fuse the mana stones into iron alloy. It is rare art. Most smiths cannot handle the instability of the mana stones. The ones you probably saw came from Mellon territory. Marquis Luis Mellon has a few contacts with some blacksmiths that specialize in this."
"Names?" Burizan asked.
The man shook his head. "That's deeper than I deal. But... the black market in Mellon's land may know more. If you have coin, that is."
Burizan was about to reply when he noticed Chote nervously glancing at him.
"How much for him?" Burizan said.
The man blinked. "The dwarf?"
Chote wide-eyed in alarm. "Y-You want to buy me?"
"Just asking," said Burizan.
The shopkeeper chuckled. "He's not much use. Weak arms, small stature. But for a man of Alfrenzo, I will give you a price."
Another pouch, his last, got placed on the table. The man smiled widely and grabbed Chote's ownership document. "He is yours. Consider it a gift from a grateful merchant. Alfrenzo's relief shipments fed my family after the port collapse."
Chote looked up at Burizan with scared eyes, and uncertain if he was safer or in deeper trouble. Burizan pocketed all the scrolls and the slave contract in his belly pouch, tapped his thick fingers on the counter and turned to leave.
But Burizan turned back and asked the man "How did you know I was doing Alfrenzo's work?"
The man just gave a smile and said "Sir, my work is dealing in information and secrets. How wouldn't I know about the former vice leader of bandits of Frostwood?" Burizan just gulped and quickly walked away with a confused and terrified Chote.
As Burizan and Chote too emerged onto the darkened streets of Duskwatch, Burizan looked around for a carriage. Chote walked behind him in silence, holding onto the hem of his very oversized tunic.
Just as they turned into a narrow alley to take a shortcut, there was the sound of footsteps behind them.
Four unsavory looking people appeared, blocking the way.
"Well, well," said the leader, who had an ugly scar running across his brow. "Big man, big cash. I saw you flashing that gold inside."
"Real smart, pig," another scoffed, pulling a rusty dagger from his belt.
Burizan tensed up and stepped in front of the dwarfish Chote, who was visibly frightened. Burizan clenched his teeth as the sweat broke out on his brow. He had no weapon. No backup. He had a frightened dwarf behind him and four snarling wolves in front of him.
If I come out of this, Telmar better give me more than a pat on the back, he thought grimly, as the thugs continued to come closer.