After two hours that passed more slowly than a sleepless night, Dakkon had reached level 10 in Thermoregulate and discovered a problem he hadn’t anticipated. Now, when focusing on extreme temperatures, the skill was beginning to hurt. He would have to think of gentler settings, or, perhaps his best bet was to fully detach himself from the distracting practice of focusing on places altogether. If he could replace thinking of a desert at noon with the simple desire to be hot, then perhaps he could actually focus on his surroundings while using his technique. Throwing away the crutches of imaginary terrain was no easy matter, however. It took time to learn, and the effort often ended up scalding or chilling him. He needed 10 times as many breaks to regenerate his considerably larger health pool than he did for his mana, but after another five hours he had developed the sought-after knack. His progress had suffered for it, however, and he only managed to reach Thermoregulate level 12, and halfway to thermomancer level seven.
Despite Dakkon’s resolve to get the matter over with, he could only handle so much. He felt accomplished for weening himself off mental imagery. For now, that would have to be enough. There was still a fair amount of daytime to work with, and Dakkon had several more things to do. The time had come for him to finally learn the true capabilities of his dagger. A simple stop by a guard was all it took to point him in the right direction.
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For the first time, Dakkon set foot in the far east end of the city. The roads here were paved with finer and newer, dark gray stones. The mesh of interweaving streets formed blocks of varying sizes, most lined with the lively commerce of vendors, shops, and guilds. As he traveled further east the area grew more densely packed with buildings dedicated to artifice, then thinned again until the guilds and skilled craftsmen were behind him. Beyond lay the area he sought: the port, filled with sailors fresh from sea; an area tailored to their fancies. Buildings here tended to be bars, bordellos, and peculiarity shops where merchants were in the business of buying goods without asking many questions while selling chemicals with strange names and euphoric effects. Dakkon wandered along the port-side streets in search of a shop that suited him. When he found one advertising the service he required, and a sign stating the establishment would be closed and barred by sunset, he was glad he dallied no longer than he had.
Dakkon walked into Badden’s Oddities and Vend. The interior of the shop was nicer than its location suggested; being so near to worn docks and busy brothels. The building was made of sturdy stone, reinforced by large wooden beams and struts, and the interior reflected the pains of regular, methodical cleaning. A man of below-average height, with dark brown hair, and small, round-lensed glasses stood behind a wood and glass display cabinet. The man watched Dakkon’s entrance from in front of three step ladders, each a different height, resting against a large shelf of locking boxes which ran some eight meters between two, sturdy support beams in the wall.
“You don’t look fresh off the boat,” the 40-something man, presumably Badden, began without preamble, “but don’t think about trying anything in my shop.”
“Your regular clientele must cause you no end of trouble,” said Dakkon with a smile, despite his rude greeting.
“The regulars are just fine,” said Badden with wary eyes. “It’s the new ones who don’t know any better what cause problems.”
Dakkon nodded. “Well then, I’ll be brief. You’ve a sign outside suggesting you have a knack for appraisal. What would you charge to teach me?”
“I don’t have time to waste for that,” said Badden, narrowing his eyes. After a moment of thinking, he restarted, “If you want things appraised, I’ll do it for a price befitting the goods in question. What’ve you got?”
“A knife and scabbard I was given,” said Dakkon, controlling his voice in an attempt to downplay the value they might hold in hopes of a reasonable deal. “How much is fair for just those two items?”
“25 gold for both,” said Badden.
Dakkon wasn’t pleased with the number, but was prepared for an extortionate rate judging by the man behind the counter’s demeanor. “That seems like an awful lot of money to simply look over my things and tell me about them.”
Baddens shook his head condescendingly. “Proper appraisal takes years to learn proper. If you want a better rate, go ask braggarts and peddlers who will lie for your coin, or find a fool with nothing but time to train you.”
Dakkon relented at that. Although pleased with his diversion, he needed to get back to his training sooner rather than later, lest he abandon it altogether. “Fine,” he said and placed five stacks of five coins on the countertop out of easy reach of Badden’s arms. Doubting he’d get a better price, he handed his dagger and scabbard to the appraiser.
Badden drew the dagger and looked at the two items for minutes before so much as turning them. Then, he ran his fingers curiously along their small yet intricate etchings, as though reading them like braille. He picked up the dagger and moved it through the air with elegant little flips of his wrist. Next, Badden brought out a chisel and mallet and, to Dakkon’s horror, etched a small groove into the tip of his dagger.
“What the hell are you doing!” demanded Dakkon.
“Hush now, man,” said Badden, pointing one finger to the groove he had struck before sheathing the blade back in its scabbard. “I’ve got them mostly figured out and caused no harm.” Dakkon held out his hand, insisting his precious weapon be returned to him. Badden grunted and handed it back.
“Those two resonate,” began Badden. “The scabbard will repair small damages to the blade in little time at all. It’s powerful magic, to be sure. Very rare. But it will only repair that dagger, no others.” One corner of Badden’s lips tightened in a manner that unnerved his guest. “The problem here is…” Badden trailed off.
“The problem is what?” Dakkon asked.
“I don’t have a clue what the damned dagger does, and that’s a problem,” said Badden. “Tain’t nobody in this town able to do any better, neither. I’m the best there is.”
“So, it does nothing?” asked Dakkon.
“No, it definitely does something,” said Badden, “but damned if I know what it is. I’ve done as good a job as you’ll get, though, so don’t expect a refund.”
Frowning, Dakkon opened up the items’ information, noticing that the etched tip of his blade had almost completely been restored.
|Name: Drakestone Dagger
|Item Type: Dagger – Piercing/Slashing
|Durability: 118/120
|Damage: 8
|Attributes: ???
|Description: The dagger is made of the rare material, drakestone, which remains cool to the touch, regardless of environment. It holds a mysterious enchantment.
|Name: Drakestone Scabbard
|Item Type: Scabbard - Small
|Durability: 120/120
|Attributes: Restores durability