|Description: The scabbard is made of the rare material, drakestone, which remains cool to the touch, regardless of environment. It has been enchanted to restore the durability of itself and its sister dagger over time when sheathed.
More information was available, but the dagger now seemed to be more of a mystery than ever before.
“You mean you’re planning on charging me in full for services only partially rendered?” asked Dakkon with a pointed glare.
“Bah. Services were rendered in full. If you want to have a go, you can spend 30 years studying runes for the same appraisal I just gave you,” said Badden. At that, Badden reached forward and raked in the stacks of gold.
With a frustrated sigh, Dakkon asked, “If you can’t tell me what the dagger does, who can?”
“No one—not that I know of. If you really want to know, keep your eyes and ears open in big cities,” said Badden. “I’m sure there’s a man or two out there who can appraise better than I, but I haven’t met ‘em.”
With that, Dakkon found he had a dagger that could still be worth anything. If he couldn’t get it properly appraised, then he wouldn’t be able to sell it when that time finally came. It could be worth a veritable fortune, or it could be worth nothing at all. He felt disheartened, like he had just lost his rainy-day fund, but a small part of him burned with the idea that the weapon could possibly even be… priceless. But for now, he couldn’t afford to entertain such fancy, simply because he wanted it to be true.
As Dakkon walked back towards the craftsman district, he used the time to clear his head and think. He was, first and foremost, handed that bag of gear with the dagger inside in a very impractical manner. “Who knows, if it really is rare maybe someone will even come to reclaim it?” Either way it didn’t matter to him now. The dagger had enabled him to pull off the impossible, completing a scenario at a low level with the help of his new companions. At any rate, he was thankful to have it.
\\\\\\
Setting foot near the shops of artificers drew Dakkon away from his thoughts of fortune. The sky was dark now, but the area was aglow with gentle light from assortments of baubles dangling underneath long cords threaded back and forth above the walkways. The creations, of odd size and shape, radiated light of different colors and intensities; some flickered quickly, and others languorously. Smells of seared meat and garlic filled the air around him. The area felt rather festive, Dakkon thought, before rediscovering his unabated hunger. He hadn’t eaten in many hours despite his most recent frenzy of mental exercises and trip across the city. He’d need to seek out food.
Dakkon let his nose guide him to a restaurant without any advertised sleeping quarters, bought a thick round of sweet glazed ham, and washed it down with a stout dark pint. He kept his respite brief, deciding it was best to get the worst of his training out of the way. As he walked down the street, he noticed a young, familiar boy with dark, dirty hair trailing slightly behind an already drunken man, swaying a step left for every two he made forward. The boy reached his hand into the man’s purse, but an awkward step snared his wrist, pulling him into the fully bearded man.
The man was drunk, but not oblivious to the wiles of pickpockets, and so grabbed the small—now struggling—boy by his wrist and drew a knife with his other hand, placing it on the boy’s shoulder. The cold metal halted the boy’s squirming. “What you think you’re doing, you little shit?” the man blared, not stable of foot nor of blade in hand. The blade cut into the boy’s arm, and the boy cried out in fright and pain.
Dakkon approached the two, grabbing the boy by his other wrist. “You caught the urchin,” he exclaimed, presenting a silver coin to the drunk man with his other hand. “This miscreant caused me a sore bit of trouble, and he has hell to pay for it. Take this and buy yourself some drinks for your trouble.” Dakkon thrust the silver piece forward.
The bearded drunk looked dumbly at the coin before his sour expression blossomed into a mischievous grin. He put the knife away and happily grabbed the extended coin. “Make sure he regrets his actions proper,” the man said, back-handing the young pickpocket roughly then swerving away in the direction he had come from.
Dakkon examined the boy while he spoke, “We meet again, little horse thief.” The cut on his arm wasn’t severe, but may need treatment—or, in this world, perhaps he simply needed food to help him regenerate. The boy was unsettled, but looked more hungry than hurt. Dakkon released the boy’s wrist. “Relax. I just didn’t feel like seeing a boy get butchered in the street. I don’t know your situation and I don’t care, but you should choose how to make money more carefully in the future.” Turning his back and beginning to walk away, Dakkon flicked another silver coin over his shoulder towards the boy which led to the clinking of metal on stone followed by a patter of footsteps.
As he walked forward, Dakkon chastised his own softness. He had just squandered the equivalent of 200 foodstuffs-on-sticks on someone who had literally tried to rob him earlier in the day. Thinking about money in this way made his stomach knot up. A single gold could feed him for a year by his own rough estimate. He pondered just how rich he was, before setting aside the thought and conceding that standard food was likely cheap for the benefit of children and poorer players starting from scratch. Continuing back towards the east, away from the craft district, Dakkon made his way to his favorite square of the city. The vendor he frequented had already closed shop, but he was well fed and was as eager as he would ever be to continue his training.
Instead of sitting on the bench as he had before, Dakkon began to pace while considering the nature of heat and its chilly absence. The practice didn’t come easily. His thoughts strayed to other things. He thought of his new horse, Nightshade and its marvelous saddle. He thought of how odd it seemed that he would need to have some items appraised while others were revealed to him outright. It couldn’t be a question of rarity alone. He thought about finding a relic, the idol of Daenara, and smashing it. He wondered whether the little horse thief had properly bandaged his wound. He wasn’t making any progress. With a sharp inhale and slow, steady stream of breath, Dakkon refocused on the task at hand, pushing all other thoughts out of his mind.
[Trait unlocked! Focus despite circumstance makes it easier to cast aside distractions. You have gained the Trait: Disciplined]
Dakkon disregarded the message and focused. Pacing back and forth, he began to feel the sure seep of cold into his body, then bristling heat. Every time he changed direction, he would alter the temperature experienced and its intensity. In his concentration, Dakkon walked the length of the square the entire night taking only short breaks to regenerate his mana. When the sun rose, he finally stopped to check on his progress.
|Secondary Class: Thermomancer – 80% Power (from multiclassing)
|Class Leveclass="underline" 12
|EXP Until Next Leveclass="underline" [
|Skills:
|+Thermoregulate – 19— 75% [
|+Heat (Touch) – 1— 0% [
|+Chill (Touch) – 1— 0% [