Nico looked like he was about to fall over, gaping at Sama Rantha in shock as she inserted her thumb into the closed book and precisely opened it up to the page with her illustration on it, drawn by someone who liked improbably long hair, long legs, and killer smiles on their swordswomen.

‘Hags 4 Nico’ scrawled across the picture, and she placed the pen in it as her attention shifted. She inserted it firmly into his hand, closing it about the book.

His eyes started to roll up, and I reached back and held him upright by grabbing his sleeve again. Braun politely supported him and dragged him back so he could recover himself.

My other hand reached out to her free hand, grasped it gently. Her eyebrow rose as I pulled softly, and she let me do it as I stretched it out and laid it against the very silent and still Miklan McMikal standing next to me.

Hers and Briggs’ eyes moved in tandem to the Caergard warrior.

“Well, well, well,” Sama purred in a voice all silk over bloody razors, staring at him.

“Seriously?” Briggs asked, as the Mick trembled and tried very not hard to flinch back from that contact.

Sama Rantha smiled. Eight canines gleamed as artful lips turned into something fascinating and deadly. “Half the damn planet we traipsed over, and here one gets brought right into our shop.” Her gaze released the Mick, and he gasped as she moved her hand away, she and Briggs turning back to look at me. “Where did you find him?”

“His clan is known as the Caergard. They are immigrants from another dimension a century or so back. Scotland in the fifteen hundreds, by the stories they tell.”

Both of them blinked. Sama leaned in closer to me dangerously. “You had better not be lying to me,” she warned me.

I swatted the Mick’s gut without moving my eyes. “Ye, ye know of Scotland?” he blurted out in shock as I broke his trance.

I gave Sama my own raised eyebrow back, and she just sniffed, mollified.

“You got here just in time. He was about to lose his last chance,” she informed me, looking back at the Mick, who was totally at a loss. “Caergard, aye? Looks like I’m going traveling, Briggs.”

“Been long enough,” he grumbled, leaning forward on the counter. “Business first, we’ve got a crowd. Silversteel, warrior. Bring them out.”

“All of them. He’ll give you a spot assessment and a fair price,” I told the Mick, who took up his six Item

Scrolls and laid them on the counter one by one, carefully.

“You’ll want to space them out,” I told the two Forsaken calmly.

Sama’s legs swung around and deposited her on the far side of the counter so smoothly it looked she flowed there. I waved my hand, and their eyes were very intent as Funf’s TK spread the Scrolls out evenly.

They each took a step away from the other, and touched a Scroll apiece.

The contact was enough to disrupt the magic, and the paper evaporated, giving up the reality of its contents. A two-foot cube of butter-silver metal bars that looked polished mirror-bright appeared on the counter, which creaked under the weight.

We watched as their hands blurred and they restacked the contents, spreading them out in new piles.

Fingers touched Scrolls, more bars appeared, and were swiftly dispersed across the counter in six different piles of varying size.

Only two bars were at the far left of us, in front of Briggs.

“Two at 35, the rest ranging down to 30,” Briggs informed us, tapping the two ingots there thoughtfully. “I can probably make an Axe out of each of them,” he murmured dubiously.

“You’ve another Scroll in there, Caergard,” Sama said to the Mick, who jumped.

“Aye, but I didnae think you’d care to buy such as these.” He looked at me for help.

“Oh, go right ahead. They’ll pay themselves a commission and get you top gold,” I said dryly.

A bit surprised, he took out the last Scroll and laid it on the counter between the stacked piles of rated ingots.

Sama flicked it, the magic unwound, and the contents clattered as they rolled into being.

“Huh.” Sama’s visible eye glittered at the display of ornate rapiers in front of her, her lip just barely curling. “Elven rapiers, on the short side. Excellent ornamentation, decent work. Grimbol, can you add some gemwork to these for the fancy lads with too much money who like prancing around with pretty steel?”

The block of a darkly-bearded dwarf stumped up and as we watched went through the dozen blades one by one, inspecting them minutely.

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“Can do, Sama. Got plenty of pretty glittery stuff we can use, too. Figure we can double the value of the stones easy on this fancy stuff.” He flicked a finger against one silver blade, listening to the chime of the steel. “It’s a good weapon, but they won’t appreciate it for that.”

“Treadtoe.” The hyn literally hopped to attention at Briggs’ uttering of his name. “Run down to Master Diega’s studio and let him know there’s a dozen rapiers in stock for his students. Inquire if the students want any of them Enruned, and have them come down to put in the gold and set specs for them.”

“Yessir, Master Briggs!” the hyn said, and immediately ran for the door.

“QL 24 to 30,” Sama informed the Mick, who had no idea what that meant. “Eight thousand for the lot of them. We’ll add ornamentation and possibly Enchant them up on our own for the profit on our side.”

The Mick’s expression was relieved, as he’d just tripled his money on them. “Sold! And the ingots?”

“Lads?” Briggs asked without looking around.

“Lupins love silversteel. They want it for hunting weres. They’ll buy up anything we make, Master Briggs,” one of the scarred human smiths commented thoughtfully. “Got enough there for a few suits of armor if they prefer those to weapons, although I don’t think that’s too likely.”

Briggs grunted, sweeping an eye over the ingots. “Ten thousand for the metal, then.”

The Mick was a little weak in the knees. “He’ll take it,” I informed them coolly, to which he just nodded dumbly. “And use it for an upgrade.”

“What?” the Mick blurted out, as I deftly lifted his father’s Claymore off his back and laid it on the counter between the ingots.

Briggs smoothly slid it out of its scabbard and lifted it up before the Mick could protest. Suddenly the impressive hand-and-a-half sword looked like a normal arming sword or shorter in his huge hands.

“Laird,” Briggs mused, tapping it with his thumb, making the Mick blink as Briggs accurately Named his Weapon. “Aye, QL 23, no room to grow more than the most modest lateral Enchantments. He needs a much better blade with better metal.” He tossed it over to Sama casually.

She caught it and flipped it around in a fast one-handed kata, so fast and smoothly it looked like the magical Sword was bending in arcs in her grip. The Mick swallowed as she spun it around so effortlessly and locked to a halt, as still as a statue. “Aye, the most basic work. Whoever made it barely made it good enough to hold a dweomer, and the Enchanter did as little work as he could get away with to imbue it,” she snorted. “Its Name is never going to grow in this home. I’ll take care of this.” She looked at me. “This fellow of yours stays with me until I get his Sword made.”

“His name is Miklan McMikal. Bow to your new Sword instructor. She’s a Grandmaster, young Master McMikal.”

The Caer swallowed, and bowed as low as he could under her heavens-blue gaze. “I-I don’t know if I can afford t’ pay you what your time is worth, Lady Sama…” he stammered a bit.

“I’m no lady, as all these fellows here will happily tell you.” All the smiths on that side of the counter nodded quickly, although only Briggs smiled. “And no, you can’t. It is what it is.” She glanced over everyone else, who shivered as her gaze assessed them and was thoroughly unimpressed. “Are you selling other things?” she asked them coolly.

“Fine, fine dresses!” Laurentine piped up with what amounted to some defiant spirit, looking totally intimidated in her presence.

“Zanzyran fashion? What about perfumes?” Sama asked without batting an eye.

“We’ve some of those, too!” Laurentine admitted in relief.

“Merty, go out front and tell Lady Sista’s daughter Orina out there to go get her mother. We’ve got a showing for her. Bring her to the main house. I trust you all are ready to help model these dresses?” she directly asked Laurentine and the others, who all looked at one another excitedly, and nodded eagerly.

“Anything else?” Sama asked neutrally.

Hammel lifted his hand. “Assorted measures of gearworks…”

---------

I was out on the balcony of the hotel we’d been recommended. It was late at night, well on the way to the morning. Everyone had had a most exciting day, stunned and thrilled at how fast their goods for sale and trade were being met… and honestly and openly with a minimal amount of fuss.

Of course, anyone could see that Master Briggs and Sama were not Siricilans, from appearance to accents.

Two shadows descended into the Disk-chairs on either side of me with barely whispers of movement, fast and quiet enough to terrify any skilled assassin. “How is he?” I asked Sama, noting ambient sounds fade away as a Sound Bubble came up around us.

“Sleeping. I almost broke his soul cracking his Prime shell,” the deadly swordswoman replied promptly, while she and Briggs slid the dark Disks floating there waiting for them around to face me. “His Null is building by the minute. He’ll wake up a different man.”

“Thank you. I didn’t have any way to help him become Forsaken. It was a big reason prompting me to come to Siricil once I discovered you and Briggs were here.”

“You’re speaking Human with barely an accent at all,” Briggs pointed out. “Nobody here speaks Human. It doesn’t stick like it should. Just who the heck are you?” he asked curiously.

“Commander Briggs of Redshore; Captain Sama of the Intrepid, the Tip of the Spear, the Courier to Coralost.” I inclined my head to and fro between them.

Both of them nodded in tandem. “You’re from the game, we deduced that. Who?” Sama asked directly.

I lifted a finger up. “I’m technically not from the game. I’m a small shard cut off from the soul of one of them, which was drawn to this world and reborn here. You should remember him. He’s the one Sauron wanted to sue for trademark infringement.”

“Sauron?” Briggs repeated. “The lord of the-? Oh.” He blinked rapidly.

“Aelryinth?” Sama asked, startled as she fished out the name of her own inherited memory. “The Ringlord? If you’re a soulshard of him, you’re a damn long way from home.”

“In this life, I am Edgina Bludevich-Jubvanyl, daughter of Lady Keffe, a wizardess of the shadenelves, and Boraz Bludevich-Jubvanyl a dhampir of the House Bulgarov and son of Mordai Bludevich-Jubvanyl, Prince of Zanzyr and likely the most powerful vampire on the planet.” I spread my fingers to show my nails and pale skin, and then gestured at my eyes. “My natural magical bias is towards blood and souls.”

“Ewww,” Sama said with feeling, while Briggs grimaced in sympathy. “I trust you didn’t let it dominate you.”

“I slurried them into the Arcane Bloodline, and then ignited that to evolve into my Secondary Bloodline of the Void Phoenix, so, no,” I assured them, and they looked duly impressed.

Sama blinked slowly, looking me up and down. “Not much changed?” she asked critically.

“Not really, no. My magic still echoes with the bias of blood and souls. Lots of crimson flowers and spectral skulls on everything.”

She and Briggs glanced at one another, then smiled and rolled their eyes together. “So, you’re an elven goth princess wizardess, and you decided to just lean into it?” she grinned.

“I’ll have you know I worked three months on this accent!” I sniffed back at them, which earned me double huffs of amusement, especially at my very dry delivery.