Fel woke in a darkened room as the sandstorm continued to rage outside. The static beat of grains pelted against the wall behind his head and kept him from falling back to sleep.

Splaying himself wide, Fel pulled tiredly at the neckline of his robe. He'd gotten accepted to do work for the Messengers' Guild— or at least, they'd put him on call. Currently laying in one of their shared rooms, he'd slept through the night with a trio of [Messengers], each of them resting amid a long-distance run.

It was a relief, in a way. He had a home base for the next couple of weeks, even if it wasn't particularly comfortable or private.

Certainly, it was better than staying outside. Even without the sandstorm, nights in the sand-swept city were cold, with the day's heat doing little to ward off the following chill. A small heating rune was even installed in the room's ceiling to combat that— manually activated but passively charged during the day.

It worked surprisingly well for its age. Though, possibly too well, if Fel were honest.

The top bunk was stifling, and the air was notably dry. Awake now, and uncomfortably aware of both a full bladder and a chalky mouth, Fel covered himself and slipped down to the floor. After grabbing his shoes from their position at the foot of the bed, he stepped out of the room.

The hallway was silent. A half-dozen other rooms were connected to it at either side, and a stairwell stood at its end. In the middle of it all, a single mage-light lit the space's length, flickering intermittently in the darkness.

Fel wrinkled his nose at the poorly cast spell, then checked his mana as the thought rose unbidden to his mind.

He was at 99% capacity following his most recent death.

Putting on his shoes in the haphazard light, Fel began to make his way down to ground level. He pushed his hair back in exasperation as he did so. The day before, he'd been full; he'd taken the time to check his mana pool before going to sleep. Even without casting spells or charging rituals, he was losing some of what he had, and it seemed to be happening overnight.

At the least, though, it didn't seem to be much. A couple of percentage points over a week would be annoying but ultimately trivial. The only concern was that it was happening at all.

Stepping onto the ground-floor landing with a startling thump, Fel looked around the empty room. The redheaded receptionist from the evening before raised her head from her work as he then approached the front desk.

"Hello, and good morning! Ismur, wasn't it?"

Fel had talked briefly with her while he'd waited for the Guild's local head to receive him.

"And you were... Fel? I didn't get the chance to say it before, but congratulations on the job— the Guildmaster came out of the room yesterday looking pretty pleased." Placing her quill to the side, the woman gave Fel a tired smile. "I'm sure he found it a bit of a relief, getting a [Runist] to go through the place again, after so long."

Pausing, Ismur's gaze flickered, and she shook her head.

"Sorry, it's been a long night. You are a [Runist], aren't you? I just assumed, with how the Guildmaster was acting, and the—" She made a swirling motion with her hand. "You know, magic."

Fel waggled his head. "It's close enough. And yes, he did make a rather big deal about fixing up some of the older runeworks. For now, though—"

Rubbing a hand across the lower half of his face, Fel shifted uncomfortably. "Would you be able to point me towards this building's restroom? It's my first time actually staying in a guildhall, and I'm afraid I don't yet have a great handle on the design."

The receptionist gave a laugh and stood from her chair. Leaning forwards across the countertop, she pointed Fel to his right. "Turn around and go through that archway. You can grab any of the open doors to your left."

Stepping out from the restroom, Fel shook his hands, resisting the urge to flare a bit of fire down their length to dry them. In the short while he'd been inside, the first bell of the day had sounded.

Already, Fel could see the beginning trickle of morning patrons flowing into the Guild. As he'd come to find, the sandstorm that raged around the city never actually stopped. The bells, rather than being an early warning system, were the reminders of pre-determined times.

Throughout the day, the city's resident weather mages worked to create openings in the storm. Each casting lasted an hour before being let go, and all were scheduled by the city's government a week in advance.

From what Fel could gather, it was a system that worked quite well. Though, it did seem to cause some issues in wait time— likely the cause behind the local people's insistence on scheduling appointments.

Straightening his robe, Fel wandered back past the front counter. Behind it, more than a dozen different employees hurried to prepare for the growing crowd. Each one was a new arrival, having rushed to the building following the opening in the storm. Ismur had disappeared, likely going to grab a meal following the end of her night-long shift.

Fel stepped out to do the same. Taking a slip of paper from his pocket, he read over the directions listed. He'd asked for help scheduling his morning market-run the day before and received several helpful recommendations in turn. Not the least of which was to make use of the Guild's runners to schedule meetings with the shops.

Walking quickly down the street, Fel's first stop was for breakfast. He passed by a sculpture of flaming pan — tilted to face the road at a forty-five-degree angle — and was greeted by an open door to the building behind it. A few half-dozen tables sat scattered around the place's interior, but it was standing-room-only for the most part. The other half of the building was taken up by a kitchen.

Ahead of him, Fel could see more than thirty people in a line that spanned the room's length. Five different [Cooks] worked around a series of open flames, dicing meat, tossing condiments, and sliding completed dishes down to the front.

As a result, the line moved quickly. Every dozen seconds, wax-wrapped packages were passed off to a server, who then exchanged them for payment at the front of the crowd. At six bronze a wrap, the food was sold, and the customers left the building to hurry towards their next destination.

Looking down, Fel dug through his robe for a silver coin. He'd convinced the Guildmaster to provide some advance-payment for his services— two golds worth of silver, or twenty coins in total. It wasn't as much as he would've preferred, but considering that the man could've just as easily denied his request, Fel wasn't inclined to complain.

The line moved up, and in less than six minutes, Fel had reached its front. Passing the silver coin to the server, he received a wrap and four bronze coins in return. He thanked the man, then took off at a clip.

Fel had two more targets and fifty minutes to hit them both before returning to the Guild. Swapping the wrap to his left hand, he took the note out and reviewed it again.

While the general store had replied to his runner's request with an open invitation for the timeslot, the closest ingredients shop was scheduled full until the second half. Fortunately, though, that worked out. The two shops were nearby each other and a scant few minutes away from where he was now; he'd pick up some gear to start, then move on.

Dipping into the crowd, Fel unwrapped his breakfast, eating as he moved. It was pan-fried goat— or something of a similar breed. The meat was mixed with a sticky hot-pepper sauce, edged by some bitter stalks, and tucked away within a thin covering of nut-flaked bread. All in all, it was a good breakfast, though a bit spicier than he usually ate.

Chewing happily, Fel smiled to himself. He'd need to thank the Guildmaster for his recommendation— hopefully, the other shops would be equal in their quality.

Fel took a left turn down the street and started scanning the sculptures again. Three blocks down and midway through— he was looking for a goat with a pack sculpted across its side. Peering over the heads of those around him, he passed by an alchemist's store, two different tailors, an enchanter, and finally another restaurant before finally coming upon a place with a sculpture that matched the description he'd been given.

"Still, it's not quite what I envisioned."

Squinting uncertainly, Fel cocked his head at the goat-like creature before him. It was similar in body structure, to be sure, but it had some questionable artistic differences. Slapped across the sculpture's forehead was a single, bulbous eye. Elongated talons grew from where the graze animal's hooves should've been, and in place of a tail, a thickly-carved snake coiled up and around the chest. Still, a large pack was indeed sculpted across the thing's side, and the description was similar enough to be recognizable.

Fel shrugged and moved to knock on the building's door. After a few seconds of wait, it was opened to allow him into the building's sandroom. Stepping through the threshold, he shook his head, stretching out a hand as he did so. "That's a hell of a sculpture you've got out there, Mister..?"

There was a pause, and Fel refocused his gaze. Slowly, he adjusted his head downward.

A little girl looked up at him, a confused grin plastering her face. Taking hold of Fel's hand, she shook it once before letting it drop back to his side. "I'm Talla. Dad says the goat's an abomination, but that he can't get rid of it without upsetting Uncle Wally. If you're looking for him, he's in the back of the shop."

"Uh..." Left fumbling for a response, Fel coughed into his other hand. "Yes. Thank you."

The girl laughed, then left the room as Fel removed his robe. Setting his shoes to the side, he followed into the adjoining space. There, a man sat at a table, scratching at a ledger amid a room filled with shelves of gear. He looked up at Fel's approach.

"Mister Fel, I presume? I hope my daughter wasn't a bother." Standing, the man walked over to shake Fel's hand. "The name's Pallas. What can I help you find?"

"Not at all; it's a pleasure to meet both of you." Waving away the man's concerns, Fel looked around, conscious of his ticking time-limit. "I'm looking for a pair of bags— something I could tie at my waist for when I walk around. Preferably, they'd be made of something inorganic."

"Hmm..." Turning to one of the shelves in the corner of the room, the shopkeeper began pulling things down. "That rules out Alnum fibers, but then..." Almost immediately, he held up a pair of hand-sized, pale gray sacks and tossed them to Fel.

"Twelve silvers."

Straight to business, then. Pausing to rub a thumb down the bag's length, Fel didn't bother to stifle his snort. "Seven. I'd pay twelve for a good pair of steel weaves, but it doesn't sound like you're carrying that."

"Seven! Why, you look to bankrupt me, Mister Fel!" Drawing a hand to his chest, the man lowered his head with a frown. "I can assure you, the local [Herders] produce rockwool of excellent quality— the city's [Alchemists] use it for bags of their own."

Fel rolled his eyes at the man's claim. Seven silvers for the pair wasn't reasonable, he'd admit, but the only [Alchemists] who'd use untreated rockwool for ingredient bags would be those just starting out. The substances carried by any with a Class-level over twelve would melt the things through within a couple of days.

"I can do nine, but that's scraping the ends of my budget." Raising his arms, Fel gave an exaggerated shrug. "I've still got another stop to make after this, and any higher wouldn't leave me with enough to buy what I need. These bags just aren't the same priority."

His words received another frown. Glancing down at Fel's waist, the shopkeeper squinted, then turned away to grab a strip of buckled leather from a nearby shelf. "I'll tell you what— five silvers each, and I'll even throw in a belt for you to tie them to."

"A gold?" Patting a hand across his shirt-covered waistline, Fel felt his face twist itself into a grimace. He'd forgotten about the belt, and while he might've gotten one for a few coppers otherwise, now it was part of the deal. It was his own fault, though; he wasn't used to removing his robe. "Well, for the two bags and a belt then. Yes— hold onto them for a second." Stepping back into the sandroom, Fel dug ten silvers from his robe. Returning, he passed them to Pallas, who gave him the items in turn.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you. Was there anything else?"

Fel strapped the belt around his waist and shook his head. "Likewise. And no, that's all I came in for." Returning to the shop's entrance, Fel covered himself once more and stepped out onto the street. He then tied the two bags to his belt before joining the crowd.

A finished meal, the bag issue settled, and another half an hour to grab what he'd need— Fel's final stop was for reagents. Frankly speaking, he felt it was about time. Working only with what he could scrounge from mountaintops and oaken forests was doable, but he was looking forwards to some proper castings again. Gods knew how they might've helped him when he'd first been attacked.

Pulling down at his collar, Fel set off down the road.