The market was on a large open area near the intersection of the three main streets of Riversedge. Given how limited space was in the city, the size of the area the market took up was quite significant.

The market was filled with the stalls of merchants selling all kinds of goods. The different smells of food, arguing of customers and shouting of prices made for a lively atmosphere. It was one Gase found himself appreciating as he made his way through the busy space.

After some time he was able to roughly classify those who sold their goods at the market into four groups.

The first were tradesmen and women who were unable to afford other property as workspaces and didn’t have enough room in their houses to convert a part of it into a shop.

Second were peddlers selling all kinds of food and consumables. Firewood and coal were ubiquitous as people used them to cook. There were also various edible plants and fruit procured from the forest’s edge and from the farmers that worked the fields around the city.

The third group were simply people selling anything they didn’t need anymore but could still be used. Pots, pans, knives and such were a common sight.

Finally, there were more exotic and specialised goods from travelling merchants. They ranged from spices to beautiful cloth garments, perfumes and everything in-between.

The wealthier of Riversedge’s population lived near the eastern side, where the river flowed into the city. The nearer one went to the western wall, the more run-down and cramped the city became. Even the river itself couldn’t escape this fact as its waters grew murkier the closer it drew to its escape, corrupted by all the human filth it was forced to carry out of the city.

The market itself reflected this fact. The eastern part reserved for travelling merchants and the purveyors of fine goods while stalls and the things sold became more unadorned and practical towards the western part. At the western edge, a lot of the ‘stalls’ were nonexistent. Goods were simply placed on the ground in front of the person who sold them.

Gase had started at the poorer section of the market and worked his way up. In part due to an awareness of his dwindling supply of coin but also because he wanted to see more of the city. See it with his own eyes and not through half-remembered and stolen memories.

He continued through the market, stopping here and there to ask after prices as the clothes being sold turned from braided plant stems to leather. Rough and sturdy work clothes turned to soft leather shirts and pants made for comfort as he went further.

Gase ended his browsing when the leather turned to brightly dyed cloth at the eastern side, and merchant guards started giving him warning glances. Finely woven cloth was a luxury for the rich and priced accordingly. He ended up going back the stall of a clothier he had spoken with earlier.

“Back again?” The ageing woman said. “Told you, you wouldn’t find better prices than mine”.

At her back, looking over any prospective customers, was a young man with a permanent scowl and a large studded club at his side. The similarity in their features suggested they were family. Perhaps a son or nephew, given the age difference.

“Actually, I did,” Gase said, pointing down a few stalls to another merchant who was extolling his pieces to all who passed.

“Who, that fool, Terrod?” The woman scoffed. “Did you see the thread he uses for his stitching? Coarse as my late husband and not nearly as sturdy. Two days in the sun and it’ll start fraying.”

“You can buy his inferior stock,” she continued, “and replace it before the cycle is done. Or you could buy my shirts and not have to worry about stitches tearing every time you lift an arm.”

Gase gave a wry smile. The other man had said something similar about her clothes. Despite this, he found himself liking the woman. She had warned him straight away not to haggle with her, stating that her price was her price. It seemed like a breath of fresh air after his interaction with the innkeeper.

It also suggested that her prices were what she believed the clothes to be worth rather than inflated for extra profit. Of course, she might also just have seen him as an easy target.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Can you show me those shirts again? The sooner I get out of these rags, the better.”

After looking over the clothing again, Gase bought a shirt and a pair of trousers. Both were made of soft pale brown leather with additional patching at the elbows and knees. Unlike the innkeeper, the woman did weigh his coins, and he ended up paying six of the thin silver he had gotten from the innkeeper along with a few coppers.

Unfortunately, the woman didn’t sell shoes, and his own could barely be called such anymore. She did, however, point him to another who she claimed had good stock at fairly reasonable prices.

He followed her advice and bought a pair of light boots from the cordwainer she pointed out. Maybe a bit more expensive than some others but a poor quality boot could cause more problems than it solves. This set him back another three silver.

Gase left the market and ducked into an alleyway. It was narrow and dark, leading nowhere. One of the old alleys that used to connect one street to another but now led to a dead-end where one of the buildings had been expanded to the back of the next.

It was one of many such places that formed as the city slowly grew into every space that stood unoccupied. Some of these maze-like alleyways could cover a good part of Riversedge without ever crossing one of the main streets. Places like these made it possible for the street urchins and castaways to live here, hiding away from the guards that rarely patrolled such spaces. Y’rid had spent a few nights in this very alleyway, in fact. Long before he had found his previous den.

He walked up to one of the building walls that made the alleyway and placed this old rags against it. While he had no need for them, he was sure that one of those living on the streets would find a use for them. He knew Y’rid would have.

One thing down, he turned his attention to the subject he really wanted to focus on. Finding the location of the town from his memories. The scrollhouse he needed to check for maps was located in the southern part of the city, not far from the Hunters Hall.

The Hunters Hall sat on the southern main street. The eastern and western main streets connected with the road leading to nearby cities. The south gate, however, was nearest to the forest and thus was the preferred route of hunters venturing out to clear the surrounding beasts.

The Hall came into sight before his destination did. A large two-floor building that towered over its more modest surroundings. According to his inherited memories, the Hall ran primarily on taxes. It was one of the most common complaints among citizens though never really said in seriousness. Everyone was willing to spend a bit to not die, after all.

The Hall paid hunters who could bring proof of their kills. Further, it also paid for the corpses of beasts and animals that were brought in by hunters. They were then sold to tanners, butchers and the like to recover some of the coin given to the hunters.

Gase wasn’t exactly sure about the details nor why hunters wouldn’t sell to tanners and butchers directly. Perhaps it was easier this way? Regardless, either Y’rid hadn’t known the answer or that memory was one of the many of the youth’s life that he didn’t have.

Gase suspected that the Y’rid had harboured some resentment to the practice after his father had died. This Hunters Hall was another thing he would have to look into. He added it to his list of things to do.

“Y’rid! Is that you?” A voice called behind him.

Gase continued to walk a couple of steps before he realised the voice had addressed him. He turned around and saw a man probably no older than himself. He was dressed in clothes looking little better than the rags Gase had discarded only a few streets back. His face was narrow and pinched, his dark hair framing grey eyes that held a calculating look. It was a look he had seen many times before, born from hard times on the streets.

It was a familiar face, though he couldn’t place a name to it. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond as he searched his memories for the man’s name and came up empty-handed.

“It is you!” The man exclaimed in disbelief and ran his gaze up and down Gase. “I barely recognise you. What happened?”

The man’s gaze held a touch of envy and eagerness as he waited for the answer. But it was the happiness in the man’s voice that caught Gase off guard. He forced a smile, feeling as though he should know the man. The man knew him, or at least, he knew Y’rid.

“Yes. I did some work for someone,” Gase said before the silence could become uncomfortable. He cursed in his mind but outwardly kept what he hoped was a friendly smile. Of course, someone would recognise Y’rid, he had lived in this city his whole life after all.

“Well, obviously. But what? And more importantly, is there more where it came from?” The man’s words came quickly as if sensing an opportunity and unwilling to let it go. Gase could understand the man’s eagerness well. From what he could tell, it was rare for someone to be able to pull themselves from the street of the city. Mostly they just ended up in the slums outside the walls. Unfortunately, the details of Y’rid’s change wasn’t one that Gase could share. Not at the moment, at least.

“Can’t say,” Gase said.

The man looked over Gase again, his expression going from disbelief to hurt to recognition. When he spoke again, his voice was touched with bitterness. “So it’s like that then. You want to keep it to yourself. Can’t say I blame you. But I would have thought, with all we’ve been through, I’d have earned a bit more.”

“It isn’t what you think,” Gase said before he could help himself. As he said this, he finally stumbled onto a memory of Y’rid and the man.

He and the young man in front of him were standing near a baker’s stall in the market. The task was simple. The man would distract the baker, and he would grab a loaf. This wasn’t the first time they had done this, and it wouldn’t be the last. The guards didn’t have time to hunt after thieves who stole a single loaf of bread. As long as they didn’t escalate or kept stealing from the same person, they’d only have to avoid getting caught by the merchant. In this case, an ageing man with a protruding gut. With any luck, they’d have food today.

“Oh, what’s it like then?” The man in front of him asked, bringing Gase back to the present.

The safest course of action would probably be to leave the man to draw his own conclusions. To cut the ties Y’rid had to the world. Except that he didn’t want to turn the man away. Perhaps Y’rid’s memories had brought some lingering attachment with it. Or perhaps it was the happiness the man had shown when he saw him.

“I can’t explain right now,” Gase said finally. “I have some things I need to take care of, but come by the inn near the old smithy, off of the western street. You know where it is?” - Gase waited for the man to nod. - “Good. Tonight. I’ll explain what I can then over some food.”

The man’s bitterness faded a bit at the promise of a meal. Gase extracted himself from the encounter as quickly as he could and headed towards the scrollhouse. At least he had bought himself some time. He just hoped he thought of something to tell the man by then.

The image of the little girl from his memories came to his mind, and a part of him couldn’t help but feel annoyed at himself for making the promise to the man. He didn’t have any inclination of picking up Y’rid’s old life. He had his own to get back to.

Yet, he carried a debt towards Y’rid for wearing the man’s skin. Even now he was reminded of that fact by the way his body felt ever so slightly off. He might not have had a choice in the matter, but he would repay his debts. Abandoning the youth’s old friends to their fate wouldn’t help.

Perhaps he could give the man a helping hand. At the very least he wouldn’t leave him feeling betrayed by Y’rid. He still couldn’t remember the man’s name, though. That bothered him. It would seem that the gaps in Y’rid’s memories were more pronounced than he had thought. That left the question; what else didn’t he know?

The thought still though troubled him as he stopped in front of the scrollhouse. It was a large construction made entirely out of stone, unlike its neighbouring buildings. Even the Hunter’s Hall next to it only had a stone base and supports. Y’rid had only seen such stone buildings in the noble district bordering the river near the eastern wall.

Gase walked up the two steps that led to the door and entered. Inside the building opened up to a large open space lined with shelves that held more books and scrolls than he ever remembered seeing. Granted, that didn’t say much with his memories, but it certainly didn’t detract from the sight in front of him. It took the clearing of a throat coming from his side to pull his attention away from the display.

“First time in the House of Knowledge?” A thin young woman asked with a hint of pride.

The woman sat behind a desk to the side of the entrance from where she had a clear view of the large room. Beside the desk sat a man dressed in the leather armour common to hunters with a sword strapped to his side. He looked bored, but as his gaze passed Gase, he detected a sharpness hidden behind the man’s outward appearance.

“Yes it is,” Gase said. “I’m looking for some information.”

The woman chuckled. “Well, you’re certainly in the right place. The House holds a large variety of manuscripts and scrolls ranging from bestiaries to treatises on astronomy. You can peruse through all you see here. Of course, the standard fee of two silver will be required.”

“Two silver?”

“Indeed,” the woman immediately said, as though she had expected the question. “It is the goal of The House of Knowledge to spread and further our understanding of the world. The fee allows us to procure new material for our customers as well as protect what has already been acquired. The House also offers its services to copy any document in its possession, should you wish it. For a fee, of course, dependant on the specific material.”

“I… see,” Gase said a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm that the woman displayed. “I am looking for a town, Eriston. You haven’t perhaps heard of it, have you?”

“I have not,” the woman said with a small frown. She then pointed to a small section of the shelves. “We do have a collection of maps of the surrounding areas though. Also, you might want to look at some of the traveller journals we have.”

Disappointing, but not unexpected. Gase nodded and handed over two silver pieces and started to turn away towards the shelf before he stopped. “And books on magic and specific spells?”

Her expression showed something akin to pity. “We have several manuscripts and treatises on triggers and some scripts with a more… philosophical view on magic.” - She pointed to another shelf. - “Some of the texts go into describing different inscriptions and their uses. But if you are looking for spells and runes, you’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. Those, you’d have to pry it from the mages who keep it. And they’ll ask for a lot more than silver and gold.”

Gase thanked her and made his way into the large room. In the middle stood a few tables and chairs, a few of which were occupied. At one table sat a man dressed in blue dyed cloth reading form a large scroll.

At another stood a man and a woman, both wearing thick and sturdy leathers. The woman had what appeared to be an unstrung bow in a sheath on her back while a long spear rested against the table near the man. They seemed to be arguing in hushed tones while an opened book lay in front of the woman.

Gase made his way over to the map section that had been pointed out to him, passing close by the table of the two hunters.

“…telling you,” said the woman to the man. “This matches the thing Ivor saw. This is the only thing that matches it.”

“That’s nice an’all, ‘cept you don’t find them ‘round here. Further up in the Yode maybe, but not here.”

“Oh? And what about those red-eyes? Don’t find them around here either, do you? Except now you do. You heard what they said in the Hall. We should leave. Things have been getting worse around here, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Who knows what else those freaks brought with them?”

“You think they’re the cause o’this?” The man asked sceptically.

Gase glanced at the opened book as he passed. It showed an illustration of some kind of creature with a maw that split its head in two. Its back unfurled into swaying and twisting limbs of flesh. A creature spawned from nightmare. That or the artist had made liberal use of his imagination.

What the fuck is that?

“Either that or they were drawn here by it. Neither one is good for us. If you can get that through your head. You have to help me convince the others…”

Their voices faded away as he approached the map section. Having the maps within reach quickly drew Gase’s thoughts away from whatever the pair had been discussing.

This section consisted of three shelves that were divided into four square wooden boxes, open at the front. Each held a few rolled up parchments stacked on top of one another. Quickly scanning over them, Gase saw there were around two dozen maps. Beneath each box words had been written. It was here that Gase ran into the first problem.

While Y’rid had been taught to read by his father, he had been nine when the man died and since then he rarely, if ever, had any reason to read anything. Gase frowned, pulling up the letters from where they were buried in the memories he had inherited. He sounded them out and slowly pieced the words together.

Western Yode forest.

Yode. The name that the hunter had mentioned. Perhaps it was the forest surrounding Riversedge? He picked up one of the scrolls and unfurled it. On it was tiny simplified drawings of what he guessed were trees as they took up nearly the entire map. A few lines ran through them, twisting and turning. Rivers, probably. Here and there were round markings with dotted lines connecting them. Each marking was named. Cities. Right, he could work with this.

Gase began to decipher the names of all of the markings one by one, none of which he recognised. After he had gone through them all, he stared at the map a moment longer, trying to think of different pronunciations for the words but none of them sounded like Eriston.

In fact, none of the words he or the woman, Lae, had uttered in the memory sounded like anything he had heard recently. And none of those the man had spoken in the dream did either.

Shit!

It was a different language. How did he not notice? The one he had heard himself speak in the memory wasn’t the one Y’rid spoke. It had seemed so natural that he had simply excepted it. Would he still be able to find the town if the maps were written in a different language? Would the name be changed, translated to something else?

He took a deep breath to calm himself. He would have to figure out what language it was. Maybe this could even be a good thing. If he found out where the language was spoken, it might point him to the region in which Eriston lay.

Yes. Yes, that could work. But first…

Gase put the map back into its place. He would first try the maps. There was always the chance that the name was unchanged enough for him to recognise it.

Rather than going through the others in the box, he first set about identifying the boxes themselves. The first three were 'Western Yode forest', 'Greenside' and 'Riversedge & Surroundings'. The last box was simply titled 'Other'.

Gase quickly looked over a few of them to see if he could spot any similarities but soon gave up and began to take maps to one of the desks to study in more detail.

The first box of maps simply showed parts of the forest in varying detail and scope. The biggest one, which seemed to cover the most ground, had the forest as one big shaded mark covering most of the map. Gase guessed it showed the largest area as it detailed the forest’s border at both the right-side and bottom of the map. The others had at most only one of the other of the two borders, with one having none. This particular map also showed the word 'Greenside' at the far right.

Slowly Gase began to build an image in his mind from the maps. It seemed that this Yode forest was indeed the one that surrounded Riversedge, as he found the name of the city in one of the maps. The forest covered an incredible amount of space, and It ended at the foot an extensive mountain range. The part of the woods at the foot of the mountain called Greenside.

The second box held maps from this area, and Riversedge lay just within it. Though the fact that he hadn’t even seen any mountains from the mage’s hill gave hints as to the size of the Greenside area.

The third box held maps that showed more detail and covered less ground, all focused around Riversedge. The largest of these stretched to two other cities. Lok to the east and another city, Whitefalls, to the west. He had managed to figure out the directions after he saw Riversedge on a map as he knew the main body of the river lay to its north.

This continued for some time, not a small amount of which was spent in trying to parse the names of the cities and landmarks from the maps. As he worked his way through the first three boxes, an unease settled in his gut. Not one of the many names even resembled the one he wanted to see.

Gase returned the maps to their places and turned to the three maps in the last box, hoping that he would at least find something in there he recognised, and not from Y’rid’s memories. His disappointment only grew until the final map slid from his fingers onto the table where he had sat down.

Nothing.

There was nothing. Not a single name that triggered a spark of memory. He leaned back into his chair with a vacant look. He felt drained. He didn’t know how long he had spent here, but it had been long enough for the shadows coming through the windows to grow in length. Long enough for the day’s light to start to dim.

He turned his thoughts towards the language of his memories. He would have to find out more about it. Gase rubbed his eyes and stood up to return the map. He would also try those travel journals the woman at the desk had mentioned.

He barely managed to suppress a sigh. With his skill at reading, it would take him a long time to read a single page.

I’ll find it.

He told himself and turned to ask the woman behind the desk what she knew about languages.