Monday was heralded by the return of the bedlam in the city streets. The weekend offered some freedom from the constant cacophony of horns deafening passersby that had now returned. A young man paced back and forth within his room biting at his fingernails to the point of drawing blood.

“Fine”

The young man snatched his knapsack and left the room in a hurry. Not before packing his spellbook and a pair of potion bottles. Kir once again made the trek to Hallowvale, walking the familiar streets of the Gallows district through the glimmer of air and finally into the main thoroughfare. The street was markedly quieter, Monday mornings brought with them a return to work and an escape from bliss. Those that were still present upon the cobbled roads moved hurriedly and quietly.

Kir followed suit and strode down into no man's land. A small interwoven set of side streets that lay outside any syndicates territorial claims. Black market vendors often resided in no man's land despite the actual black market being accessible through shadow walls spread sporadically around Hallowvale. The actual appearance did shift as one stepped into the area.

Very few walked the streets, and those who did had a purpose and a desire to stay hidden. Store signs hung out of the hole in the wall establishments with cryptic imagery alluding to their true purpose. An apothecary holding less than kosher inventory bore the image of a bundle of lily’s wrapped with brown twine. If one desired creatures for the purpose of committing unsavoury deeds one might simply look for the placard emblazoned with a blue sparrow. These placards were often made of rotted wood as if one needed any more reason to suspect these forbidden outlets.

This information was typically restricted to the upper echelons of the criminal underworld, however dwarven mafioso’s had a habit of being rather loose lipped with their affairs. Furthermore, when asking for resources they opted for a “go get it yourself” approach, placing a wad of cash in hand and pointing to the nearest purveyor of desired goods.

After a more expedited stroll, Kir eventually found himself before one of the larger establishments. Painted onto the placard that hung outside the store, swinging whenever a gust of wind picked up, was a blue crystal with white sparkles emanating from its center, and a small grove of red speckled mushrooms growing behind it. Kir placed his hand onto the door latch only to remove it when he found that the door seemed to have been kicked in, with the remnants of a clumsily cast knock spell.

Breathing in, Kir put his opposing thumbs together and did the same with his index fingers, bent in his index fingers then shifted his right hand 90 degrees and met his thumb with his middle finger, a soft ripple in the air was visible as the circuit shifted. Kir pressed his hands against his chest sending a wave of blue energy around his body that rippled for a few seconds before hardening, leaving no visible remnant. Kir then placed his hand on the door, opening it slowly and peering into the store. Three mana crystals were affixed to the walls, one to the left and two to the right, the sconce holding the fourth had been ripped from the wall, brick and mortar being scattered across the ornate purple and gold carpet that sat in the center of the room. A bench cordoned off the serving area from where the customers stood, a path swinging upwards to walk behind and further into the back room.

The main area was empty but the sound of footsteps could be heard echoing from the laboratory. An enormous crash boomed out followed by a shout.

“Damnit! Snake fucker gave us the slip!”

“Come on let’s go, nothing left but some cheap shit” a second and deeper voice, he spoke with authority over the other.

The two men began to approach the front room.

“Shit shit shit shit”

Kir began frantically searching the room for a place to hide or at least help get the jump on them, but at this point any movement would alert the now fast approaching men. Running was the only viable solution, as Kir was by no where near ready to use his new spell to any great effect. He turned to the door, still partially ajar and reached for the handle, but as his fingers reached the metal latch it slammed shut and locked.

“Oh fun, a witness”.

Kir steadily spun around, his heart now pounding against his ribs and pulsing in his ears. Two figures stood side by side, both around the same height, dressed in ragged clothing. The man to the left had seemingly forced the door shut as his hand remained outstretched. He then opted to shift it from his open palm into that of the figure of a gun.

“Boss said no witness’” The voice was seemingly the one who had cried out in anger earlier, looking over to his partner for permission.

Kir’s eyes drifted over to the silent man and met his eye line. The man’s gaze, while half-lidded and soft, carried the tell-tale sign of an addict. Pink flecks appeared in the iris, like little cuts slicing outwards from his pupil. He seemed in his thirties but it was difficult to tell as there seemed to be a shimmer or a glamour shifting his facial features slightly every time Kir’s eyes moved. A fairly common method of obfuscation though it often failed to effect any inherently magical alterations to one's face, for instance the pink flecks in his eyes.

Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds before the man grunted in affirmation, the first man responding with a smile. His index finger aimed pointedly at Kir’s chest began to glow, a small roiling mass of flames quickly gathered and condensed, lengthening slightly. Kir surmised it to be some alteration of a Firebolt cantrip, condensed to increase speed and impact. But as he inspected it the man let it off, slamming directly into Kir’s chest. As the bolt collided it seemed to dissipate slightly, the impact being spread across the blue ripples that manifested along Kir’s clothes. This spell that was likely intended to be a quick and nasty kill-shot only sent the target back a step forcing him to breathe in harshly at the pain spreading across his chest.

“Mage Armor” the shooter muttered derisively.

The preemptive spell he cast before entering was already bearing fruit. The hit shocked Kir back to focus, bringing his hands up he faced them both outwards, sending a blinding flash of light in the direction of the two attackers. Kir used this temporary distraction to vault over the bar and hide behind the bench giving him a few seconds to formulate a plan.

“Motherfucker!”

One of the men seemed to stumble against the wall for support, a noise indicating that they pulled another sconce out, dimming the room slightly. Both thugs seemed to have been caught off guard and completely disoriented by the flash. A modified light cantrip. By redirecting the mana flow and completely shattering the foundations that kept the spell up for an extended period, it allowed the caster to flood the circuit with mana and release a much brighter, though temporary flash.

Kir’s mind began to race with the possibilities for his next move. Preferably ones that kept him from getting shot with another spell, His mage armor had its limits. He tore off his backpack and began to rummage around for spell components or any kind of arcane focus, the bottles clinked around, a couple of pens and his spellbook. Cursing under his breath, Kir already knew that he foolishly hadn’t packed anything, but desperation often births redundant hope. In morbid resignation he let his head thud against the back wall only to hear the clinking of glassware.

Hopeful once again, he began searching for anything, roots, feathers, pearls, dust, feoces, blood, anything that he could jerry-rig into a working spell until it dawned on him.

“Alright thats it!” The attacker yelled.

The underling began to weave a stronger evocation spell then the simple cantrip he fired off before. The air rippled with the sheer quantity of the mana being channelled into the spellwork. This not being necessarily an indicator for the strength of the spell, but rather the inefficiencies in his somatic shaping, his incantation was also slightly off in the infernal pronunciation but it seemed to be doing the job well enough. The man's eyes were shut tight in concentration, using a spell that wasn’t strictly necessary in the scenario, but was fueled with frustration.

“Prism!”

“What!”

The man’s eyes snapped open to find a projectile not 10 centimeters from his face. It was too close and unfocused to discern its nature, though it was made eminently clear what it was when it impacted with a violent shatter, doubling his vision.

The man awkwardly fell forward two steps before catching himself. He opened his mouth to yell but another hard glass object collided with his forehead, the shards now leaving abrasions and cuts across his face.

Kir marveled at his accuracy (though heavily assisted with a simplified version of his new spell) and took another go at lobbing a beaker at the man.

“Ok that's enough”

The older looking man finally spoke as the glass left Kir’s hand. The man reached into his coat and seemingly out of nowhere pulled a falchion inscribed with glyphs, glowing a bright purple. His body shifted and as the bottle approached the two it seemingly lost its momentum, only to drop in two pieces onto the ground.

“Fucking sick” Kir exclaimed involuntarily.

The blade shimmered now by the side of the man, seeming to have cut through the bottle sending red dust all around into the air. The man referred to as Prism began to hack and cough against the dust entering his lungs.

“Aaand burn” Kir tapped on the wooden counter with his finger thrice setting a small spark into the dust particles hanging into the air. Setting the room briefly ablaze, it seemed to only work briefly as the anti fire precautions taken by Luther seemed to take effect. The fire spread out, singeing the hair of the assailants but then rapidly condensed into a small ball and extinguished.

Without giving the two time to react the young wizard grabbed at the sand kept in a jar beneath the counter and tossed it forward with a gnomish whisper sending it over in two parts to the men. It dissipated around their heads only to send their eyelids into dainty fluttters and their bodies swooning. The larger one made efforts to keep his eyes open but they proved ultimately futile, sending both toppling onto each other in fits of snoring.

Kir let loose a sigh of relief before brushing off the accumulated detritus from the battle. With just a little guilt he began to pile in some of the material components left into his bag for future use. Following this he needed to confirm a theory. With as great a silent footstep as he could muster he made his way over to the attackers and lifted an eyelid slightly.

“Thought so”

His previous observation proved to be accurate, the only real reason the sleep spell worked was the physiological effect Pixie Dust had after repeated abuse.

“Now this”

He said, a little too eagerly as he made a grab for the falchion. He began to examine the runes hoping to learn something from its make but was quickly disappointed when he observed the reality of the weapon.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, who would make something like this?”

In reality the only enchantment on the blade made it glow with a bright light, not even bright enough to illuminate a dark room properly. A look of disgust and disappointment crept upon his face as he threw it away like a bug had crawled on his hand. Though regardless of the quality of the weapon, it was far too unnecessarily ostentatious for a couple of addicts looking for a fix.

Kir stood with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes lingered on the now incapacitated combatants before pushing his glasses up and making his way to the backroom Luther called a laboratory. As expected the room was largely trashed. Hung up on the walls were maps of Hallowvale, scrawl written in code dotting certain areas of the dimension. Now shattered on the floor was an ornate glass cabinet once holding an array of trinkets and souvenirs. The entire room seemed more a rest area rather than any kind of location for production. After all, most of his product was imported and produced in far more clandestine locations.

After his cursory glance, Kir underwent a far more thorough inspection of the room, but to no avail. Luther knew how to hide his tracks, and it would take more than a detect magic spell from a childish mage to find him.

This presented a problem, Luther was Kirs only source for black market potions and with him out of the picture for the foreseeable future, he had no plug.

“What the hell is happening?”

At least he could say with certainty that it wasn’t The Order. Kir pondered Luther's fate while staring blankly at the utterly devastated room, that was until something caught his eye. Tucked beneath a well crafted leather chair was a scroll, simply from the aura it emanated it was clearly intensely magical. Inspecting it in the shop was inviting trouble so with a quick sleight of hand it was placed in his backpack. Even with no one around it still felt like Luther was watching disapprovingly.

It didn’t take much longer before Kir gave up his search. With as much finesse as a physically inept shut-in could muster he snuck out of the building and made his way back to the Gallows entrance. The moment he crossed the threshold back to the mundane world his phone buzzed aggressively at him. A single worded text from Amber.

‘help’