Eric awoke with a foul taste in his mouth, courtesy of the ale he’d drank the previous night. While not in excess, the spirit had nonetheless lingered, and he grimaced as he smacked his lips. His mouth felt exceptionally dry. Thankfully, there was a pitcher of water beside the bed on a small wooden nightstand, and he poured himself a full glass and drank it in one.

As he stood fully erect, he noticed how stiff his muscles felt. The long day of marching, combined with the rather exciting fight with the brigands had all contrived to make him sore. His shoulder, to his relief, seemed to have healed more overnight and did not trouble him as much. Peeling off the bandage to inspect the wound, he noticed that the skin around the shallow gash was rather pale but otherwise seemed fine. Shrugging, he tossed the wrapping aside. The wound didn’t look like it would open anytime soon.

He’d reached his small satchel and pulled out the only other outfit he owned, a dark gray tunic with shorter sleeves. There was an intricate series of laces in the sleeves which pulled the fabric tight to his elbows, and the hem of the waist fit snugly over his breeches. Or at least it would, once he’d had a chance to bathe, which he did now. He tugged out the breeches, in the same color, and made his way out of the room.

Thankfully, this inn had an attached bathhouse. It was quiet now, as most of the patrons had already left, and so there was only one other inside. The bath itself was large, perhaps twenty feet across and fifteen wide, a rectangle of steaming water. A small anteroom was home to several buckets, bars of soap, and cloths to scrub himself clean before stepping into the bath.

He shed his filthy clothes and sat upon the bench, pulling one of the buckets close to him, along with a rag and some soap. Dipping the rag into the water, he hissed quietly at the cold touch of it. After sitting all morning, there was no remaining warmth to the bucket. Grimacing in displeasure, he began to quickly scrub himself clean, encouraged by the thought of the hot water awaiting him. Once he’d covered himself from head to toe in lathered soap, he picked up the bucket. Taking a deep breath, he tipped it over and doused himself with the icy liquid, rinsing the soap off completely.

Shuddering and cursing quietly, he stood and staggered over to the bath. He slipped into it with a sigh of gratitude, feeling the heat soak into him immediately and soothe the aches and pains of the previous day. It didn’t do much to wake him up, but it was very relaxing, and he leaned against the wall, allowing his eyes to close. He heard a quiet sigh to his left, then the sound of the other person getting out of the water and walking back to the cleaning room.

He could have been sitting in the hot water for ten minutes or an hour, he couldn’t be sure. Frankly, he didn’t care, letting himself just soak. Eventually, though, he was forced to get out himself, if only to stop himself from nodding off in the water. He shook his hair and pulled one of the nearby towels off of a pile. Quickly drying himself off as he walked back over to his clean clothes, he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror and turned back in surprise.

Truth be told, he hadn’t gotten many chances to study himself since he’d first arrived in Ahya. Between the chaos of trying to figure out why he’d been summoned and the idea of starting a new life, he’d been too busy. He also normally didn’t care much about his appearance. Living by himself had naturally led to this, and a lax in his physical exercises. An unavoidable side affect of such laziness, of course, was that he’d developed quite the gut.

But looking at himself now, he couldn’t find any evidence of the large stomach. Even the lines of his face were sharper, set atop a thin but sturdy neck and shoulders. He even had a contoured torso, with clearly defined muscles leading down to his waist. It wasn’t quite a six-pack, but it wasn’t far off. He took a second to study himself further. He seemed to be back in the form he’d had while practicing martial arts years ago. He grinned slightly, remembering how he’d drawn a few girls’ eyes back then.

Pushing the thought aside, he toweled off his hair a little more, then tugged on the gray breeches. They were made of soft cotton, and were very comfortable. He pulled the tunic on next, marking it slightly with his damp hair. Not much he could do about it at the moment, and it would dry off fast enough with the heat and wind outside. He pushed it back with his hands for now, put his boots back on, and made his way out of the bathhouse.

After a hasty breakfast, he re-donned his leather armor and made his way back out into Sheran. The town was lively this morning, he noticed. Men and women of all ages moved back and forth, most carrying crates and bags to and from the docks. Glancing that way, he noted that there were more ships than usual there. That was fair, he reminded himself. The next two or three days would be the busiest for trade in Sheran, as foreign merchants sold off their goods. Tyrman merchants would then take them to other cities, and sell them off yet again.

Except that wares were bound to be cheaper here, he thought. The lack of talented craftsmen would be a potential hiccup, but then again raw materials would cost less. Making up his mind quickly, he turned towards the docks, settling into a lazy stroll as he joined the flow of traffic. The people around him shifted their paths slightly to allow his merging without much complaint or comment.

Eric quite enjoyed the simple act of perusing the many goods for sale. Much of what came off the ships went straight into one of the many warehouses, but many goods were still set up close to the docks in stalls, much like the Market Day he’d witnessed in Milagre. Vendors of all kinds rushed to arrange their stock, then began calling out to the crowd, tempting them into hopefully making a purchase. It was just as chaotic here as in Milagre.

Steeling himself for the noise, he began to weave his way through the thicker crowd around the docks, pausing by each stall to survey its contents. Most of it was the general fare; food, basic tools, weapons, and armor. Then there was a row of magic vendors and potion makers. One stand, in particular, stood out to him, however. Unlike the others nearby, with flashy cloth and wares, this was bare. A woman in a dark hooded tunic and vest was sitting leisurely, feet propped up, behind the stall, idly watching the people passing her by. She made no attempt to call out or draw attention.

“Good morning,” he said politely as he approached the booth. “What sort of things do you sell?”

She looked up as he appeared, her green eyes narrowing slightly against the glare of the morning sun to peer at him. He could see the barest hint of red hair under the hood, tucked away from her face. She offered him a slight smirk.

“Everything,” she answered smoothly. “My organization dabbles in all things. What are you particularly looking for?”

Eric made a show of looking all around the stall for wares, of which there were none. “I don’t see any stock.”

“I work without the trouble of hauling heavy items,” she said. “Surely you’ve heard of magic, and how it can accomplish many things.”

He nodded, not sure if he liked her slightly sarcastic attitude right off the bat. “Alright then. What is your organization?”

“I am the head of Everyone,” she said. “You may call me M.”

“M? Is that short for anything?”

“Not so far as you’re concerned.”

He frowned slightly, trying to make up his mind. He’d heard of Everyone a few times now and knew that they oversaw all trading within Tyrman. He wasn’t sure if he believed this woman’s claim to be the head of the organization, however. In his experience, managers and leaders sat back in an office, while their underlings controlled the day-to-day operations.

“Alright, M,” he said, putting a little stress on the name. “I’m a recently-employed guard, escorting a gem merchant back to Milagre tomorrow. I have healing potions and some message scrolls already. What would you recommend I purchase?”

It was an old trick he’d learned. Whether in a restaurant or convenience store, the fastest test of honesty in a merchant was to ask them for recommendations. An honest merchant would offer you goods that they genuinely thought you might need. A dishonest one would try to weigh you down with unnecessary junk.

“A guard, eh?” She said lightly, rubbing her chin with one finger. “How’s the quality of your weapon?”

He frowned at the question, then slid the weapon, still in its sheath, out of the belt, placing it on the table in front of her. She slid her feet off the stall and leaned forward, picking the sword up with her hands and examining it closely. Then she drew it, feeling the weight and balance of it, nodding slightly to herself. Sliding the sword home, she shoved it back to him.

“Non-magical,” she commented. “But of decent, standard quality. Would you be interested in picking up a basic enchantment on it, then?”

He thought it over, intrigued in spite of himself. “How much would that cost?”

“There are nine tiers of enchantments I can manage. Technically ten, but that last tier is nigh-impossible, not to mention ridiculously expensive. For a basic enchantment, just to make it a little sharper and sturdier, a mere ten gold is sufficient.”

“Seems a fair price,” Eric commented. “That’s actually very tempting.”

“Indeed. But if you go with me, instead of one of my many merchants, I offer a special deal to first-time customers. I’ll do two first-tiers for fifteen royals, or a second-tier for 25. Five gold off, either way.”

“Alright,” He replied, making up his mind on the spot. Magic gear could come in handy, after all. “I’d like you to enchant my sword and shield, then.”

“Certainly. It will take me about half an hour, so come back then.”

He slipped his shield off from where it hung over his shoulder and set it down on top of the sword. Then, digging into the pouch at his side, he counted out fifteen gold royals and dropped them into her outstretched hand. She made an odd flicking motion with the hand holding them, and they disappeared into thin air. That was a neat trick, he thought. Nothing to steal, no trouble.

“Alright then, Eric Breeden. I’ll see you again in half an hour.”

It was only when he was far away, distracted by a food stall selling tacos, that he realized she’d used his full name, which he hadn’t shared.