Riccard was a mouse like so many others, grizzled and not quite past his prime, even if rapidly approaching that intangible barrier. He had no family and few friends, regularly traveling beyond the city walls in spite of the terrible dangers which lurked outside. He wasn't a brave hero, however, or even truly an adventurer. When his job was done properly, after all, it was as unheroic and lacking in adventure as possible. Riccard was a scavenger.

The differences between an adventurer and a scavenger could be somewhat vague, much like the differences between an adventurer and a grave robber, or an adventurer and a drifter, or an adventurer and a violent thug. Adventurers took on many traits, very few of them what most would call conventionally virtuous, but generally speaking, the whole usually proved greater than the sum of its parts. In this case, the mouse in the dark prospectors garb and thick brown fur was originally an adventurer, but even back then, he hadn't sought out battles or glory. What he had searched for was treasure, and that was exactly what he had found.

Now, his career was devoted to the no less challenging task of retrieving it. This treasure wasn't in the form of gold, silver or gemstones, of course. It was a cache of brown glass, a massive supply both hidden from passing eyes and largely broken down into transportable pieces.

Riccard had briefly considered forming a team to aid in this task, but ultimately decided against it. There were no legal claims to treasure hoards, and any extra mice who knew about it could easily move in to take far more than their fair share, stabbing the scavenger in the back (hopefully only metaphorically, but the promise of wealth has always been known to summon the darker instincts of people). Even should they prove to be an honest sort, there was no guarantee that they were good at keeping secrets.

As a result the lucrative, albeit back-breaking task fell to him and him alone. The hoard was rather far from the city, which meant it was unlikely other mice would stumble upon it, and well away from the usual prowling routes of the dark lords. Still, he could only carry so much on each trip, and despite the secure location, trips needed to be frequent. As well hidden as it may have been, in a small nook behind a tree and the corner of two fences, it wasn't invisible. He had found it after all, so there was no guarantee that others wouldn't eventually do the same. Quite the contrary, in fact. Given a long enough timeframe, it was pretty much inevitable.

Glass was an especially precious commodity. It could be used to create blades of unrivaled sharpness, even if such tools and weapons were not the most durable. Even the fact that they chipped and broke easily wasn't considered entirely bad. Sellers of glass appreciated this fact a great deal, as customers always needed more of it. Customers were somewhat less enthusiastic about this detail, but it did keep glass as a valuable resource. Even if their glass blade might not be the most useful in a fight (and if it were, would be significantly less useful in subsequent battles), owning one was seen as a point of pride. This sense of status would not have existed were it not so delicate and finite in supply. Aside from being effortlessly made sharp, it was also beautiful, shiny and clear, making it ideal for art and jewelry, and similar to metal, difficult to find in portable shards. Riccard hadn't even come close to exhausting the supply, and even this work had already made him extremely wealthy, and while there was nothing he particularly needed money for, the very nature of money is that you just never have quite enough of it. However much you have, with just a tiny bit more, all of your problems would simply melt away.

Unfortunately for him, his travels were not nearly as unseen as he had hoped. As a result, his real problems, the sort which many see as mythological in the sense that money can't solve them, were just beginning.

"-And that is when the earth exploded. Things were looking rather grim, I must admit, but thankfully, I still had two wishes left."

Both Jerin and Aaron were dumbstruck by Rowan's story, even if for completely different reasons. At this moment, Mathias had returned from his home holding a large crossbow in hand. He hadn't bothered to say goodbye to his many room-mates, as they were all essentially strangers. Most mice found it worked better this way. In a crowded home, there was always some degree of friction, so it was easier to think of unpleasant events as lone incidents caused by strangers, rather than a larger pattern caused by a specific individual who consistently made things worse. It was easier to have a general distaste towards strangers in general than to have person enemies, after all. This system, unfortunately, removed the element of accountability, and thus greatly benefited the worst members of the community, as many measures to preserve the peace so often do. Still, it worked well enough, especially considering that most mice had few possessions tying them down to a specific location and thus moved quite frequently.

"Wow, that looks fancy!" Jerin said, hopping over to him to study it closer. It was certainly more elaborate than the majority of weapons in these parts, actually being made of multiple materials, seemingly intentionally. Most objects that were comprised of many parts were done so purely out of convenience or necessity, rather than by design.

"Yeah, it's pretty sharp, isn't it? Grandpa designed it." He nodded. He was speaking of Rowan of course, but it felt silly always referring someone as 'great'. It similarly wasn't as though he had any other grandpa's around to muddle up who he was talking about. While Jerin closely studied the elaborate bow, his eyes were focused entirely on her.

Aaron had to admit that it did look rather impressive. As for Rowan, he wasn't entirely decided. He was surprised that the elderly sorcerer had no issue with the stairs, the old mouse having taken them rather slowly, of course, as he does everything pretty slowly. Still, even after the many levels of uneven steps, and passing through the many classrooms of students who whispered nervously to one another, eyes focused on the nearly mythological head arcanist, he wasn't the least bit tired when they finally reached the outdoors. Quite impressive considering that even Aaron had found himself a bit little winded, between the fighting and so much walking up and down (although lugging around a hammer that weighed nearly as much as his sister likely didn't help, either). Mathias had found himself in a similar state, even if he carried a significantly lighter load, mice in general not really being used to dealing with a lot of stairs. As for Jerin, she seemed to have virtually infinite energy, a blessing in many cases, but often a curse for those forced to deal with her, especially in the long term once the novelty of that trait had worn out. As the group walked, Rowan regaled them with tales of the history of the land, all of which were borderline nonsensical (more often on the non side of that border). At first Aaron thought that perhaps the sorcerer was simply telling amusing tales (he didn't find them particularly amusing, but Jerin couldn't get enough of them. Of course Aaron wasn't the most easy amused sort in general), but there was no sense of whimsy in his tone. The more absurd the events depicted, the greater gravitas and sorrow was expressed in the voice of the old mouse, even when the stories blatantly contradicted one another.

"It's been modified for exceptional range, speed and accuracy." Mathias said, proudly, holding it up before adding. "...at the slight cost of penetrative power. Watch!"

The thief removed an unusual bolt from his belt, made of paper, and folded into multiple points at the base, all converging into a sharp edge at the tip. Humans would immediately recognize this as a paper airplane, but for mice, it was seen as cutting-edge technology. He set it into a small groove in bow, drew back and notched it, and looked about for a suitable target. A good distance away, a small pebble sat atop a wooden signpost. Whatever had been written on the sign had long since faded, with it being something of a mystery as to why such a sign would even exist in the first place, since there appeared to be nothing nearby worth drawing attention to. The truth of the matter was that the sign had, indeed,, warned that there was nothing worthwhile ahead, and anyone seeking something of interest should explore elsewhere. Not exactly an urgent message, but a polite one nonetheless, even if it a little impractical. Mathias took careful aim, curling a furless finger about the plastic trigger, forcing the tensely held rubber band to spring the bolt forward with a soft twang.

The small paper plane flew swift and true, maintaining it's vertical momentum, striking the small stone right at the center, making it wobble slightly. Mathias gave a little nod of approval as he reset the bow, a quick even if not entirely intuitive process which he thankfully had much practice with.

"Wow!" Jerin smiled, watching the pebble gradually stop wobbling, and settle back into place.

"Really? Couldn't even knock that pebble off?" Aaron grumbled.

"It might not hit the hardest, but the ammunition is designed to travel exceptionally far, and the bow itself can be reloaded and fired at a much higher rate than most. Rowan made it many months ago, back when he was still apprenticing in the upper levels of the university. Haven't even needed to replace a single part after all this time." Mathias said, looking down at the weapon held within his black paws.

Of course it was a university project, Aaron thought to himself. So long as they can come up with something new they're happy, with actual practicality all but ignored. He was incredibly skeptical if those bolts could even hurt an unarmored mouse, let alone a dark lord.

"An impressive display. It requires a keen eye and a steady hand to fire so accurately, regardless of the tool used." Rowan said, "Technology was an early interest of mine, I must admit, but it was clearly a dead-end compared to mastery of spirit and arcane energies... observe!"

If one were to not look closely, or at all, they could be forgiven for thinking that a small ball of energy had launched from the sorcerer's paw and struck the pebble, knocking it from the post. If they were to pay even the smallest bit more attention, however, they would see that he had simply thrown another rock at it. While Jerin was watching closely, she also happened to be the sort gifted with a strong imagination. Her brother was not so fortunate.

"Really? That's it? That's your magic?" He asked, incredulously.

"Hmmm, strange, I had expected the stone to explode. Perhaps I did not infuse it with quite enough of the fire element? Well, that is simply how magic works sometimes. It can be a fickle mistress." the sorcerer replied with a nod, clearly neither surprised nor disappointed with the result.

"Oh!" Mathias chimed in "I forgot my other mighty weapon!" Raising his hand in the air, he looked to the skies and called out, "Come, Dondorion!"

Nothing happened for a few moments until a faint buzzing could he heard, a sound which grew ever louder. A fly spiraled down from the rusted rafters overhead, its many legs perched on the raised paw of the mouse. "Behold, my most trusted ally!" he looked to Jerin, faintly blushing under his fur before clarifying. "Well, second most trusted." he said. Dondorion responded with a disappointed buzz.

"Aww, Look at him! He's so fuzzy!" Jerin beamed, eyes wide, leaning in close, giving the small creature a light pet between the transparent wings, causing them to vibrate excitedly.

"Eww, don't touch it!" Aaron shrank back. "You don't know where it's been!"

Mathias did have a pretty good idea of where it had been, but figured saying so wouldn't do much to help with the 'eww' reaction. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I've raised him ever since he was a larvae. He acts as a scout, a high-speed attacker, and a trusted confidant!"

It wasn't unheard of for mice to domesticate such creatures, but it was uncommon. For one thing, most people were creeped out by the huge vacant eyes, their choice of diet, not to mention all of the legs. They fell into that odd range where they're kind of too big to simply ignore when they were fluttering about the city, but not large or aggressive enough to be considered proper fiends in need of slaying. They were simply a general nuisance, and every once in a while mice would try to put them to some more productive use, usually with poor results.

Mathias pushed his paw upwards, and the large insect flew back up into the city rafters, accordingly.

It was difficult for Aaron to be too disappointed with the displays. The advantage of having low expectations is that you're constantly either being proven right, or pleasantly surprised. He rarely found himself pleasantly surprised, with today being no exception. Maybe a small part of him had hoped that they would be incredibly powerful warriors, but then, another part of him, one that he wanted to ignore, was glad they weren't, happy to be the strongest member of the group.

"Let's-let's just go. We still need to get some supplies." the large mouse sighed, shaking his head. The four walked towards the market district, not a single one of them noticing the tiny plume of steam which had raised from the thrown stone and quickly dissipated.

"Do we know where we're going?" Mathias asked. "We still don't know where this dark lord lives."

"I may be able to help with that." Rowan said.

The four of them stopped, looking to the ancient mouse.

"Wait, you said that there wasn't any information written about where Midnight might live." Mathias said.

"There is not, and I doubt that there is a mouse alive who would know. However, there are other sources of information, aside from mice."

The three looked to him with suspicion. While it was true, there were creatures besides mice, Makers and the dark lords, most of them were known for being unintelligent, violent, incapable of communication, or all of the above. Not exactly fonts of wisdom.

"I know of another dark lord. A much different variety from Midnight and their ilk. An ancient being, who knows much, not only of matters the eyes can see, but beyond the veil of our common senses." Rowan added.

"So, um... it's a nice dark lord? Not a dangerous one?" Jerin asked, tilting her head to one side

"Hmmm. I would not go quite so far as to say that. It may lack the sadistic hunger of most dark lords, but it is great, powerful and very temperamental. It may not be driven by the instinctive desire to kill and destroy, but it is not a beast to be taken lightly, either."

Both Jerin and Aaron found this to be quite surprising. While it goes without saying that, despite their experiences with one, a level of experience which very few mice shared, they were far from experts when it came to the lords of darkness. So far as they knew, all dark lords were simply killers, and while they may have different body types, ultimately they behaved in pretty much the same ways. The idea that one could actually be one that could actually be helpful was mind-boggling.

"So, this dark lord of yours. Is it far away?" Aaron asked.

"Not overly so, but far enough that safely reaching it without drawing attention from more hostile varieties of its kind could pose a problem." Rowan said. "The route is not a particularly exposed one, however. We will simply have to hope that fortune is on our side."

"We'll worry about that when we come to it. We knew we'd have to leave the city eventually." Jerin said, "In the meantime, I guess we should prepare." the girl added, a little more patient now. Even though her actual revenge wasn't on the immediate horizon, at least there was a plan set in motion.

Although a little later in the day, the marketplace wasn't any less busy. For the moment, the assorted shopkeepers may have stopped hurling abuse at one another, but they were simply resting their lungs, taking the time to come up with newer, and arguably more clever insults. They did not, of course, spend this time paying more attention to their customers.

"Keep an eye on your money." Mathias whispered to Jerin, leaning in close to her.

"Yeah, otherwise someone might pick your pocket." Aaron grumbled, sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm just saying, crowds like this can be unsafe. Why, just earlier today, some vandals apparently destroyed the general store!"

The two siblings went quiet for a moment, until eventually Jerin spoke up.

"So, Um... about that. Did you happen to hear about anyone getting crushed in the wreckage? Like some snazzy dressed, one-eyed guy with a weird mask, who also happened to be a total jerk?"

Mathias blinked. "That's... oddly specific. No, I didn't hear about that happening to anyone matching that description. Any other people you want to ask that about? The answer will be the same."

"What about Miss Mayweather? Whatever happened with her?" Aaron asked.

"Apparently, she was tied up in the basement. It took a little while for the guards to dig away the debris to reach her, but she was thankfully unharmed."

"Oh. I see." Jerin frowned, not quite able to decide whether to be pleased or disappointed by the news.

"I probably shouldn't ask, but you two wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" The thief asked.

"Aaron did it!" the young girl abruptly blurted out.

"What do you mean 'I did it'? You were there too!"

"It wasn't my idea to wreck the place!"

"It wasn't an 'idea', I didn't have a choice!" the larger mouse angrily replied.

"Wait, let's just back up for a minute here. What's going on?" Mathias rubbed between his eyes, ending the rapidly exchanged accusations between the siblings.

Aaron explained, quietly to make sure as few people as possible could overhear, the events which had occurred shortly before meeting the thief. Jerin regularly chimed in, interrupting him to fill in all of the unnecessary details, aside from those which had painted her in an unflattering light, of course. The young thief took in this new information with wide eyes, meanwhile Rowan was softly humming to himself, seemingly paying little attention to the matter.

"You were attacked? I guess I can see why you didn't go to any of the other guards. Any idea who it was?" The thief asked.

"Smirk." Rowan said, finally speaking up.

"Huh?"

"That was what people called him, but his true name was Samuel. My former apprentice. A young man truly gifted in the arts of mysticism, but lacking in discipline, having turned away from our most sacred of traditions. Unsatisfied with my teachings and methods, he left the university, never to return, clearly believing he could obtain greater mastery of magic on his own. From your description, it could only him." Rowan said, eyes shut, slowly shaking his head.

"Why did you take someone so obviously evil as an apprentice?" Jerin asked.

"You are far from the first to ask me that, but he was not evil." the old man paused, "At least he was not back then. Everyone seemed to believe that there was something sinister about him, because of the scar, and the nickname which came from it, but he had earned it at a young age through no fault of his own. For a while he wore a mask, covering it up, but that did little to make him look less wicked. From your description, it would appear that he has since embraced his true nature. Just as some are destined to become heroes, evil can be predetermined as well."

Jerin furrowed her brow, recalling that the strange attacker did, indeed wear a mask. He wore it over the unscarred portion of his face, however, which seemed a little bit pointless.

"That sounds rough. I guess when so many people just assume you're a bad guy, it's only natural to become one." Aaron said.

"Oh, come on! You saw the guy! It's one thing if he just had an eyepatch or something. Then he might be some grizzled old soldier or something, who looks gruff and cold, but deep down has a good heart, but nobody has a scar like that who isn't evil!" Jerin said.

"It's not like people choose how they get injured! You, yourself lost your tail. That didn't make you any more good or bad."

"It made me way more good! It's adorable!"

"It really is." Mathias said, looking down at the artificial tail, making a point to not stare for too long but not quite succeeding at that goal.

"So anyways, are you telling me that if you just happened to see that guy walking down the street, you wouldn't automatically be suspicious of him?" she asked, arms folded about her chest

"Well..." Aaron said.

"Ha! Told you so!"

"Okay, okay, maybe a little bit, but that's more because of the whole package. I'm just saying that I've known lots of good people with eye scars. You can't judge someone based off just that." Aaron said. This wasn't entirely true. While the principle is unquestionably a valid one, and he has indeed known a few people with scars over their eyes, none of them would be considered 'good people'. Still, that was surely just a coincidence. He turned to Rowan. "You said he studied magic with you? He just fought us with a sword."

"Sorcery is a discipline which requires a lifetime to master. Often significantly longer, in truth. I would not be surprised if he has abandoned his studies. Many who pursue the mystic arts do so in search of power, the ability to destroy their enemies or to inspire fear in others. If all that it required was the studying of a few books to command god-like powers, however, everyone would do so. Many have tried to use magic as a blunt instrument to change the world, but that is not how such things work. It's more of a stream one travels along."

"In other words, it's useless." Aaron sighed.

The old sorcerer simply smiled and clucked his tongue. "Young people are always so short-sighted. They define worth purely in terms of their immediate goals, and see nothing beyond them, but the world is a big place, and in it, everything has its purpose, even if that purpose is not so obvious at first glance."

"I'm sure your magic will be a huge help for us!" Jerin said, excitedly. "Even if you can't smash the dark lord with a meteor..." she paused, tilting her head once again. "You can't right?"

"I would say that it is very unlikely." Rowan replied.

"Well, that's okay! I was ready to go kill Midnight on my own, anyways, so any little help you can offer will make it all the easier."

"I am glad to hear that." the old man said in a soft voice. "Sorcery is a... difficult field to study. You give so much, and get so little back, and before you know it, you've spent your entire life, only to realize that while you have indeed grown, you are no closer to a tangible goal. Sometimes people will come to you in search of aid, but they only rely on the supernatural when no other options are available, for the sort of problems which are far beyond fixing, or worse, seeking an implement to cause pain and death to those they see as unworthy. As a result, one can spend so much time, an entire life, really, without truly helping anyone, never leaving your mark on the world. It is nice to know that, in my own small way, I may be able to make just a little bit of a difference."

Aaron looked away, feeling a little bit guilty for having demanded so much of this frail, old mouse.

"This feels like this is a good time to return to my story. As a noble and perhaps overly idealistic youth, I decided to set the genie free, so that it could live its own life. In hindsight, I should have waited for the final wish to do so. Instead, when I asked him to restore the destroyed earth, he refused! I was forced to think quickly, floating in space without air, and I knew I could not hold my breath forever. The only way to make it happen was to subjugate the spirit once more, and unable to use my spells in an environment without oxygen, I only had one option: I set my elbow down upon a drifting asteroid, and challenged him to an arm wrestling match, and so, among the shattered remains of the planet, the ultimate battle for the fate of everything was about to begin! Or so I had thought! In reality, things were not so simple-"

"Um, maybe we should just focus on the task at hand." Aaron interrupted, his brief respect for the old man fading in proportion to his own growing headache, restoring their relationship back to their default levels. He had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't the sort of story which had an actual ending, anyways. It would simply continue on forever, and were it ever to reach the point where it used up every possible combination of words, it would subtly loop back upon itself and begin anew.

"Yeah, Aaron is right, we need to buy some stuff, but I can't wait to hear what happens with the ice queen and her evil twin!" Jerin said.

"Well, they weren't much twins as quintuplets, each more evil than the last, no matter which order you counted them in." Rowan said.

"Later..." Aaron said in an exasperated voice, no so secretly hoping that 'later' would never come. "Please."

The walk to the market district wasn't particularly eventful, not that walks usually are. If they were, one would never get anywhere. Even outside the market, the town was bustling with activity, most everyone eager to get out of their crowded hovels to take to the slightly less crowded streets, acting upon their civic duty to make the open environment as closed in and noisy as possible. There weren't only stores to visit, of course, there were other venues as well, with every other street corner hosting a bard regaling the stories of great heroes or humorous situations, accompanied by an instrument of dramatically varying quality and played even more dramatically varying levels of skill. There were pastors and cultists competing to win over the souls of the more malleable citizens, politicians and activists similarly preaching to anyone who would listen, and then, of course, there were the plays.

The plays in the city usually took the form of semi-mobile booths, often elaborately decorated, and with plenty of space in behind them to set up and arrange the props and performers. For a time, these were acted out by actual mouse actors, but that approach quickly fell out of fashion. People see mice every day, after all, and there was little novelty to be found in a mouse you've never met before playing the role of a different mouse you've never met before. Puppets, however? Puppets were something new and interesting. The fact that they didn't require nearly so massive a stage was also a convenient benefit within the crowded streets.

The group briefly stopped to watch as a show resumed. A doll poked up into view, a set of bundled twigs in the basic shape of a mouse, clothed, and with a triangular painted face. The audience, mostly children, but more than a few adults who would publicly insist they have no interest in such things, and are only there to keep track of their kids, cheer at the appearance. "Do de doo... workin' on the wall, workin' on the wall." the puppet said, twisting back and forth, making the small metal hammer tied to the stick-arm thump against the crudely drawn brick background. Not too hard, of course. Even the light taps make the back wall shake, and it would clearly have taken little more force to bring the entire fragile production down upon itself. A second puppet, this one with a round face and wearing a large, goofy smile slid in from behind the leftmost curtain.

"Hi there, Leonard!" it said in a high pitched voice which was probably supposed to sound like a woman.

"Oh, hey there Gabby... hey, what's that you're painting on my wall?" asked the first character, although both were clearly voiced by the same mouse.

"This?" 'she' said, holding a paint-brush, which thumped against the wall in a similar way to the hammer, not even close to the decal on the background that the character was meant to be painting. A decal which, of course, was already there and clearly finished before the painter even arrived on the scene. "Why it's a wallflower, of course!"

There was a smattering of applause. Not that anyone found the joke particularly funny, it was just expected, and made people feel like a part of the show.

"Uh oh! We'd better look busy! Here comes the king!" the first puppet said, 'looking' off-stage.

A new character appeared, wearing fancy robes, a large crown and a hopelessly dense expression. It was met with genuine applause.

"Hey there, King Leon!" Leonard said.

"Duhh..." the king replied, the new characters voice thinly disguised. The audience cheered at hearing the characters oft used catch-phrase.

"How's life at the palace?"

"I don't know... I'm too stuuupid!" the king said, pausing an excessively long while to wait for the audience to stop laughing. "Oh, no! Whoah!" the puppet wobbled and fell over, vanishing off stage, which resulted in a laugh from the two wall-builders, more than echoed by the enthusiastic crowd.

"That seems a little harsh." Jerin said as the party walked away, leaving both the stage and the still applauding audience behind them.

"I don't know. Those puppets make a pretty persuasive argument. He hasn't shown himself to be too useful." Mathias said.

Aaron, being a city guard, did have a certain loose respect for authority in general, and so tried to keep his opinions on the matter rather neutral. Even still, he was leaning in the same direction. "He actually changed his name to 'Deathlocke Soulcrusher'." He sighed with a shake of his head. "Really, who does that?"

"He's just trying to project an image of strength!" Jerin said. "I like it! It makes him look scary and respectable, without the actual tyranny!"

"It's neither scary or respectable, it just sounds silly. It would be one thing if he were always named that." Aaron paused, giving the matter just a little more thought, "It still wouldn't be great but it would be acceptable, but that's not the sort of thing you can just one day decide is your name, and expect people to take seriously."

"I don't see why not. He had a boring name, and now he has a cool and dramatic one! That's just the sort of stuff kings are supposed to do!" Jerin said.

"Well, you know, that and actually ruling." Mathias interjected.

"Oh, right, that too, I guess." Jerin replied.

"He does have some rather large shoes to fill. His father Doomfist Drakkhan was greatly admired by the populace, and brought forth many significant changes during his rule." Rowan said.

"How is 'Doomfist Drakkhan' any less dumb than 'Deathlocke Soulcrusher'?" The young girl asked.

"I would say that it is because he had actually used his fists, frequently and to great effect. A very hands-on leader, which you have to respect." Rowan answered.

"So, what, you'd like the king more if he was actually crushing souls?"

"Hmmm. Well, I cannot say that I would necessarily approve of the behavior, but I would have to admire his commitment to the premise." the arcanist nodded.

"Even if they aren't doing good, it would be nice if they are doing something. Aside from the name, there's not much good or evil about the current king, it doesn't seem." Mathias said. "Well, you know, aside from the rumors that he worships a dark lord."

"Wait, the king worships Midnight?" Jerin asked, eyes going wide with surprise

"No, no not Midnight." Mathias said "It's one of the less mainstream dark lords. Anyways, they're just rumors."

There was a brief lull in the conversation, upon which Rowan asked. "Whatever became of King Doomfist?"

"Complications from a split knuckle infection." Mathias said.

"Ah yes, of course." Rowan nodded, head bowed in sorrow. "A terrible affliction which runs in the family. Tragic, really."

The market was, in many ways, similar to the general store, especially similar to the store as it stood today, mostly being an assortment of desks covered with piles of garbage. Specialty shops did exist, but most were simple selling whatever goods had recently been scavenged, and very much held a quantity over quality approach. This isn't to imply that the goods were completely without use, but it could take some effort to find what you were looking for (and even after you did, potentially even more effort to turn what you had found into something which served that specific purpose).

"Oh, wow! Look at these!" Jerin exclaimed, hopping over to a nearby clothing booth. It should be noted that while making clothes was frowned upon (even though there was always a strong demand for new clothing), selling them was considered perfectly acceptable, even socially beneficial. Mice just tended to try to ignore where these items came from, imagining they simply popped in out of thin air. Were they to stop and actively consider the fact that tailors, weavers and seamstresses had actually laid their paws upon each and every one of these garments, most of the would-be buyers would be appalled.

The booth was rather elaborate by market standards. Such things were far from unheard of, with some of the stores being regular and prosperous, even if not quite successful enough to have their own building. Seeing as how most buildings were used as housing and that space within the city was incredibly finite, only the most influential vendors could even hope to reach that level. They were still significantly above the random sellers, however, who might be there one day and gone the next, always making a point to announce 'no refunds' with every sale. Those types simply set up wherever there was space available. This particular shop happened to be focused on head wear.

Jerin picked up a green tricorne hat with a small tuft of feather poking up from one side. "Hey, Mathias, you're an archer. Maybe you should buy this?" she said. Hats were something of a novelty for mice. Helmets you'd see occasionally, even hoods, but hats themselves were quite uncommon.

"No way! Those things are dangerous!" he replied, shaking his head and keeping his distance.

"Are you sure you don't want it? It's a plus two hat!"

"What does that even mean, anyways?" Aaron asked.

"You know... two! It's like you have a normal hat, and then a better one, and this is even better than that!"

"How is it better than this one?" he asked, picking up a virtually identical looking hat, which was labeled as plus one.

"It's not just about quality, it's about the properties of an item." Mathias said. "For instance, if you have a plus one sword, it does more damage, or plus one armor is harder to pierce through."

Aaron nodded. "Yeah, I get that part, but what kind of standard is it based on? What, specifically, does the number mean? If you've got a plus one dagger, and a regular dagger, exactly how much better is the first?"

Jerin blinked. "That's obvious. It's one better!"

"One what? Is it a whole daggers value better? Is it saying it's as good as two daggers? Does that make a plus two dagger as good as three daggers?" Aaron asked. In truth, this had been bothering him for a long time now, but he'd never found a proper opportunity to talk about it.

"A good question." Rowan nodded in agreement. "Is the growth rate linear or exponential? Is, say, a plus three dagger worth as much as four daggers, or is it worth eight? And how exactly does one quantify such values? Is there a set scale for balance and sharpness which must be met?"

"What's 'eight'?" Jerin asked.

Mathias shook his head. "You're both over thinking this. It's just a way to tell you how good the item is."

"Is it? Are you sure it's not just a scam to get more money from gullible shoppers?" Aaron asked.

"If it was, they'd just say everything was plus five." Jerin sighed, amazed she has to explain something so obvious. This was, of course, the highest rating possible. Anyone claiming to have a plus six or better would be laughed at. That said, Jerin's blade, by any measurable standard, would be far above any sort of weapon classified by a blacksmith as plus five.

"No, that would be too obvious! People would see through it."

"Are you going to buy something or what?" An annoyed looking male mouse wearing nothing but a tall, tilted top-hat asked from behind the counter. He really needs to move up to the palace district, he thinks. Rich people just buy things without needing to make a big deal out of it. Is so much easier. Or so he had assumed. It turned out that this belief wasn't entirely accurate.

"You there." Aaron asked, picking up the two virtually identical tricorne hats. "What's the difference between the two of these?"

"What, can't you read?" He said, "The difference is one in quality, ten crumbs in price."

"One what? Okay, maybe I can see how it works with weapons and armor, but what does it mean to have a plus two hat? Is it more of a hat than the other one? Is it lighter? More comfortable, more resistant to damage?"

The shopkeep sighed. "They're hats. One is better than the other. It's not complicated."

"How is it better?" Aaron asked, growing steadily more annoyed.

"How should I know? Do I look like a tailor?"

"How do I know that it's better?"

"Because it says right on the label! It not only says it's better, but how much better it is! What more do you possibly want?"

"Maybe I think it's not better at all, and this is all a scam."

"Then don't buy it!" The hat seller exclaimed. "Nobody has a knife to your throat!"

"Why do you need to make such a big deal about everything?" Jerin glared at her brother.

"It's a matter of principle!" Her brother responded, turning to Rowan. "Hey, back me up here?"

"Clearly, this a delicate system. Perhaps it is best to not give it too much thought." the old man said.

"Yeah, it's not quite as tangible as you want to make it. For instance, my aunt, long ago, inherited a plus four spoon. It didn't look or feel special, but you should have seen the way she ate soup with it! Poetry in motion!" Mathias interjected.

Aaron pinched between his eyes, head bowed, fighting off a headache. "Okay, okay, even considering that, weapons are for fighting, and plus versions maybe make you fight better... spoons are for eating with and... and you can eat better with them, I guess, somehow. What exactly does an improved hat do?"

"It's a hat. You put it on your head." the shopkeep said, eyes focused on the group, annoyed by the fact that they've spent all this time here, without having spent so much as a single crumb thus far. This was all previous time which he could have spent accusing the glove merchant across the way of having a promiscuous mother with poor hygiene.

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere! A hat goes on your head... does that mean a plus version of the hat stays on your head better? That it's less likely to blow off in the wind or something?"

"Huh? Of course not, that's stupid!"

"Then what does it do?"

"It's a hat! It doesn't do anything!"

"Then why do people buy them?" Aaron asked, his voice growing louder along with the shopkeeper as they continued their back and forth.

"I don't know! Because they look nice, I guess? Offer a little shelter from the rain?" The shopkeep paused. "Oh, but don't get them wet, the material is pretty delicate."

"You're supposed to be a salesman! You're supposed to be selling not only the hats, but the idea of them!"

"I don't need to! They're hats! They sell themselves!"

The two glared at one another in stalemate.

"You've got to be careful with these things." Mathias said, breaking the cold silence, carefully picking up a blue wide brimmed hat. "They can be really unsafe. Pull down too hard on the brim and it can go down over your face and you'll suffocate!"

"That's not true! That's just hateful anti-hat propaganda!" the shopkeep growled, this not being the first time he'd heard that ridiculous urban legend.

"Sure it is! It happened to my aunt! Terrible tragedy, that." The thief said, head lowered in memory.

"Is that the same aunt who had the plus four spoon?" Jerin asked him.

Mathias paused, scratching his chin. "You know, it was actually. Huh. I wonder if there's a connection there."

"Look, are any of you going to buy a hat or what?" the shopkeeper sighed.

"I'm more into helmets." Aaron replied.

"I am not certain that my neck is strong enough to hold this up." Rowan said, studying the large, pointed, wide-brimmed one which Mathias currently held.

"No way! I don't want to be yet another hat-related statistic!" Mathias exclaimed, setting the piece of headwear which he had just picked up back down, pushing it safely away.

Jerin similarly shook her head. "I don't like hats."

The shopkeep glowered at them. "Then get the hell away from my store."

And so, the group walked away, victorious or defeated, depending on ones perspective.

"He sure wasn't very nice." Jerin said.

"Yeah, he really wasn't much of a salesman, either." Mathias added, looking up, shielding his eyes from a particularly strong sunbeam poking through the rusted ribs of the decayed structure overhead. "Wow, it sure is bright out. I Could really use something to shield my eyes from it."

"Sadly, so far as I can tell, no such device exists." Rowan said.

"Let's just go... somewhere. Away from the hats." Aaron sighed, shaking his head.

And so they did.