The thought of leaving the familiar beloved hometown drifted down like cold water in his chest. An unknown force is tugging his mind back towards home with the tenacity of a tortoise bite. 'I feel unprepared.'

He trots into a quiet lane, scrubbing the blood from his hands and arms in a dark rain puddle, but his soiled tunic remains unaffected. Then he dashes towards the town's central bazaar.

Garvan spots a long green cloak with a wide cowl hood in a weaver's booth instantly. It's ideal for hiding under!

"How much?" Garvan asks, pointing at the cloak.

"Ah, the alchemist! You flatter me by visiting my humble stall." The merchant bows with a smile.

'By God's bone, it's Bardol!' With a jolt, Garvan realizes. He was too preoccupied with the cloak to see the shopkeeper. He tries to maintain a relaxed demeanor when he smiles.

"A good cloak for this damp weather. How much?"

"Ah, yes, fine fabric, and heavy too! A bargain at two gold coins." Bardol bows again.

'Outrageous!' Garvan believes it, yet he's in a rush. The sooner he can hide his face behind that cowl, the better. Everyone, on the other hand, haggles for the best deal in the market.

So, what exactly does he do?

Garvan wants to get his disguise as soon as possible, but he realizes that being overtly suckered here would be embarrassing.

He says, half-smiling, "Twelve silver pieces."

"Not for this quality! You could hand this down to your son-gods willing you are blessed with one-and your son could hand it down to his son, such is the material."

The two of them make several counter-proposals and they settle on a single gold piece. Garvan knows he could squeeze off another silver or two, but he does not want to take the time.

He swiftly changes into his new cloak and blends in with the crowd. The alarm bell is ringing off in the distant. His stomach churns. He wishes to leave this section of town, but Bardol is aware of his attire. Should he go out and buy a new cloak from a different stall or just leave?

He has the option of leaving the market right away or purchasing a new cloak.

Garvan comes upon another weaver's stall. He's also familiar with this trader, but he doubts grouchy old Leffel recognizes him. His hood is drawn low over his face, and he leans down.

"One gold piece for the black one," Garvan says in a disguised raspy voice as he points to a large, black cloak.

As he hands up the cloak, Leffel nods glumly. Despite his grumpiness, he has a reputation for being a straightforward and fair man who will not waste time negotiating when a decent bargain is offered.

Garvan tosses the coin into his palm, tucks the black cloak under one arm, and walks away with his head bowed. He finds a quiet alley nearby and removes the green cloak, hiding it in a heap of garbage. After that, the black one is donned.

He initially believed bumping into Bardol was unlucky, but now he believes it was a lucky break.

Perhaps the guards will soon be hunting for a man wearing a green cloak rather than a black one.

He feels a smidgeon of relief at this realization, and as he re-enters the bustling city streets, he does so with a leisurely stride... though his hood remains down low.

Two mounted soldiers cry alerts as they gallop along the bustling street behind him, making an unsettling influence and commotion.

The citizens of the city are accustomed to this and know to press their bodies against the buildings in order to avoid being trampled. Garvan, too, follows suit.

One rider whizzes past him and disappears from view. The other seems to be monitoring people along the walls as his mount slows down. "Look at me!" he yells at a man standing around fifty meters away. The suspect is wearing a long green cloak, just as Garvan had been.

'It appears Bardol did indeed tell the city guard of the cloak he sold me!' He thinks.

The rider keeps going, his gaze fixed on people who are leaning against the wall. Garvan droops his head bowed, as if shielding his face from the rain.