The young man entering the tavern was looking like many others who had arrived the same way over the years, some of whom were still sat there, baking around the fire roaring in the hearth even now.

Unlike most, this one watched their strange guests from another dimension with a gleeful greed, rather than any discomfort.

Most who took the Class did so because they were stuck with a selection of menial Classes and dreamed of power, not because they really wanted to be looked at as strange and freaky until they were too powerful to mock. But because they had discarded warrior Classes for whatever personal reason, and all other Caster Classes were denied them by the tight hold that the genteel families running the academies were keeping on anybody interested in their schools of magic.

Unless they were willing to go into life-long debt that is.

But lower folk would always need Casters of their own. Hence, [Warlock]s, the ritual makers and Masters of familiars of every affinity; even if most of their own magic tended towards fire and shadow–eventually maybe upgrading into toxic flame or giving them access to increasingly rare ritual magic.

Indeed, [Warlock]s came in a number of forms or else upgraded into strange variations, making them known as the ones with access to the rarest of magics… Even if not usually through their own accord, but working through their familiars.

It made them a strange Class to outsiders, one who could easily stall even if they practiced their Skills, since so much of their power relied on their familiar evolving their affinity to ever deeper levels. And strange because people who did not spend their every day with them found the magic eating creatures disconcerting, and could not see how the [Warlock] could trust them nor spend so much of their time and resources focused on progressing them, rather than themselves.

Alfons had run Damon’s Goose for a decade, and was not a very good innkeeper. It was hard to be, with Class like [Club Warrior]. But accepting this clientele had saved his ass, and he did happen to have a supplier for the fruity drinks his [Warlock]s preferred.

All it had taken was stepping in the way of some troublemakers when they had first stepped foot here for a chance lunch, from there the reputation had spread, and over the years he'd come to be considered something of an expert on these enigmatic but necessary outsiders.

Nowadays lots of people came to him when they were curious about [Warlock]s in particular, even if they often had to get a few drinks in to work up the courage. In fact, thinking back there were several young fellows who had taken up the Class on his advice.

It was a rare Class in that it was not a truly bad fit for anyone, unique in that way among Caster Classes. Mostly because so many of the Skills allowed you to easily incorporate outside resources; it might mean you still needed a way to source those, but your magic pool was suddenly not as vital as for the other Caster alternatives. The other part was how the System would often give you a variation if you were unfit for the standard mold. Most classes did not have that possibility, what with being intrinsically tied to certain elements. Hybrids would not show up until later on those paths.

So, they were used to seeing new faces. Especially ones who did not even have the Class yet, but this lad looked more experienced than that at least, even if he was missing the tell-tale familiar usually accompanying a talent arriving from the suburbs.

No sign of a wand, which meant it was likely in his sleeve. His robes did not drag either, so he was unlikely to stumble the way some aspiring Casters did when first coming here, not to mention the lack of discomfort at the loud daemons.

But it was his first move upon entering that convinced Alban he’d do alright, no matter his goal with coming here; He bought all the [Warlock]s a round–to welcoming cheers.

Kalle used his Skills to the max that evening, and not just [Esper’s Balm] either, he even pulled out [Words of Fortitude] for the first real time, encouraging a poor drunkard who seemed suicidal after his girlfriend has left him because of his Class–or as it turned out was more likely–because his familiar kept watching her in the shower.

Apparently raising a Daemon was hard work, and it got harder with time if you did not correct bad habits, and his old girlfriend didn’t used to mind. Damn, I better make truly sure mine isn’t a perv.

Only two of the six Daemons that came and went with their masters over the course of the evening could actually speak, and they did so in gruff, one-tone voices that did not do longer sentences, but at least they understood everything, and seemed able to communicate with their mute counterparts, as well as their [Warlock]s.

It was exactly the type of relationship he’d been envious of all trip, and as he learned over the course of the evening; [Warlock]s were much more open about the basics of their Class than you would expect–even when Kalle was not reciprocating, other than sharing he was above level 10. I guess they understand feeling the need to be secretive when you're a stranger in a new place.

In the end he left there with a group of new friends, but also plenty of new information about his next steps; they'd all agreed that the ritual he had been using would work out if he just grew a few more levels. It was safe to use as soon as you turned level 10, even if you did not have a specific Skill to summon your [Familiar].

The people lucky enough to get both the Class and requisite Skill, [Summon Familiar], could safely summon theirs at level 1. But then theirs was also always a baby, one you needed to feed for a year before it started to grow useful. Unless you could feed it treasures of your chosen rare affinity that is, since that was always a sure way of upgrading even the most basic of Daemons that you had just summoned to your side upon gaining your Class.

Even if you lacked such means you could put it near a magic fire enhanced by some basic enchantment, found in most villages where you cooked as a community, and then let the familiar bake into a fire daemon over the course of the year. It worked with most affinities, even if there were some that turned unstable unless you provided... Well, they weren't prepared to share quite everything.

But the general knowledge of the opening few capstones; those they were all too happy to help with. Kalle made the interpretation that being looked on as outsiders forced them to stick together, and warmly welcome any new members.

So he learned how for the people who needed to learn a more general [Ritual Summon] Spell you should wait until level 10 to ensure your Daemon survived the trip between dimensions, even level 15 if you wanted it to remain full strength.

That way ensured you would end up with a magic beast of your very own; of a strange split affinity mix, usually consisting of between four or five different common ones, with a rare affinity mixed in among them already if you got lucky–otherwise you needed to provide it through outside magic means, whether items or a place of strong energies where it could bake.

But the very strongest had as few affinities as three and the weakest as many as ten. The more magic you had to spend on your ritual the bigger your chance of the daemon coming through intact, and if you messed up or ran out of magic it might still survive; but it would have broken down and gained extra affinities before being pulled through.

Kalle seriously considered going home and forcing his familiar through his ritual summoning as soon as possible, preferably tonight; and the damage be damned.

If he had not seen his blue statuette friend all those weeks ago then surely he would have; instead he went to Livia to ask for advice.

Redd & Ronia volunteered to run the expedition’s shop on that first day, and taking on a double-shift for extra mustard too–since they were all to aware how many errands the rest of the [Guild] had to run–and the two of them would not be sleeping at the inn tonight. They were heading out to visit Ronia’s brothers, and so would not be available again until late-late tomorrow evening.

Their first lucky sales were again the painted maps, and that was before Livia had even left the two of them to go help out Oscar–but even after that they had a steady flow of customers, although their wares were hardly getting mobbed.

It was obvious Livia had put a lot of thought into this set up, or else she just had a lot of experience figuring out what drew the eye in a market, or maybe she had seen some true masters at work at some point. But the result was a very different stall compared to the ones all around.

Lena had apparently prepared canvas, so they had a simple message on a banner reading ‘Salcret Goods and Frontier Craft Wares’, underneath a roof that allowed you to step in as if it was a temporary store… The young girl had called it a pop-up, if Redd heard her right.

So instead of putting out tables and dumping their wares all over, you could stand in the middle and see prime examples of what was sold on displays around the little room.

Then when you knew what you wanted to see more of, you could let Redd or Ronia know and they would hop behind another hanging canvas to their parked carts, appearing a minute later with examples of what had been requested.

It meant they needed to serve people individually rather than stack wares and put out labels and just wait to charge for it, but it also gave them the opportunity to make sure each customer left satisfied.

They did not quite have a queue yet, but there were always three or four people looking at things closer, with the fragrant bowl of free Salcret apples out front usually having drawn them in.

So far their bestselling wares had been Brunner’s wooden carvings, but they’d sold sacks of prime Salcret apples and even some of the tinctures that Albert and Alfred had made, and this was only the first day they were set up here.

But of course the whole day could not go smoothly, they had too many customers for that.

In the middle of the second shift Ronia ran into a lady who looked perplexed at a happy shopper who was walking away carrying one of Brunner’s larger works.

She adjusted her scarf in a huff, and then approached the much taller Ronia like a lapdog hounding a doberman. “You. You there, worker? What exactly is all this, that cannot be Brunner’s craft, surely–are you from Salcret? I usually buy from the gentleman himself, and pay extra for exclusivity, are you not doing this behind his back? I can see no other possible explanation,”

She was going to go on, but Ronia had to cut in before the lady said something to make her lose her temper. “We have come directly from Salcret, yes. We have been told of his pricing, but these were all gifts from the man himself,”

That should have made their relationship to the high-level [Arborist] clear, but the women seemed to rather interpret it as the easiest excuse in the book, and the one most likely to be used if she was correct about it being an illicit trade: “I would recognise his hand anywhere, my estates are filled with the beauty of his cultivated whirls, the deep nuance and hidden themes of his branching, if this was with his permission then surely I would have been contacted, surely I…”

She was going to go on, but Ronia was not called the Captain for nothing, and kindly steered the women clear of her misunderstanding. “Yes, indeed you have been mentioned, madam,” She paused only slightly in case the lady felt like filling in her name. “But Brunner made it clear it was art pieces you collected, and you see this is all his more practical craft, by his hand yes, but not the kind of pieces you are looking for I’m afraid,”

But the art craze that had been sweeping Dormata was apparently affecting how people viewed all their favorite crafts, especially those which could be hoarded as parts of collections. “I do not care, no, no, no–not at all. I will not watch these ruffians walking away with pieces they don’t have the eye to appreciate, just because they got here first, I will pay for exclusivity, as I said. You will hire errand boys, make sure those lost pieces are returned, I will have the lot, so don’t stand there gaping,”

Ronia was doing nothing of the sort, and the lady had taken this a step too far. “I will need to refer you to the schedule.”

She grew tight-lipped after that. The lady continued her tirade, explaining the concept of exclusivity as if to an imbecile, trying to finagle the impression of her previous deals with Brunner still being in effect, and just overall being a giant pain in Ronia’s ass.

Redd found it deeply amusing at first, and with his companion occupied the queue he had to deal with grew longer. But as he finished up with his last customer and saw the lady was still going, he felt he had to step in.

“Hello lady, this is my daughter. I will not insist you leave, but I will insist that we will. We are closing in an hour, but if anybody tries to force a deal without the personal seller being present we are under strict direction to shut down, the result will be the same should you attempt to employ the services of a [Merchant] and their negotiation Skills, thus I will have to insist you return tomorrow to speak to young master Livia, for any extensive deal of the kind you are suggesting.”

Redd’s authoritative voice and no-nonsense suggestion, while still providing a possible solution–almost didn’t work, but even this lady was apparently getting tired.

Still, she did not even respond but simply turned her heel and walked off in another huff.

A shame. It would have been nice if she just bought what they had left and left it at that, but apparently she was the all or nothing kind of gal. Redd could appreciate that.

He felt a bit bad about it, for whoever had to deal with this again tomorrow, but Ronia was certainly looking grateful, and that’s what mattered at the moment. It would be up to Livia to decide what happened with the rest of Brunner’s wares, but Redd could not imagine her demanding a recall.

Hopefully it wasn’t someone else here when that crow came back cawing.