There is a buzz in the air this afternoon. The constant chatter of townspeople and shouting merchants fills your ears, stands filled to the brim with seemingly exotic and foreign goods line the crowded tiled streets. You are in the Westgulf Tradepost. A city focused nearly entirely on trade. Small stands of simple common goods dot the outer brim. Towards the center, buildings start forming and further in the taller and more extravagant they get! A person can find almost anything they wish somewhere in this city. The only things that are hard to find are affordable goods for someone just starting out or trying to make a name for themselves, someone like you.

     Either by ship or land, you've found your way to Westgulf Tradepost. With the occasional bump from the busy flow of traffic, or street urchin tugging at your clothes, you walk the bustling streets and aisles, eyeing the merchandise. Merchants shout as you walk by to try to gain your attention toward their various wares.

Tadriel makes his way along the sides of the street, patiently ducking to the sides of approaching groups of people. Between stalls, he seems to melt away like a shadow. His dark robes lack sleeves and only a few bands across his torso hold the garment in place. It is a strange garment, flexible for any environment, yet without any traditional shape like a stream of fabric. Giving a tug, he pulls the fabric up and over his black, braided hair. A sheathed blade protrudes from under the cloth, but the handle remains hidden. He had no trouble with people, but crowds were always troublesome. Working his way through the stalls, he folds his arms over to mask some of the intricate tattoos that wind and spiral acros his body and arms. They would normaly be proud markings to bear. In a crowded city, still in hiding, they could be a death sentence.

 Darak moves through the crowds with only a little difficulty, although he is smaller than many, at barely four and a half feet he is broad of shoulder and the extra mass his chainmail and shield give him makes him even more noticeable. His face is fixed in a slightly suspicious manner as he tries to keep an eye on everyone who comes close to him, but he is patient when his path is temporarily blocked. 

Shifting the broad headed warhammer in it's sheath across his back to a slightly more comfortable position he scans the streets trying to determine a sense of the layout of this part of the town. 

"You there, Elf!"

     A Dragonborn merchant with the most raspy ominous voice calls out to Tadriel. His stand is an oasis in this busy crowd, no onlookers or customers. He motions his hand over his wares, revealing shelves upon shelves of vials with different liquids of varying colors and consistencies. The light from the sun above seeping through the bottles is stunning.

"I believe I have just the thing for you!"

     He reaches under his counter and after a few clanking noises pulls out a thin, but rather tall, vial. The liquid looking like swirls of deep translucent purple and dark blue.

"This here is a very special potion! Normally, I would charge someone top coin for this, but for you, my friend, a mere 400 gold pieces will do! What do you say?"

     As Darak scans the layout of the city, he can see that he is towards the outer brim. A tall, almost golden, tower sits further in to the East. He is, though, able to see a familiar face in the crowd not too far away. One stall in particular, named 'Thaumaturgic Thread work,' has a Dwarf managing it. He is smiling and chatting cordially with two tall slender elves dressed in brilliantly crafted clothing with deep blues and shimmering gold accented swirls.

Tadriel will inspect the vial, having no interest in the purchase, but curious to the contents, "What are you peddling that no one here would take notice of you?"

Darak positions himself so that the dwarf will see him once he has finished serving the elves. In the meantime he will idly browse the wares, although he has no interest in buying anything. 

     Tadriel inspects the vial, but isn't 100% certain what it is or does. If he had to take a guess, it would have something to do with Illusion magic. The Dragonborn sets the vial down on the counter and leans forward casually.

"I'm an alchemist, my friend. I conjure up these goods myself!"

     He then leans to one side, propping his head up with one arm.

"Though, location is key here, you see. My potions deserve to be in the inner ring of this city! The only foot traffic in this area is for lowly health potions, though!" He scoffs. "Child's play! I refuse to stoop to that level, and no jobs to take around here that don't require leaving my stall."

     The Dragonborn motions down the street. Looking, you can see over the heads of the crowds that there is a tall board covered in flyers with different types of adventurers scouring the listings.

     Once the Dwarf finishes his business with the two Elves, he turns and notices Darak. The smile on his face instantly wipes away and his posture far less formal. He is dressed in shimmering silver clothing, the weaving appears to be moving on its own, somehow, almost as if the fabric is alive.

"I. Can not. Stand. Elves. The pickiest customers, by far. So glad to see a familiar face 'round these parts, though, don't get much Dwarves. What brings you, brother?"

     He step out from behind the counter, walking by the racks and shelves, motioning to his wares.

"Need something special? I have garments that don't wrinkle, don't stain, all the way up to enchanted elemental robes. You name it, I have it!"

Tadriel will lean in and pick up a random vial from the table; enough to inspect it, but not to threaten potential thievery, "You need a demonstration to bring attention. Provide me one with enough visual effect and I'll lure the crowds. You could also take up some of the urchins in the area with a few coins and have them chase down potential customers."

"I see, I see.."

A purple deep gnome holding a quarterstaff taller than him, wearing a red overdress that covers below his feet appears between the elf and the dragonborn. He begins to speak to the merchant,

"If you don't mind, can I check that very special potion of yours for a few minutes? I just want to know if they are as potent as you advertise them in case I buy something for the future."

"Unless", he makes a long pause and raises an eyebrow, "you're not confident on your wares as to your skills in alchemy?"

     The Dragonborn merchant eyes Tadriel carefully, not sure whether lending out a flashy potion to draw in business could be worth the risk of him walking off with his wares.

     As the merchant looks over Tadriel carefully, eyes narrowed, he opens his mouth to speak. Just then, Krimpledimple Humpledumple interjects. The Dragonborn leans over the counter and raises an eyebrow at the Gnome. He scoffs and hands him the vial to inspect, keeping a close eye on him in case he does anything suspicious. K.H. turns it over back and forth, looking through the liquid trying to inspect its components to gain more insight into it's behavior, but to no avail. It's properties are a mystery to him.

"If you need to know, you could just ask. This one is a Potion of Resistance. Normally you would gain vantage over one type, but however, this one combines the effects of both necrotic and cold. A personal recipe from the Alchemist Extraordinaire, yours truly. I am no simple Alchemist, I am destined for greatness, you'll see."

     He takes the vial back and sets it gently on a shelf behind him with both hands, even giving it a little turn to face just the right way in the light. Afterwards, he turns his attention back to you.

"Now, my dear friendly gnome, if you don't have any coin for a purchase, perhaps I could direct you to the local listing board down the street. A job or two from there should grant you enough gold, no worries."

     The Dragonborn then passive aggressively motions down the street to the same board he just raised awareness of to Tadriel.

The gnome takes a solemn bow,

"I'm deeply sorry for interrupting your business. I recently came into these lands so I'm wary of things, specially about hearing you sell rare magical potions."

He casts Prestidigitation and makes an illusory image of the potion in his palms.

"You see, I'm also a fellow practitioner of magic though just fairly new. Seeing your magnificent wares that can only be made by great alchemists sparks my innate curiosity."

He closes his hands as he stops the spell.

"I'll check the listing board you mentioned earlier but before that let me introduce myself.

My name is Krimpledimple Humpledumple, but you may also call me Detective Krimple. If you could humble me of your name great dragonborn alchemist, please."

"I will not lie to you, I do not have the money for items as fine as these, perhaps when my fortunes have improved I will be able to return and seriously examine your wares. I saw a dwarf in the crowd and though I would ask a small favour. Do you know of anywhere I might find work, preferably with other dwarves, but I've managed to work alongside other folks too before, if I must."

He sighs, looking around the street. 

"Life on the surface is certainly busier than I had expected, how do you manage to deal with all this coming and going?" 

     The Dragonborn bows his head slightly to the gnome as he introduces himself, glad to see a fellow spell caster in the midst of all these adventuring type. With a flourish of his hand, and a deep bow, he introduces himself as well,

"Well met, Detective. You may call me, Amurum, Alchemist Extraordinaire. I wish good fortune to you on your travels."

     Upon dealing the Detective Krimple, Amurum turns back to Tadriel, clearly not impressed or swayed by his earlier pitch. Brushing a bit of dust from his robes, he smiles,

"I'm very sorry, traveler. I do not normally part with such merchandise so easily. The cost it takes to make just one vial would be wasted on these crowded streets. There is little guarantee I will come up from that."

     Amurum leans back, arms folded.

"Perhaps you should join your friend, here."

     The Dwarf sighs slightly at the loss of a potential sale and walks back towards the counter, leaning on it.

"If yer lookin' for coin, there's this noble human boy who's been looking for an escort to Blackmoore. Damn paperboy has been runnin' up and down my street yellin' about it all day! Been driving me a bit mad, to be honest. Perhaps that might be up your alley, if you're into that line of work."

     The Dwarf runs his hand through his beard in thought.

"You musn't be from around here, then. The surface world is normally calm and easy to deal with, but this god forsaken place is the only location I can find an audience fer my wares! Folks back home purchased what they could from me, but you can't mine an empty shaft, so I had to get movin.' Just been takin' it one day at a time."

     As another potential customer walks up, he bids you farewell.

"I have to get back to work here, but good luck on your travels, brother."

     He gives you a sort of Dwarven salute as you take your leave.

Tadriel gives a bow to the dragonborn before following the gnome, "Thank you for the gracious welcome into this city. May Light shine on your wares above all and Wind carry favorable luck all your days." The words are recited dogmatically, but there is a hollow longing in Tadriel's voice.

"Moradin's blessing to you, my friend, I will speak to this paperboy. May our paths cross again."

Darak returns the salute and turns to leave, looking for the paperboy. 

It was Flaysteir's second day in this city, as his funds started to get low. The travel to this city itself took a bit of his coin. Now walking down the street he was looking for both equipment and job. A quick realization of absence of required money to buy equipment came to him as he continued searching for an interesting job.

     Tadriel and Detective Krimple both make their way down the beautiful mosaic streets, weaving their way in and out of the crowds before ending up at the board brimming full of work postings. A few fellow adventurers are browsing as well, and you can hear one remark how only a few fit his talents.

     Browsing the board yourselves, you are only able to find one job that could confidently be accomplished. Among the array of tasks for more experienced adventurers, a nobleman is seeking an escort down the road East toward Blackmoore, but doesn't want to pay top dollar for highly reputable mercenaries. Instead, he has opted to shell out less gold for a cheaper, but still reliable enough, company. Any takers should report to the Eastern gates by sundown.

     Darak salutes and takes his leave. Just then, clear as day, the paperboy comes walking hastily down the street waving flyers around right in front of him, shouting,

"Hail! Hail! Nobleman Ledwig of the Celin Trading Company seeking escort to Blackmoore! 200 gold to the lot that gets 'em there! Sign ups at the East gate!"

     Just as he finishes, you can hear the Dwarf behind you shout at the boy, clearly fed up with him at this point.

     Flaysteir is down on his last few gold. As he wanders the streets looking for a deal, he has come to the conclusion that maybe a job is in order for him. He scours the immediate area for any signs of citizens looking for work or some type of listing, only to stumble upon the same boy shouting near Darak.

"Hail! Hail! Nobleman Ledwig of the Celin Trading Company seeking escort to Blackmoore! 200 gold to the lot that gets 'em there! Sign ups at the East gate!"

     A disgruntled shout in the Dwarven language can be heard shortly after.

As Flaysteir hears the boy he rapidly walks towards East gate gently passing through people in the crowd. "200 gold?! That's good enough for a simple escort, though the thing may attract some problems. Eh, let's give it a   shot", he thought to himself. He also tries to recall any information of Celin Trading Company or the noble man from his memory.

"

Grinning at the ease of finding the boy Darak sets off purposefully towards the East Gate, his short legs pumping hard he moves at a brisk pace as often as the crowds allow him to do so. The prospect of a job and the chance to see a little more of the land encourages him.

"The gods provide for those who seek payment for hard work". 

He says to himself under his breath as he cuts through another group of people browsing at the stalls.