Today Duskwatch's subterranean city was completely devoid of sound.
All the shops shuttered up, lights went dim, and noise. Voices of avarice and gambling had shifted to that of an eerie anticipation. On the descent to the emperial auction house – a large stone dome lurking beneath the bowels of Duskwatch, the air suddenly became thicker with unease. The path to the auction was blocked by well-armed guards with sour expressions. Weapons were not the only thing people carried around here. Fear was ubiquitous.
The four cloaked figures slipped silently through the hollow passageways with their soles hammering unabashedly against the weathered cobbles. Luenor strode amongst them, flanked by Thalanar and Hunter on his right and left. Arwin trailed slightly behind, but his frantic eyes were already darting to various exit points and weak spots for later use.
"Strange. No shops are open. No back-market vendors," Thalanar murmured.
"They're all here," Hunter replied, "all the rats are at the cheese."
The expedition arrived at the auction house entrance; twin iron doors stood tall with six men in full armor displaying the sigil of Duskwatch's shadow guilds, cleaning gauntlets. One of the men approached the four men and extended his gauntleted arm.
"Inspection."
Luenor gave a brief nod.
The guards began to approach them to pat them down, but as one neared Hunter, the air rippled.
Just the tiniest wave of Hunter's killing intent rolled out—sharp, coiled, restrained like a sleeping lion's breath.
The guards froze, their palms trembling.
"N-no concealed weapons," the guard stammered, swiftly stepping back.
Arwin snorted and tossed a gold pouch at the receptionist lazily laying back against the wall to their left. The attendants face widened, his hands shot out, snatching it mid-air before it could touch any of the desk.
"VIP seats. Follow the boy."
The frail-looking attendant bowed deep and pointed to the stairs wrapped around the auction floor, instructing them to follow him up. Luenor would take the opportunity to lean slightly toward Arwin as they climbed.
"Mark the corridors. All of them. Disappear when we reach the booth."
Arwin nodded once.
The boy continued to lead them through winding paths and cramped hallways, past stone murals lit with torches and rooms filled with masked bidders. Each hallway had guards lined in every doorway, but not enough to discourage someone like Arwin.
They entered a large room with velvet seats and thick glass looking onto the auction stage. On a small pedestal stood four intricately made silver masks, shaped elegantly and etched with faint runes.
"Please," the boy bowed. "For your confidentiality. If you wish to bid, simply tap the gem rune here." He points to a blue gem crystal sunk into the armrest. "It will illuminate. Your bid will be penned through a mana displacement seen by the host."
"That would be convenient," Thalanar said under his breath.
They took a mask each and then sit with them.
Luenor's eyes wandered canvassing the neighboring VIP booths.
One was directly across from them, with three individuals. All wore beautiful noble robes,. and even though their faces could not be seen from behind their polished gold masks, Thalanar squinted.
"That's the Marquis of Duskwatch, his son, Argen, and Sir Ren."
"Ren?" Luenor blurted, raising an eyebrow.
Thalanar nodded. "With bandages, I'd still recognize his posture."
"The Marquis must be interested in whatever is on auction," Hunter offered.
There is one more booth to the side—one much darker.
__
Four figures in black suits sat silently, their obsideon masks obscuring their faces, smooth and void of any feature. Their body language indicated discomfort.
"Information?" Luenor asked.
"No names on any of them. None in any previous auctions or criminal databases. That is... concerning," Thalanar stated with concern.
Hunter's eyes lingered. "The strongest of them is a three-star. A mage. Very well controlled. Trained. Not a threat—not in here at least."
Luenor gave a shallow nod and reclined into his seat, his eyes lidded between the mask.
Meanwhile, Arwin slipped past.
He vanished the moment they passed through the booth, melting into the corridor shadows. He slipped between staff rooms and security personnel, weightless like the wind over the grassy fields. Most of the guards didn't see him, those who did only caught the feeling of a chill before he disappeared once more.
Finally, his eyes caught something sharp.
A knight.
Broad shoulders, iron plated and moving with intention.
Arwin followed at a distance, hugging the corners.
The knight passed through two security areas and finally reached a thick wooden door that was reinforced with runes. He produced an irregular shaped coin from his pocket and tapped it to a stone slot in the wall.
The door clicked and swung open.
Arwin leaned sideways from the corner and peered in, glimpsing rows of stuff. Some of it covered in cloth, some shimmering faint energy. The storage for the auction goods.
He leaned back.
This was his way in.
Back at the booth, Luenor tapped the glowing rune to test it. Blue sparks danced between his fingertips and the crystal and then a number floated into the air above him—1000 gold coins—in the center of the hall. A projection.
"Easy enough." He said under his breath.
The auction stage below brightened with a gentle, golden light, as a man in red robes stepped before the microphone, amplified by the magic tool.
"Welcome, nobles and dignitaries. We will start our day with some rare potions, procured from the Archclerics of Berion…"
Hunter didn't seem impressed.
"We are not here for potions." He said softly.