In the morning, Aster awoke, feeling as though he had plunged into the deepest, most rejuvenating slumber the fae lands could offer. As his consciousness flickered back, a primal grumble echoed from his stomach. "By the Wyrm's tooth, I forgot that wielding My Ashal drains more than just mana; even after feasting last night, I feel as though I've fasted for two moons." He carefully rose, noting he was the sole inhabitant of the rustic dwelling. Touching the latent connection to his familiar, he sensed Kith's presence somewhere across the bustling city, leaving him utterly alone in the house. "Now, how shall I acquire some coin? This ramshackle abode won't hold my spirit for long. The wisest path would be to weave myself into the patronage of a wealthy lord or a merchant guild master, one with potent influence!" As Aster stepped through the doorway, he bade the small, obsidian bird on his shoulder to undertake a more thorough reconnaissance of the city's hidden nooks. Strolling through the thoroughfares, he observed the townsfolk bustling about their daily enchantments. "It seems I rose a touch late, given that most have already begun their labors."
After a few paces, he spied a shop, its entrance adorned with gleaming sigils, selling martial implements. With no other purpose at hand, he entered. The rough-hewn walls of the shop were a tapestry of etched blades, elven bows, dwarven axes, and arcane daggers. "Greetings, traveler, how may I aid you?" a woman of mature years, her hands calloused yet strong, inquired. "I contemplate embarking on an adventurer's path, and merely wished to discern the cost of a fine blade," he spoke, a practiced deception. The woman's gaze lingered on him, a spark of curiosity in her eyes, likely noting his noble-like physique, one unmarred by the toils of the wilds. "Ah, a nascent hero! Do you possess a preference for any particular make or style of blade?" she asked. "Alas, I am new to the sword-arts, and thus, hold no such favor," he replied. She proceeded to unveil a collection of blades, each whispering its own history, some double-edged for swift parries, others single-edged for decisive strikes. The prices, inscribed in elegant script, were a bewildering array, yet held no meaning for Aster, for his pockets were as empty as a forgotten tomb; even the garments he wore were borrowed. After departing the armory, he ventured into more establishments, each offering unique wares, from alchemical concoctions to enchanted trinkets. It was the gnawing hunger that eventually guided him back to the house, where he found Kith stirring a fragrant stew over a crackling hearth. "How fared your morn?" Kith asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Naught of consequence; I sought honest toil, but found none," he answered. "Truth be told, I'd have been more surprised if you had. You see, ever since King William claimed the Onyx Throne six years past, the kingdom has known only hardship," Kith lamented. As Kith spoke, Aster listened intently; much of what she shared was new to his ears. Though he could draw any knowledge he desired from Kith's mind, he preferred not to delve too deeply, for some memories were but dross, and a mind overburdened with another's past was a perilous thing. Kith continued, "The King squanders the realm's treasury upon his harem, a collection of maidens said to number a hundred, gathered from every corner of the Continent. Whispers even claim he has spies veiled within their ranks." Aster's eyes gleamed with a sudden, sharp interest as he inquired, "How might one gain audience with the King, in private?" "Hah hah hah hah," Kith chuckled, a hearty sound. "Honestly, speak with the King in private? Firstly, you possess no noble lineage. Secondly, you are not a merchant prince. And lastly, you are hardly a ravishing beauty." "Then tell me, who are the true dragons of wealth in this city, and where might I find them for a... discussion?"