Demian

[20/10/20] | to sort uncommons.

[19/10/20] | to sort uncommons.

Though it'd taken him much effort to slip into the Town of Beginnings, it took him very much less to have woven through the tricky alleys, stowing himself away from sight. A drop from the roof was enough to land in the middle of broad daylight -- in front of the store he was looking to barter from, so away from prying eyes. A push through the door. Down the steps to hell. "Trinkets, odds and ends," he recited, eying the woman in the corner of the room. "That sort of thing." She'd stared at him, mouth agape -- probably out of confusion, if Daemien had to guess. "Craft me

"A favour, if you would." No stranger to Firm Anima's sprawling network of players by now, Daemien found it completely efficient to be straightforward with his request. By the burning fires of Griswold's forge he did pace forth, a raised palm as he spoke at the blacksmith, a small velvet pouch appearing in his hands. "I'm looking for a sword and an armor piece that matches these requirements." Just as he'd set the pouch down upon the workbench as payment, a small slip of parchment was then separated from the bottom of his offer. He offered it to the blacksmith present. "Eve

[18/10/20] | to sort uncommons.

[17/10/20] | to sort uncommons.

Perhaps it was Daemien's devilish smile that ticked the woman off about their first meetings' pretense. Or perhaps it was the way he'd graciously accepted yet another lot of respite potions that caused the alchemist to expel another breath, near trembling at the act of watching her stock leave her yet again. "A deal's a deal," he'd mocked, and the youth watched as Bistro struggled not to refute nor counter his words with an objection. Instead, the alchemist blinked swiftly twice, before sighing once more, pulling away from her counter just as he'd started to take his leave. Maybe Bis

[16/10/20] | to sort uncommons.

There was little reason for why he would want to be seen. Daemien had been quiet most of his time; it made sense to the man to keep his profile low that way, marching up to one of the many indiscreet shops of the forgotten on the soulless tenth floor. The shopkeeper wore an expression that appeared to give of the same impression of the dead. Very well -- he chuckled to himself, bangs draped over his eyes as he pulled down his menu. Guessed he was home once more with family. "Junk-sale," Daemien quietly instructed, unloading quite the number of white paper packages on the table.

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merging shop posts for space. [8/10/20] [9/10/20] [10/10/20] [11/10/20]

backroom.

reserve.