Aric, Thalrin, and Kael made their way to the darker side of Drakemoor, where the shadows grew long and the streets twisted into a labyrinth of alleys and dead ends. This was Garrik’s domain, a place where secrets were traded as freely as gold.

  They found Garrik in a dimly lit tavern called The Shadowed Stag, a place where whispers carried more weight than shouts. The room was filled with the scent of spilled ale and damp wood, the faint glow of lanterns casting long, flickering shadows across the rough-hewn walls. Garrik’s booth was tucked away in the farthest corner, partially hidden behind a low-hanging beam, as if even the tavern itself wanted to keep his presence discreet.

  Garrik was a wiry man, his lean frame wrapped in a dark, weathered cloak that seemed to merge with the shadows around him. His sharp, angular features were accentuated by a thin scar that ran from his temple to his jawline, a mark that told of close calls and dangerous dealings. His piercing green eyes gleamed with a mix of cunning and curiosity, darting from one approaching figure to the next as though cataloging their intentions.

  As they stepped closer, Garrik leaned back slightly, his fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty tankard. His lips curled into a sly smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, well,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the purr of a predator. “Kael, to what do I owe the pleasure of such distinguished company?”

  His tone carried an air of mockery, but there was a guarded edge to it—a man who had spent a lifetime navigating the murky waters of secrecy and survival. One hand rested casually on the table, but the other disappeared beneath his cloak, a subtle reminder that Garrik was as dangerous as he was clever.

  Kael wasted no time with pleasantries. “We need information, Garrik. We’re looking for a man named Malakar—a sorcerer who’s causing trouble in the city.”

  Garrik leaned back, studying them with a calculating gaze. “Malakar, eh? Dangerous name to be throwing around. What’s in it for me if I help you?”

  Thalrin crossed his arms, his expression hard. “How about we don’t break every bone in your body?”

  Aric placed a hand on Thalrin’s arm, signaling for restraint. “What Thalrin means,” Aric said calmly, “is that we’re willing to make it worth your while. We can offer gold, of course. But we also have something more valuable—protection. If Malakar gets what he wants, this city won’t be safe for anyone, not even you.”

  Garrik’s eyes narrowed. “Protection, you say? Interesting offer. But I’m not a man who takes risks without something tangible in return. I want a favor—a job done in exchange for the information you seek.”

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  Kael raised an eyebrow. “What kind of job?”

  “There’s a merchant,” Garrik said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He owes me a significant debt, but he’s been avoiding me, thinking he’s untouchable. I need you to deliver a message—something that’ll remind him of his obligations. Do this, and I’ll tell you where to find Malakar.”

  Aric exchanged a glance with Thalrin and Kael. It wasn’t the kind of work they wanted to do, but they were running out of options. “Fine,” Aric said. “We’ll do it. But you’d better hold up your end of the bargain.”

  Garrik grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “Oh, I will. The merchant’s name is Varric. You’ll find him in the marketplace, selling his wares. He’s a very messy and careless man so I am certain you’ll find him in no time. Just make sure he gets the message.”

  With the deal struck, they left the tavern, a sense of unease settling over them. They were walking a fine line, and one wrong move could spell disaster.

  The marketplace teemed with life, a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and scents. Merchants shouted over one another to advertise their wares, their voices a cacophony of promises—“Finest silks from the east!” “Spices to make kings weep!”—while customers haggled fiercely, the clink of coin punctuating their heated exchanges. The air was thick with the mingling aromas of freshly baked bread, sizzling meats, and the sharp tang of exotic herbs.

  It wasn’t long before they spotted Varric. His stall stood out, not for its organization but for its sheer chaos. Trinkets and exotic items spilled across the tabletop, an eclectic mix of gleaming gemstones, tarnished amulets, rolled parchments, and intricately carved statuettes. The display gave the impression that the entire contents of a treasure chest had been upended in a fit of disarray.

  Varric himself was a stout man with a perpetually anxious demeanor, his round face slick with sweat despite the mild weather. His small, darting eyes seemed to catalog everyone who passed, glinting with a mix of caution and opportunism. A scraggly beard framed his face, and his fingers, stained with ink and oil, fussed over the items on his table, straightening a pile of scrolls one moment and adjusting the placement of a gleaming dagger the next.

  As they approached, Varric’s eyes flitted nervously to them, lingering briefly before his lips curved into an unconvincing smile. “Ah, travelers! Come, come!” he said, his voice low but hurried. “You’ve an eye for the extraordinary, I can tell. What treasures might you be seeking today?”

  His words were smooth, but the slight quiver in his tone betrayed his unease, and his hands never strayed far from beneath the counter—likely where he kept a weapon or a quick escape plan. Varric was a man used to walking the tightrope between opportunity and danger, and it showed in every calculated movement and fleeting glance.

  Aric approached him calmly, leaning in as if inspecting the wares. “Varric?” The merchant’s eyes widening with fear as he recognized the name. “Y-yes? How do you know my name?”

  “We’re here on behalf of Garrik,” Aric said quietly. “He wants his payment.” Varric’s face drained of color. “I-I don’t have it. Business has been slow, and I need more time. Please, just tell him—”

  Thalrin’s hand shot out, grabbing Varric by the collar and pulling him close. “Garrik doesn’t care about your excuses. Pay up, or things will get unpleasant.” Varric gulped, his hands trembling as he fumbled for a small pouch of coins. “This is all I have right now. Please, just give me a little more time.”

  Kael, who had been watching from the sidelines, stepped forward. “Listen, Varric. We’re not here to make your life harder. We just want to resolve this quickly. Pay Garrik what you owe, and this can all be over.” Varric nodded frantically, handing over the coins. “I’ll get the rest soon, I swear. Just don’t hurt me.”

  Aric took the pouch, his expression unreadable. “We’ll deliver your message. But make sure you have the rest soon. Garrik won’t be so forgiving next time.”