Marc woke up the next day later than usual. Without an alarm clock, he had only his habits to rely on, but weeks in the wilderness, with watch schedules through the nights, had thrown that out of balance as well. Looking around he remembered where he was.

  The normal 2 person rooms they typically stayed in were occupied already, so the communal bunks were all that was left. Even then, almost a dozen extra cots were set up, some people doubled up, and there were still others who had to lay on the floor.

  While some of the adventurers were rising for the day, most remained asleep after a heavy night of drinking or simply being night owls. Marc checked over his things, and went off towards the Archives. With the number of people, he knew that the usual washrooms would be completely full, and was hoping that some of the lesser known ones would be available. He was correct, and while there were a few others inside, he was able to clean himself off and change clothes.

  The clothes he bought after his first hunt were cheap in all the right places. They, like his other clothing, were undyed and plain, but thick enough to offer some shielding from the threats of the world. The clothes he appeared with called itself armor, but he was still in search of some leather or even lighter metal pieces to give him something more than high resilience to rely upon.

  Less than an hour after sunrise, Marc was on the streets. He and Lloyd had agreed to split up for a bit, Lloyd going for a somewhat supervised hunt, while Marc would search for some of the items they wanted to get, namely someone trustworthy to buy Historia from. He figured that, with the leaves he had, around 70 tucked away in his backpack, he could also look for armor in earnest. He set off towards the market square.

  The square itself was an intimidating thing to walk into. At least a hundred tents and stalls spread across an area flanked by tall buildings primarily owned by factions. There was one massive tent at the center, full of all sorts of valuables and monster parts, with a number of protective enchantments and wards permeating the air. Entering was like walking through a wall of thick air.

  Almost no one was there when Marc entered. The Market was open every day, but adventurers kept odd hours, even the ones who sold things. Berk, the grumpy old Slayer, was there, but none of the armorsmiths Marc had seen in past visits. He walked over to the Slayer.

  “Hm? Yer up early. Still not dead?”

  “Not yet, though the monsters are trying.”

  “Feh! Well, gonna buy somethin’ or chat?”

  Marc looked over what Berk had laid out. Most of it was foodstuff, monster meat and the like, but some of it was more exotic ingredients. The Spine Deer velvet was gone, but there were a few phials of Bunnyhawk venom and some Dire Hawk pinions.

  “Not today. Was looking for armor but I don’t know anyone outside of this tent.”

  “Armor? Still preppin’ for yer last trip out? Awful late, kid.” Berk gave a disapproving look.

  “Oh, we already did it! I’m looking for armor for the next one. Which will be after. . .” Marc trailed off. Berk gave a nod of understanding, before looking around the tent.

  “Well. Jacky says yer takin’ the hits for her? Yer gonna want metal for that, ‘less yer boons only good for leather.”

  “I don’t think they do, why?”

  “Given yev sold all yer hauls to me, I know ‘round how much coin you got. An’ that won't pay for steel. Not if the steel’s made to last.”

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  Marc shrugged. One more job without armor would hopefully not be too much to handle alone. “So, know of any jobs that could get me over the line?”

  Berk gave a big grin. “Marc, how'd you like to catch some rats? They’re infestin’ some noblefolk’s basements.”

  Rats in a basement. Marc almost burst out laughing at the cliche, but kept his composure as much as possible.

  “Would. . . wouldn’t a rat trap work?”

  “Yeh, we all ask that. No.” Berk moved everything within the stall slightly, checking to see something, before stepping out and casting a spell over it. Marc didn’t even know Berk could use magic, and yet the entire area sealed shut with a cascade of locking sounds.

  “Yer gonna need my help gettin’ in to the Canopy. Stay close”. A job now on the table, Marc shrugged and followed the man. This was his goal for the day anyways.

  Berk, for his apparent age (Marc would get mid-60’s), moved with a lot more grace than it would seem. He strode through the streets with Marc needing to jog once or twice. Even the elevation changes didn’t seem to affect him. He had a small messenger bag that Marc was guessing to be a Vracht pack.

  Despite his ease through the city, he did complain about something seemingly every thirty seconds. Most of it was under his breath, but a few times he pulled Marc aside and advised him of what not to do. His biggest issue was with the Thieves’ guild growing more and more bold in who they’d rob.

  Eventually, after about 2 miles of walking, they arrived at a wall seeming made of trees. Unlike those to enter the city, looking wild and ragged, these were contained and elegant. Marc had a feeling they were probably made of a different kind of tree, or at least some other version of Dryadwood. There were two guards standing at a flat section of the wall looking at Berk. Both of them were dryads, and didn’t give Marc a second thought.

  “It’s Berk. Here for the Rodaan catch. He’s with me, name’s Marc.” One of the Dryads nodded, and a gateway opened into the Canopy ward.

  For the first time, one spoke, “Make no trouble within, Marc.” Looking directly at him, though it felt like they were looking through him instead. He nodded and followed Berk through the archway. Immediately, the look of the city changed. The streets looked like some of the best hardwood floors from modern America, and the houses sprawled into the sky. Each one seemingly had a tree popping out of the roof, giving the house itself shade. Each residence was close to the size of the Adventurer’s HQ building. A subtle earthy smell pervaded the ward. Most of the people were Drayds, with a few Icess and Humans as well, and the rare Snow Elf.

  “C’mon, no good starin’. Rodaan’s this way.” Berk said, directing Marc towards where they needed to go.

  People stared at Marc, but upon noticing Berk a number of them waved. “So, you do this often?”

  “It’s what I’m good at. Pays well enough. An’ I’m known here.” Marc nodded. They kept ascending the city by elevation, and for the first time Marc could clearly see the castle where the Dryad Queen lived, before they moved further towards their destination.

  “Folks up here, they appreciate keepin’ quiet. Few Floods ago, there was this great big pack’a Dire Moles tunnelin’ under the city. After it ended, rats kept poppin’ up, enough to make a big aura of disease. So, they call a slayer that can keep his mouth shut.” He gestured to himself.

  “And. . . you’re who they call whenever they need an exterminator?”

  “Yep. Pays well, sticks ya in the city, and if you don’ do somethin’ stupid they might ask for you too.”

  “But didn’t you just tell me everything they want people not to know?”

  “You hear about rats in the canopy before this hour?” Marc shook his head no. “Then that means its workin’. No use to have you dead to rats though.”

  Without any good response, he continued forward. Within a few minutes they got to the residence. An Elf stood outside, clearly not a Snow Elf given he was not paper white, and had a wide smile upon seeing Berk.

  “Mr. Berk! Sir Rodaan will be pleased to see you. We weren’t expecting you until later in the month, so this is a welcome surprise. And, your new apprentice?” He didn’t seem to mean the welcome surprise part, and looked at Marc like he were expired bread

  “Rham, good to see you. This here’s Marc, new Adventurer.”

  “Wonderful,” The elf lied. “Well, Mr. Berk, Marc, please follow me.”

  Into the manor they went, off to kill Marc’s first (presumably giant) rats.