Next Destination: Helgarde

"Ten thousand gold," the auctioneer repeated, his voice a mix of awe and greed. "Going once, going twice..." He paused, the silence stretching like a tightened bowstring. "Sold!"

„Ten thousand! Even with the fifteen percent deduction, that still leaves me with 7500 gold... I probably won't have any more financial problems in the near future." Aldwyn's thoughts raced as he watched the tome change hands.

The tattooed man's gaze remained locked on him, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The auctioneer's eyes darted between Aldwyn and the new bidder, his smile never faltering. "If the sellers would be so friendly to come to my office and demand their payments," he said, pointing to the door he came through.

Aldwyn rose from his seat, the cushioned chair groaning under his weight. The tattooed man followed him with his gaze, his smile growing wider. "It seems fate has a peculiar sense of humor," he murmured, his voice carrying just enough to reach Aldwyn's ears.

Aldwyn felt the eyes of the room on him as he made his way through the throng of buyers and sellers. The air was thick with the scent of incense and magic, a potent mix that made his nose twitch with distaste. The auctioneer's office was a small, cramped space, lined with bookshelves and a single desk cluttered with paperwork and artifacts. The auctioneer sat behind it, his smile never wavering as he counted out the gold coins.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Aldwyn," he said, sliding the coins across the desk. "I trust you found the evening's entertainment to your liking?"

Aldwyn took the gold, his mind racing. "I have what I came for," he replied, his voice cold.

Aldwyn felt the weight of the two sacks of gold coins in his hands. The clinking sound of the coins as they hit the wooden floorboards echoing through the hallways of the Arcane Emporium. As he exited the auctioneer's office, the room's grandeur felt like a prison of opulence, its gold-leafed walls closing in around him.

„There's no way I'm walking around with these sacks... I should probably think about getting an bank account." Aldwyn thought to himself, as he made his way through the crowded halls of the Arcane Emporium.

The tattooed man stepped into Aldwyn's path, his smile still in place. "I noticed your keen interest in the Sylvan Siren," he said, his eyes piercing through the shadows. "Care to tell me why?"

„What the hell did he want from me? I just showed some empathy, that's all." Aldwyn thought to himself, as he looked at him.

"I seek no one's business but my own," he replied, his voice low and even.

The tattooed man's smile grew, revealing a set of sharp, pointed teeth. "Ah, but our businesses might intersect in ways you cannot foresee," he said, his tone a silky purr. "My name is Dorian Blackwood, and I have a keen interest in those who dabble in the whispers of the Outer Dark."

Aldwyn felt a shiver run down his spine, but he kept his features neutral. "Your name is as unfamiliar to me as your intentions," he said, stepping around Dorian. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

....

The bank was a bastion of security in the heart of Vellaris, its doors forged from the strongest iron and guarded by men in gleaming armor. The clerk at the counter looked up from his ledger, his eyes widening at the sight of the gold. "Good evening," Aldwyn said, placing the sacks on the counter. "I wish to open an account."

The clerk's eyes darted from the gold to Aldwyn and back again, a hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. "Very well," he said, his voice nasal. "May I have your name and the desired amount for the deposit?"

"Aldwyn," he said in a firm voice. "And I'd like to deposit seven thousand."

The clerk's eyes widened further as he heard the sum. He cleared his throat and picked up a quill, dipping it in the inkwell with trembling hands. "Ah, yes, Mr. Aldwyn. If you could, please sign here." He slid a parchment across the counter, along with an elegant wooden box. "And place your thumb here," he instructed, pointing to a space on the page.

Aldwyn's thumb left a perfect imprint in the wax seal. The clerk nodded, his suspicion momentarily forgotten in the face of such wealth. "Very good," he murmured, scribbling away.

The clerk looked up, his eyes gleaming. "Your account is set up, Mr. Aldwyn. You now have access to the finest banking services Vellaris has to offer." He handed over a small, round medallion with a golden emblem stamped on the front. "Your sign," he explained, "it serves as identification of your person."

Aldwyn took the medallion, his mind racing. "How does this work?" he asked.

The clerk looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's quite simple, Mr. Aldwyn. You may withdraw or deposit funds at any time, provided you have the required identification and sign the appropriate documentation. Each transaction is recorded here," he tapped the ledger, "for your convenience and security."

"And can this be used in any bank?" Aldwyn inquired, his gaze fixed on the medallion.

The clerk's smile grew a notch. "Ah, Mr. Aldwyn, your skepticism is charming but unnecessary. This signet is recognized by every reputable bank across the World," he assured, his voice dripping with condescension. "It is a mark of your wealth and status."

Aldwyn slipped the medallion into his pocket, his thoughts racing faster than the clerk's quill had flown over the parchment. As he stepped out of the bank, the cool evening air of Vellaris was a stark contrast to the stifling greed inside.

„It's a strange feeling to suddenly have so much wealth... I should still be careful with it, who knows when I'll need it." Aldwyn thought to himself as he stepped out into the cobblestone streets of Vellaris. The night had descended upon the city, casting a cloak of shadows over the grand buildings and gas-lit lamps. The cobblestone streets were relatively quiet, save for the distant sound of carriages and the occasional murmur of late-night conversations.

He looked for accommodation for the evening, his eyes scanning the signs that swung above the inns and taverns. Most of them were filled with the chatter of travelers and the clinking of silverware, their warm lights spilling out onto the cobblestone streets.

The 'Silver Unicorn' caught his eye, its sign depicting a mythical creature frozen in mid-gallop, silver horn gleaming in the moonlight. The place looked quiet, the windows dimly lit. It was a stark contrast to the raucous establishments nearby. He pushed open the heavy oak door, the scent of roasting meat and ale washing over him.

Inside, a few patrons sat at the bar, their conversations hushed in the flickering candlelight. The innkeeper, a burly man with a thick beard and a tired smile, looked up from his ledger. "Looking for a room?" he asked, his voice gruff but welcoming.

For the night," Aldwyn confirmed, placing 20 silver coin on the counter. The man's eyes lit up at the sight of the coin, and he nodded, handing over a heavy key. "Room 303, upstairs at the end of the hall."

Aldwyn climbed the creaking stairs, the worn tapestries on the walls telling silent tales of battles long past and heroes forgotten. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but the bed looked welcoming.

....

The morning light streamed through the dusty window, painting patterns on the aged wooden floorboards. Aldwyn awoke with a start, his dreams haunted by the Sylvan Siren's hopeful gaze. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and took in the cramped room of the 'Silver Unicorn'. The quiet whispers of the night had been replaced by the distant sound of the city waking up to a new day. He rose, stretching his muscles and surveying the gold coins that lay scattered on the small table beside the bed.

After a quick wash at the communal basin downstairs, Aldwyn made his way to the carriage station, the cobblestone streets coming to life with the early risers of Vellaris. The smell of freshly baked bread and the cries of street vendors filled the air as he walked, the sun casting long shadows before him. The station was bustling, a cacophony of hooves, wheels, and voices as carriages of all shapes and sizes pulled in and out, ready to whisk passengers away to their destinations.

He approached the ticket counter, "Destination, please," the clerk said, his voice crisp.

"Helgarde," Aldwyn replied, his voice a low growl.

The clerk's eyes flickered up to meet his, and he nodded, his expression unreadable. "Ah, a journey home perhaps?" He asked, his tone a little too friendly.

Aldwyn ignored the question, focusing on the task at hand. "The next carriage to Helgarde," he said, his voice firm.

The clerk's eyes narrowed, sensing the urgency beneath the surface. "Thirty-five silver," he replied, his hand hovering over the stack of tickets.

Aldwyn dug into his pocket and pulled out golden coins along with a few silver ones. He placed them on the counter with a clink, his movements swift and precise. "Three gold and five silver," he said, his silver eyes boring into the clerk's own.

The clerk's expression grew slightly less friendly, but he nodded. "Your carriage leaves in an hour," he said, sliding the ticket across the worn wood. "Platform five."