Adventure of Slaan 1

Slaan steps out of the Hall of Welcome and into Phandelver’s market square. Morning light warms the stone flags, and the air carries bread, apples, damp wool, and horse sweat.

Stalls crowd the square in a rough ring, canvas awnings snapping softly. The Merchant counts coins behind neat bolts of cloth, while the Apple Vendor piles bright fruit into a wicker display.

Nhal follows close beside her, hood up, watching the crowd with careful interest. The quiet of the Hall fades behind them, replaced by voices, bartering, and the clink of weights on wood.

Slaan’s gaze catches on the trade goods, plain things to anyone else, but useful pieces for wardwork and tracking. The market keeps moving, unaware of the magic being weighed among it.

Slaan lets her gaze drift stall to stall, and the market answers her attention. A hanging rack of dried herbs, a tray of powdered salts, a bundle of black reed ash, all the small things that make a ward hold.

Her eyes catch a narrow shelf beneath the linen stall, where stoppered vials sit in shaded glass. One glints with silver grit, another with pale blue resin, and a third with ground chalk laced in faint rune dust.

The Merchant notices her interest and slides the nearest jar forward with a careful hand, while Nhal lingers beside her, quietly watching the exchange.

Slaan can tell at a glance the shelves are stocked with exactly the sort of components she needs, and more than one could pass for conduit stabilizers.

Behind the stall curtain, a faint violet sheen moves across the shadowed jars, steady as a pulse in a sleeping vein. The Merchant waits, expectant, while the choice of trade hangs in the air.

Slaan reaches toward the cloth and lets the violet thread answer her palm. The pulse is not a single jar, but a routed seam, looped through the hidden stock like a heartbeat passed hand to hand.

Under the stall, the glass faintly rings against itself, each vessel carrying a different note in the same spell. The steady glow of the stabilized memory cluster in the hall seems far away, but the same kind of careful containment lives here.

Nhal leans in by instinct, then stills, eyes fixed on Slaan’s hand and the curtain’s shadow. The resonance resolves into a deliberate pattern, a coded path running through the reagents rather than around them.

The pulse is traced at last, and it leads behind the curtain with unmistakable intent, as if the hidden vials are waiting to be chosen.

Slaan lets the silence stretch, then glances at the glowing vials as if she has only half a mind on them. The Merchant watches her more closely for the mistake she is not making.

The Merchant blinks, then huffs a reluctant laugh. His guarded posture loosens by a finger's width, and he nods at the hidden shelf.

Nhal tilts their head, the steady glow of the stabilized memory cluster reflected faintly in their eyes. The violet pattern behind the curtain seems less like cargo now, more like a deliberate warded set.

Slaan lets her expression go vacant and bright, all soft-eyed curiosity. The Merchant watches that harmless mask, then reaches under the counter and draws a thumb across one vial's curve, as if checking its temper.

The question lands cleanly. He snorts once, then tips his chin toward the lane beyond the square, where the morning crowd blurs past the stall.

Nhal's steady glow catches in the glass, a faint reflection of the stabilized memory cluster. The Merchant notices it too, and his caution eases into honest interest.

He leaves the choice hanging between them, one hand resting on the curtained shelf, waiting for Slaan to point to a source or ask for a price.

Slaan’s shadows slide first, three slow tendrils threading out from her robe. One coils around the Merchant’s throat, two settle over his hands, and the stall’s open air dims under a veil of dark.

The Merchant jolts, then locks still as the pressure takes hold. The violet vials behind him keep glowing in their precise little pattern, now seen through a deepening wash of shadow.

Slaan’s telekinesis tightens with the spell, pinning the Merchant in place while the veil spills over the curtain and counter, swallowing the stall’s bright edges in ink-dark shade.

Nhal stays close at Slaan’s shoulder, their steady glow reflecting faintly in the darkened glass as the market noise outside seems to fall away around the stall. The Merchant watches Slaan from within the shadow, waiting for her next choice.

Slaan flicks two fingers, and a small shadow-raven slips free from the stall’s dark edge, its body thinning into a black ribbon of magic.

It darts upward through the market hush, carrying her message toward Kynes beyond the crowd and rooftops.

The Merchant feels the spell loosen a fraction and swallows hard, eyes fixed on the bird’s vanishing trail.

Nhal’s steady glow catches on the violet vials behind the curtain, their geometric pattern holding perfectly under the shadow veil.

The market noise stays muffled outside, but the stall now feels like a held breath, waiting for Kynes to answer or for Slaan to decide whether to press the Merchant for more.

The word lands like a blade wrapped in velvet. The Merchant’s shoulders tighten, then ease as he chooses caution over pride.

Nhal’s glow holds steady on the curtain, the violet vials answering with a faint, synchronized pulse.

He reaches under the counter and slides out a narrow reed case, but his hand trembles, and the case knocks against the wood with a sharp crack.

The market noise stays distant, while the hidden vials glow on, waiting for Slaan to accept the bargain or push for more.

Slaan lets the warning hang between them, steady and plain. The reed case stays offered, but her attention fixes on the glow behind the curtain instead of the bargain in front of her.

Nhal eases back from the counter, the soft shimmer around their cloak settling into a calmer line. The steady glow in the Hall of Welcome rests in their memory like an answered lesson, not a hunger.

His grip loosens on the reed case. The market noise drifts in again, warm and ordinary, while the hidden vials keep their faint, dangerous pulse behind the curtain.

Nhal turns their shoulder toward Slaan, no longer studying the glass. The stall’s shadow veil softens farther, and for a moment the whole exchange feels less like trade and more like trust.

Slaan waits for the shadow-raven to return, but the sky above the market remains empty of any familiar, dark-winged signal. The silence from Kynes is absolute, and as the minutes stretch, the air around the stall begins to hum with a discordant, jagged vibration that suggests the connection has been severed entirely.

Slaan flicks three moon elf gold coins onto the counter. They ring bright against the wood, louder than the deadened square around them.

The Merchant exhales, then gathers the reed case of stabilizers into both hands and slides it toward her.

As the case passes over, the hum in the air changes. The market shadows tilt toward the stall, drawn by the same hidden resonance that clings to the vials.

Slaan shapes the spell with a single, precise breath. The reed case lightens in her hand, then vanishes into the pocket dimension with a soft warp of space.

The Merchant blinks at the empty air where it was, his fingers closing on nothing.

A seam of darkness crawls across the counter edge, touching the place where the case had been.

Nhal tilts their head toward the lengthening shade, while the market remains wrongfully quiet around them.

Slaan keeps her tone light, and the merchant’s worry loosens by a breath. The creeping dark still stains the counter, but the stall’s edge no longer feels like the whole world is leaning in.

The Merchant glances between Nhal and the dark seam, then snorts despite himself. His shoulders drop, and one hand finally drifts off the counter’s edge.

Nhal’s steady glow holds near Slaan’s side, calm but attentive, while the market around them stays hushed and strange. The black shade clings to the wood without spreading further.

Slaan catches Nhal by the arm and turns them both from the stall in one smooth pull. The Merchant starts to speak, but the words die as the dark seam stays behind on the wood, stubborn and unmoving.

Nhal goes with her at once, shoulders angling through the quiet lane, while the merchant’s hand lifts in reluctant protest. The stabilized memory cluster glows on in the square behind them, small and steady against the dimming light.

They clear the nearest edge of the market, but the shadows gather thicker over the merchant’s boards as if something has noticed the loss. Nhal’s grip tightens on Slaan’s sleeve, and the air ahead feels strangely empty.

Slaan keeps Nhal moving, their pace clean and unhurried, as the lane swallows the market noise behind them. The merchant’s complaint fades under the press of foot traffic and cloth awnings.

They pass the last line of stalls, and the square drops away at their backs. Ahead, the street opens toward quieter stone and shade, while the steady glow of the stabilized memory cluster still glimmers across the market.

Nhal stays close, shoulder brushing Slaan’s sleeve, their gaze flicking once toward the market before settling forward again. The shadows at the stall edge thicken, but they do not follow into the lane.

The threat lands behind them without changing their course. Slaan does not slow, and the market square is now behind their backs, boxed in by distance and bodies.

At the mouth of the next street, the air feels less crowded and more watchful. Nhal’s grip loosens a fraction as they clear the square, leaving the merchant and his shadowed stall out of immediate reach.