Diaries of an Ooze Witch (Entry 3.5) (Patreon)

3.5

I spent much of my week attempting to crack what appeared to be an impenetrable bubble around the iron market of Placedo. It did not matter the vendor or blacksmith that I had propositioned, all seemed cowed or suspicious of dealing with another ironmonger. Even when offering my iron at a discount, no one seemed to want anything to do with my wares. It wouldn’t be until the third day in the city that I was able to catch a break. As I was trying to sell my iron to yet another blacksmith, he managed to catch a glimpse of my family crest. At first, I thought that might be my foot in the door for a sale, but he dashed my hopes, much like the rest. Before I could slink away, the blacksmith made a passing reference to a man by the name of Gabrin who had been buying iron off of the Black Market. If I had wanted to unload my iron, I should head over there and see about doing business.

I scrunched up my nose at such a proposal. Sell my legitimate wares on the Black Market? Would that not be admitting defeat, consorting with such disreputable folk to eek out a profit on the family iron? And that says nothing about the legal ramifications that I would be risking by doing so. Alas, with my funds running low after our interaction with the Usuran Troupe, there might be no other option than to debase myself and perform that regrettable deed.

Still, I was curious as to why the sight of my family crest perked an interest in the blacksmith, so I asked him. The blacksmith responded that another merchant with the same crest had attempted to sell their iron to him with much the same result. Immediately, my eyes shot open as I engaged with him directly, pleading to know what became of him. To that, he merely responded that he gave him the same suggestion as he had given me: That he should deal with the Black Market directly if he wished to sell his Iron, consulting with a man by the name of Gabrin, a local rogue.

At least, a lead! Composing myself, I pondered where I might be able to find this Gabrin fellow to the blacksmith, who made mention that he was often seen at the tavern, “The Broken Horseshoe.” With my curiosity finally sated, I Thanked the blacksmith profusely before taking my leave. It had finally happened, an avenue for which I could investigate. While it might have to do with the Black Market, I was already preparing to swallow my pride. I was prepared to march on the Gates of Hell if it meant getting answers on my Brother’s madness.

I will not be denied.