1. The Haberdashery

The haberdasher was reading when his store’s doorbell chimed. He offered a courtesy glance towards his visitors and then quickly stole another. There were three of them, clearly in the midst of travel, each from a different region. The haberdasher discerned from their attire: a Tatran with a long black braid, a delicate face, and ornate modern clothing; a broad-shouldered Ourensean, weathered and pale, half outfitted with scuffed armor and a tattered cowl; and lastly a small woman with a high ponytail, likely Temu, her stretched earlobes and buckskin tunic marked her as from the coastal expanse to the west.

“Welcome,” the haberdasher said finally, but the three were distracted—burdened with palpable tension as they parted ways to peruse the cramped shop.

“Just a hat, Avery,” said the Temu with a narrow-eyed stare over her shoulder.

“I know, I know,” said the Tatran dismissively, but the Ourensean pinched his sleeve.

“Nothing magical.”

Avery pulled his arm away. “Oh yes, this humble haberdashery houses many powerful artefacts. What arcane dark magic will I acquire here?”

The Ourensean smacked his lips at Avery’s sarcasm. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

Avery rolled his eyes as he pivoted away on his heel. The haberdasher watched as the young Temu made her way over to the wall of scissors while the Ourensean squeezed his way over to the embroidery aisle. Avery remained stagnant, back facing the haberdasher, allowing him to fully study the Tatran’s cape, which was a rich crimson and beautifully draped over his left shoulder—the embroidered hem just shy of touching the dusty floor. Unlike his companions, he lacked any weapons but was gilded with all sorts of jewelry; golden bangles, a multitude of rings, and dangling earrings. Avery turned and caught the haberdasher’s gaze, prompting the man into busying himself with his abacus and stack of receipts. Avery smirked and beelined towards him, fingers caressing the various fabrics as he approached.

Cornered, the haberdasher regarded him with a smile and a nod, surprised by his own sudden shyness. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Avery leaned his forearm on the counter. He smelled pleasant, expensive. “Hats," he said. "Specifically, cavalier, perhaps with a feather or two?” His accent was thick and charming, with its lack of h’s and a slight lispy cadence.

“I see you’re fond of extravagant accessories,” the haberdasher said, recovering.

“Oh—and what gave that away?” Avery asked, head tilting with genuine curiosity, unaware of his cultivated mystique, or at least feigning to be.

The haberdasher noticed a small beauty mark above his upper lip. “I’m afraid all we have are cloches and straw hats,” he offered.

Overhearing that, the Temu laughed. “Imagine Avery wearing a straw hat!”

The Ourensean smiled and tucked his chin inward, clearly endeared by the thought.

Avery grinned, but his brows furrowed with annoyance. “They’re mad at me,” he said, neither a whisper nor a bold declaration.

“Hm? Love triangle?” The haberdasher guessed.

He laughed. “Hardly.”

The haberdasher caught the Ourensean’s intense stare. He knew a look of warning when he saw one… He stood straighter, swallowed, and busied himself with his receipts once more.

The Tatran hadn’t noticed. He picked up a spool of violet thread and lazily examined it, sighing. “We’ve been on the road for a while. It’s a long story.”

With a wary glance over to the large man at the back of his store, the haberdasher said, “Can’t say I’m not intrigued.”

And before Avery could respond his stomach grumbled violently, and his blasé demeanor broke for a moment, replaced with a self-conscious grin.

It was then that the haberdasher realized how tired the young man and his companions appeared, like a trio of wilted flowers on a hot day. “How about you three sit down for some tea, my treat, and you regale me with your tales of adventure?”

The other two looked over.

“I can pay,” said Avery.

“I’m offering.”

Hesitation, but then he acquiesced. “Alright.”

The haberdasher gestured to his table, which doubled as a lunch spot and a surface for cutting bolts of measured cloth. He retreated to the back area and set the filled kettle over a fire stone. He rummaged around for his favorite tin of herbalmusk tea, and prepared the mugs, plates, and utensils—though worn and mismatched—he was glad to own enough for company. As the water boiled, he unwrapped the day-old lemon cake his husband had baked and sliced into three equal portions. He worked efficiently, rejuvenated by the unexpected change of pace and anticipation of an interesting tale. His haberdashery was out of the way at the edge of a large town, and this was the most action he’d experienced in a long while. But that was life, right? Mundane, mundane, going through the motions until something strange occurred. He platted the cake, poured the tea, and set the tray, which he then carried over to the seated travelers.

“Had some leftover lemon cake from the mister,” he said, setting the spread down for them.

The Ourensean sat taller, eyebrows raised. “Cake.”

The young woman immediately brought the mug to her lips and began the task of furiously blowing on the tea, completely engrossed in her efforts, until she felt the men’s amused eyes on her. She stopped and smiled, sheepish. “Sensitive tongue.”

“I gather you’re Avery,” the haberdasher then said to the Tatran. “But I haven’t heard your names.”

“Birger,” the Ourensean said, nearly finished with his slice of cake and eyeing Avery’s.

“And I’m Sachie. You?”

“Aalap.” He looked at Birger. “I’ll tell my husband you enjoyed his cake.”

Avery appeared embarrassed for Birger as he proceeded to delicately eat his own slice.

Aalap pulled over a stool and sat. “You all seem close.”

The three of them snorted in unison.

The haberdasher smiled at that. “So, how did you all meet?”

“Sachie and Birger met before me,” Avery said and sipped his tea. “Oh, I adore herbalmusk, thank you for this.”

“Ah, my pleasure,” Aalap said. “And how did they meet you?”

“Found me with a shivering stone, apparently.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of that, is it like a fire stone?”

“Magic stone that reacts to magic,” Birger answered instead, attempting to stick his fork into Avery’s cake, but capitulated after a glare of warning.

“Oh, so you’re a mage,” Aalap said.

“As am I,” Sachie said, proudly.

“A fledgling,” Avery added with a smirk.

Aalap was delighted. “Two mages and a…” He looked at Birger, but the man remained stony-faced and mute.

Avery sighed. “This brute’s an Ourensean knight.”

“Former,” Birger amended, crossing his arms.

“Don’t doubt that with your impressive stature. Bet you were a beast on the battlefield,” said Aalap. “I suppose you fought in that civil war up north a few years back?”

Birger scowled, then blanched, eyes unfocused—clearly traumatized.

Avery cleared his throat. “You wanted some tales of adventure, yes? Well, now—I’m no bard—I don’t know how exciting our travels have been thus far, but we did manage to unearth a legendary weapon from the Traum Woods."

Sachie pulled out her pearlescent mace and dropped it onto the table, rattling the plates with the weight of it. “Squared off with a brigand there too,” she added.

Birger grunted at the memory. “They had a danseur among them.”

Aalap was instantly captivated.

“You two are getting ahead,” Avery said. “After they found me with the help of a shivering stone, I agreed to join them on their quests. But they wanted to test my mettle and see if I was all that I seemed. We headed to the Traum Woods, in search of a celestial mace that would aid Sachie…”