A figure in a green guard uniform.

He opens the door, and Yulda stands before him. She's dressed in green guard breeches and tunic, with high boots. A musket is slung on her back, one hand rests lazily on the pommel of her sword, and the other holds something, wrapped in cheap brown paper and twine. "Domic," she says happily. "You're just who I wanted to see."

"Yulda? Um, what a surprise," he says. "Please, come in," he stands aside.

"Oh no no, I can't, I've got duty," she says, smiling. "I just wanted to drop this off," she hands him the paper wrapped thing. It is heavy and smooth, filled with a liquid. "As, um, a small thanks, such as it is, for saving my life."

"Yulda - I uh," he stammers.

"Please, it's true, Domic. Now I have to go, alright," she says, turning away. "Share that with your sister, and don't drink it all at once," she smiles again, waving goodbye as she walks down the street. He waves back, then turns inside, unwrapping the thing. It is a big bottle of Molakkad rum, very alcoholic, very delicious, and very expensive in Pael. Still slightly flustered, he heads down to their cellar to store it in a dark and dry corner.

"Well, now what do I do?" he thinks to himself. Light glints off the hexagonal ring on his finger. "Izabel may not be curious, but I am," he thinks, going to the entryway and slipping on his cloak and boots. He walks out the door, headed north to Pael's small gold and silversmith row. Enough of the precious metals flowed out of the mountain rivers to support a few shops, but any major deposits had been mined out by the Empire, or simply never existed. That hadn't stopped a few madmen or charlatans from popping up every few years, claiming they found the Lost City of the Elves, or some other such nonsense. Whatever gold the elves had found while living up here, they'd taken with when they returned south.

Domic comes to a shop in placed right in the middle of the row, it's wattle-and-daub bulk rising three stories into the air. It rather noticeably and concerningly leans forward over the street, while a painted sign depicting a hammer over an open book swings in the breeze. Underneath is painted 'Hzrk, Goldsmith, Antiquarian.' He pushes open the heavy door and enters. Inside is a wonderland of curiosities and treasures: drake scales, dire wolf teeth, spirit essence (alleged), gold necklaces, gold rings, riches from the old barrows, Imperial eversharp swords, and many more things besides. Hzrk bought all the rare things the forest provided, the bits and pieces that other merchants didn't want, or frankly did, but had no idea how to sell here or down south.

"Remember me?" Domic says, smiling, as he walks up to the dwarf, seated behind a massive table covered with tools, gold, paper, and other items.

The dwarf looks up at him, smiling behind bushy eyebrows and an even bushier beard. "Domic. Good to see you again, it's been too long," he says, extending a solid hand.

He shakes it. "It has. I'm sorry, I didn't find anything after those drake teeth and weird arrowheads. And I don't expect to for a while, since I've started my term of service in the guard, so," he shrugs.

Hzrk nods understandingly, pushing the gold wire he was working out of the way. "Always thought it was stupid, that. Too many people wasting time in town instead of exploring outside - you can understand my reasoning," he says, holding his hands wide and open.

Domic nods in agreement. "I was, however, gifted this, and it's why I'm here," he says, pulling off the ring. He places it on the table in front of Hzrk. "From my mother, via my sister. She said it was lucky. What can you tell me about it?"

Hzrk picks up the ring, and takes out a small lens to examine it more closely. "Unadorned, but its shape, it is done well and with care," he mutters. He grabs a few tools nearby and tests it for a few minutes, before finally looking at it from all angles with the lens again. Then he sets it down and sighs. "I'm sorry Domic, there's not much I can tell you. There's no smith's mark on it, which could mean it's old, before the foundation of the Empire even. It's a unique style, I'll give it that much. I assume your mother didn't tell your sister where she got it from?"

"Errm, I don't know about that...that's certainly what she said, before implying I should stop prying," he says.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm only a goldsmith, I can't offer much advice on familial issues," he shrugs. "I'm sure your sister just doesn't know."

"We'll see, we'll see," he thinks. He smiles weakly. "I feel embarrassed asking this, but is there anyone else in Pael who might know something about it?"

Hzrk smiles good-naturedly. "No, I'm afraid it's just me. Who knows, you could get lucky with a southerner, or a book in some burgher's private library. Gods know they have a few which they don't want me to read," he chuckles.

"Thank you again," Domic says, shaking Hzrk's hand. They share a hearty goodbye, and then he returns home.