Back at the Apartnt - Afternoon
Marron set the copper pot on her kitchen counter, no longer wrapped or hidden. It glead in the afternoon light, the inscription visible, the copper warm-toned and welcoming.
Two Legendary Tools.
A food cart that sealed dungeons.
A pot that never boiled over.
She pulled out her notebook and added to her docuntation:
Discovery: The copper pot was in Simone’s possession for 15 years. She gave it to 11 other people before , and all brought it back saying it was ordinary. The pot doesn’t reveal itself to everyone—only to those who are ready to understand it.
This suggests Legendary Tools might have so form of consciousness or selection criteria. They don’t just work for anyone. They choose their partners.
Question: How many more tools are there? Lord Alexander says stories vary—seven, thirteen, or more. Need to find more information.
Question: What happens when you collect multiple tools? Do they work together? Is there a greater purpose?
Question: Who else is looking for these tools? Alexander warned to be careful—so people collect them as trophies. Need to be discreet.
Next steps:- Continue learning to work with both tools- Pay attention to dreams—they seem to be significant- Look for hints about other tools- Docunt everything
She closed the notebook and looked around her new apartnt—small but hers, with space for her cart, a proper kitchen for her pot, windows that let in good light.
Mokko was arranging books on a small shelf. Lucy was exploring the bathroom, fascinated by the enchanted faucets.
"It’s ho," Marron said quietly, testing the words.
"I thought adowbrook Commons was ho?" Mokko asked.
She smiled because it was true.
"adowbrook will always be our hotown," she clarified. "but until we return, this is our new ho base."
And for the first ti since arriving in Savoria, that word felt true. It wasn’t a temporary shelter, even if they had to pay rent.
Now there were two legendary tools in her possession.
Marron frowned a little at that.
"Does that an we’ll be hunted down by the next dungeon?"
Lucy burbled from her jar. "Hope not! We like you here."
"I do too, but...I don’t want my food cart to get swiped again. Or this pot."
Though, if the pot was swiped, it would probably be given back. It’s not as flashy as the cart.
Marron’s first week in the Guild Apartnts passed in a comfortable rhythm that felt almost surreal after months of constant movent and survival mode.
Mornings, she attended Henrik’s poultry class—learning to debone whole chickens, master different stocks, create dishes that showcased technique without overwhelming the main ingredient. Her Whisperwind knives continued to draw attention, but she’d gotten better at deflecting questions with vague references to "family connections."
Afternoons were for Maestra Vivienne’s candy-making sessions—tempering chocolate, pulling taffy, creating brittles and carals that required precision and patience. The copper pot proved invaluable here, its steady heat control making sugar work significantly less stressful.
Evenings, she experinted in her apartnt kitchen, testing how the food cart and copper pot worked together. She discovered that food made in the pot and served from the cart seed to carry sothing extra—not just nourishnt, but comfort. Warmth that went deeper than temperature.
Mokko noticed it first. "Your soup tastes like... safety," he said one evening, struggling for words. "Like being ho."
"That’s the tools working together," Marron said, making notes in her docuntation notebook. "The pot provides perfect conditions, the cart amplifies the intent behind the cooking. They’re partners."
Lucy had simply burbled contentedly and ford a heart shape.
By the end of the week, Marron had fallen into a routine: classes during the day, cooking and experintation in the evening, selling excess food at the street market twice a week to maintain her finances.
Her coin purse was healthier than it had been in months—she was actually saving money instead of just scraping by.
She’d made friends, too. Zara from the poultry class had beco a regular lunch companion, and several other Guild apartnt residents had invited her to the communal lounge for evening tea and cooking gossip.
It was comfortable.
Stable.
Almost normal.
Marron kept waiting for sothing to go wrong.
Day 8 - Morning
The knock on her door ca just after breakfast, while Marron was reviewing her notes on chocolate tempering.
"Mail delivery!" called a cheerful voice.
Marron opened the door to find a young courier—a catfolk woman with orange tabby markings and a leather satchel slung across her shoulder.
"Chef Marron Louvel?"
"That’s ."
"Letter for you. Ca through the northern routes, special delivery." The courier handed over a thick envelope sealed with dark green wax. The seal showed a design Marron didn’t recognize at first—then did, with a slight shock.
A mimic. Stylized and artistic, but definitely a mimic, its form caught mid-shift.
"Sign here, please."
Marron signed the delivery log with trembling fingers, her mind already racing. Alexander. It has to be from Alexander.
The courier departed with a cheerful wave, and Marron closed the door, staring at the envelope.
"What is it?" Mokko asked, looking up from his breakfast.
"Letter from New Brookvale. From the mimics."
Lucy bubbled curiously, pressing against her jar.
Dear Marron,
I hope this letter finds you well and settled in Luria. I’ve heard through rchant contacts that you earned your Guild certification—congratulations. Your mother would be proud. (I know you said she’s never been to Savoria, but I imagine wherever she is, she’s proud nonetheless.)
Things in New Brookvale are complicated, but improving. The settlent grows slowly. We have forty mimics now, and more arrive every few weeks—refugees from other regions where they were hunted or driven out. The glamour mages Guildmaster Halloway recomnded have been invaluable. With their help, several of our people can now maintain stable human forms long enough to trade in nearby towns.
The food you taught us to appreciate has made a profound difference. We’re not just eating to survive anymore—we’re enjoying als, sharing recipes, arguing about seasoning like a proper community.
But I’m not writing just to update you on our progress.
Three weeks ago, while clearing land for new housing, one of our builders unearthed a buried chamber. Inside, we found artifacts. Pre-cataclysm, we think.
Most of the items were mundane: pottery shards, rusted tools, remnants of daily life. But one piece stood out.
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