The Dehlosian market came to life by daylight, but it was under the night sky when it dazzled like stars. When the guards posted outside of the square and stopped policing wares, the black market dealings frolicked out in the open. Tobias spent that time looking for more eclectic and outlandish poisons, weapons that he wouldn't find any place else in the world. Raiaeran Smiths peddled their mithril wares here, and Salvic hedge witches placed laboriously scribbled hexes on parchment to swindle the highest bidders. Somewhere nearby, the fires of a Dwarven forge burned with the telltale incense that they used in their wares, the distinct temper that made their weapons so reliable and deadly. He strayed close to the flame because the warmth took the edge off of a night in Dehlos, the chill off the gulf nearby enough to settle into one's bones.

"Tobias!" the blade merchant, Valgo waved him down. "I've got something I think you'll like!"

Beyond the familiar scents and tastes of the market district, the shops that dealt in strange and ornate weaponry lay claim to Tobias' heart. "What have you got for me, Valgo?" he asked, smiling slightly. His gilded gaze swept across the table. There was nothing new, no items that had not been there the night before. Curiously, he looked up to the merchant, who's Cheshire grin promised mischief.

"I have... a tale," he began. Tobias' gaze lit up. Where there was a story involved, something magnificent almost always followed. "For the right price, of course," the man said, rubbing his fingers together greedily. It took no time at all for Tobias to produce a fistful of coin and scatter it on the table.

"You know all the right things to say," Stalt conceded. "Now, tell me something good, or I'll have your fingers for trying to swindle my coin. The guards might be looking away, but the law is very clear cut about contracts."

"Of course, of course..."