Chapter 32: Cygnar (?)

Chapter 32: Cygnar (?)

The crowd outside the emporium subtly began to part as they noticed his approach. Thankfully, it seemed that no one rivalling Zenakris status was concealed within the crowd, for no one directly initiated conversation with him. Tom had naturally made sure that there were no Academy students in the vicinity at least none clothed in the distinctive Syrelore Academy uniform, but even among that subset, Zenakris status was particularly high if his paradigm was to be trusted.

A strong odour assailed his senses as he stepped through the revolving glass door; a blend of medicinal herbs with something more potent like spice, perhaps.

Lord Zenakris, A woman seemingly in her late twenties, sporting short, blonde hair and brilliant ocean-blue eyes welcomed him. Dressed in a well-fitting green tunic, white palazzo pants and animal hide moccasins, she made for a welcoming first impression. It seemed that his approach had not gone unnoticed. How may our humble establishment assist you?

Tom did not immediately respond, his expression, whilst not outright stony, remained impassive as he locked eyes with the likely receptionist.

Her beautiful eyes widened a little in surprise, or perhaps it was the veneer of poise she was projecting that momentarily wavered. Either way, whether she was startled or incredulous, both served his purpose well.

If there was one lesson, one nifty little trick hed managed to appropriate from Zenakris memories, it was that stoicism was a powerful tool in the arsenal of the rich and the powerful. Zenakris father, Arrenis Renain, utilised this tool dangerously effectively the less he spoke, with his resonant, authoritative cadence, the more Zenakris felt pressured. What information was his father withholding? What secrets did he conceal as the Kings advisor? By saying less, with his position and stature, he achieved power over the other person it might be a controlling, perhaps callous measure, but it was the one he needed right now.

He offered the receptionist a curt nod, before nonchalantly walking past her. Having been a store clerk back on Earth, he only asked customers once if they needed any assistance, if at all hopefully the rules were similar here.

Ah. Shes following me.

It seemed that his nod had a counterintuitive effect, but Tom forced himself to maintain his mask.

Say nothing. Act natural, confident.

The first floor of Cygnars Herblore Emporium made for a truly impressive sprawl. Over half of the shop floor was dominated by display cabinets, overhang sign boards hanging from the ceiling classifying the type of elixirs, potions and other concoctions that could be found in each section. He keenly took notice of the two guards equipped with plate armour and a card gauntlet guarding the staircase to the second floor quite possibly the workshop where the potions were made.

Did the concept of trade secrets exist in this world too? Heh.

That was not good.

Are you alright? You seem a little disconnected, he asked, allowing Tom to detect the hint of concern in his voice.

It seemed that Zenakris had at least passing familiarity with the alchemist who did not suit the profile of a man that lived off brewing potions for a living.

Fuck.

I have, Tom lowered his voice enough to make it clear that his words were only intended for the alchemist, .... been dealing with a little, ahem, emotional turbulence of my own, he explained, very much hinting at a plausible truth. It had worked once, after all.

Ah, the old man replied, rather delicately. I see. Well, how may I assist you today, Lord Zenakris?

Phew.

Toms gaze went to the likely elixirs resting behind the Alchemists seat, struggling hard to suppress the wave of desire that washed through him.

Except.

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