Three Rivers: City of Commerce and Control
Where three great rivers converge, a city of wealth and ambition thrives. Merchants crowd its bustling streets, their wares flowing as freely as the waters that surround them. Trade is the city's lifeblood, drawing traders, artisans, and opportunists alike. Its towering spires and grand halls stand as monuments to prosperity, but beneath the surface, power is not merely earned—it is taken.
A noble family rules with a firm hand, their influence woven into every deal, every law, every whispered promise of opportunity. Yet, not all power is so openly displayed. In the depths of shadowed alleys and candlelit backrooms, another force moves unseen. A hidden hand guides the ebb and flow of crime, shaping fortunes as deftly as it ends them. The city belongs to those who understand its unspoken rules—those who know that gold and silence are often the same currency.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a lace napkin, the roast untouched before him. "They say I overindulge," he mused, eyes never leaving the trembling figure across the table. "But I find that appetite is just another form of ambition." His voice dropped. "And I do so love ambition in others. It makes them… pliable." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Do you eat, or do you beg?"
The alley was silent until her boot hit the wall beside the mark’s head. "Oops," she said flatly, twisting the ring from trembling fingers. "Wrong turn?" Her smile never touched her eyes. A shadow moved behind her. "Don’t worry. I’m sure my sister can help you find your way." She leaned in close, whispering low. "Or I could just help myself. Easier for everyone."
The merchant’s hand trembled as he passed the brooch across the counter. "No charge," he muttered. She blinked, confused. "But I haven’t even—" He smiled, dazed. "You… just take it." She turned, bemused, as a shadow darted past behind her. "That was too easy," came the whisper. She laughed softly, brushing her hair back. "I was only being nice."
"Aha! It blinked again!" She presses the mushroom close, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat. "That’s… probably not good." The light shifts colors, flickering through shades no natural thing should possess. The air warps faintly. The goblin grins with a wide toothy grin. "So… what now? We eat it? Bury it? Name it?"
The tankard thuds against the bar, foam sloshing over the side. A quiet glance, a slower nod. "Storm took three boats last night. Current’s angry." Their voice is low, worn like driftwood. "Whatever you’re looking for—hope it floats."
The torchlight flickered as she reached for the latch. "It’s locked," came the whisper behind her. "I know," she muttered, already slipping a blade between the frame. A soft clink, then a grin. "Not anymore." Behind them, soft footsteps and softer laughter. "You’re enjoying this too much," the voice teased. "That’s because you’re watching," she said. "And that’s when I’m at my best."
The room fell silent as the coin hit the table. He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just reached for his drink with deliberate calm. "That’s a dangerous move," he said softly, swirling the glass. "Especially here." A pause, then a quiet laugh. "But brave. I do admire brave things. They make such… satisfying examples." The glass clinked once. "Now try again—with respect."
A city of trade, wealth, and whispered deals in the dark.
