A Fine Morning In Tredroy

The House of the White Star. Typical of the businesses in East Tredroy the sign was symbolic rather than written, a white star on a dark blue background with the gold and blue trim of the merchant's guild. "Damn this planet needs printing presses," I muttered under my breath.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the shop. "Is Master McCool available?" I ask in my best, poor, Anglish. "JOURNEYMAN, McCool," a well dressed man replied a little cooly, "and I am available."

"Excellent!, I need something special."

"Of course, how can we be of service?"

In English, "I'm looking for something in 230 grain depleted necronium hollowpoint, .45 ACP."

"I'm afraid I don't speak that language, SIR!" McCool said, looking nervous.

"Of course you do. I know all about it. And I am desperate enough to be bold about it. I need things that only you can obtain and would much rather your secret be safe. But my secrets are almost out, I want to keep my mind, and given the choices I have; the risk of being open with you is very small."

"But you are a mage!"

"An untrained mage in his thirties. There is no way I can seek an apprenticeship. I don't speak Anglish very well and having 'the gift' without training at my age marks me for what I am. Can you assist me?"

"What can you possibly have to offer me to take such a risk?"

"There are people who are on to you, people who are not from Yttara, or even this plane. They have an interest in seeing that people who know magic don't gain access to what they call 'parachronic' conveyences. They have stuff that makes what happened in your version of the Trinity event seem like a fart."

"Maybe I can help...Let's go to my office. But be warned, if this is a trick, you will be dead bef..."

"It's not a trick, and that would be better than getting caught by the guild!"