Ch16:The city of Orleans.

It had been two weeks since Marx embarked on his journey to Orleans. The road had taken him through various towns and cities, each offering a glimpse of life beyond Thranx. He found the experience invigorating, and with every stop, he absorbed more of the world's nuances.

"Another city, another opportunity," Marx muttered to himself, a smile playing on his lips as the caravan rolled into a bustling marketplace.

In each city, Marx set up a chess challenge. He drew a modest crowd, intrigued by the young traveler with an unbeatable strategy.

"Step right up! Beat me in chess and win double your entry fee!" Marx called out, his voice confident and inviting.

People were drawn to his charm and the challenge he presented. The games sharpened his mind, and the negotiations over stakes and rules honed his bargaining skills. After each victory, his purse grew heavier.

"Good game," Marx would say, shaking hands with the defeated challengers, his eyes always observing, always learning.

In one of the cities, he found a merchant selling fine carving knives. Marx inspected the blade closely, running his finger along its edge. "How much for this one?"

"That's 30 copper coins," the merchant replied.

Marx smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I'll give you 20. It's sharp, but it's also seen some use."

The merchant haggled, but Marx's persistence paid off, and he walked away with the knife for 25 copper coins. "Every little bit counts," he thought, pleased with his purchase.

As he journeyed, Marx kept a careful account of his finances. "830 copper coins and 1 silver coin," he noted, feeling a sense of accomplishment. His growing wealth was not just a measure of his success but also a tool for future investments.

The nights were spent in various inns, each with its own flavor of hospitality. He would lay out his maps and the old man's diary, studying them by candlelight. "Understanding mana flow is crucial," he reminded himself, practicing channeling his magic with the new carving knife, shaping small pieces of wood into intricate designs.

One evening, in a quaint inn by the roadside, Marx looked out the window at the setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. "Orleans is just a few days away now," he mused. "A city that connects two Dukedoms... there's bound to be more to learn, more to discover."

He felt a pang of homesickness for Thranx and the people there, but it was quickly overshadowed by his excitement for the future. The caravan master's call for departure in the early morning snapped him back to the present.

"Time to move again," Marx thought, packing his belongings with practiced efficiency. He felt more confident than ever, ready to face whatever Orleans had in store for him.

And so, with the dawn's first light, Marx continued his journey, the wheels of the caravan creaking along the well-worn path.

Two days later, the caravan finally reached the bustling city of Orleans. As the city gates came into view, Marx felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He had heard so much about this place, the crossroads of the western and southern Dukedoms, a melting pot of cultures and trades.

"Orleans at last," Marx muttered under his breath, a small smile of satisfaction tugging at his lips.

The caravan rolled into the city, and Marx's eyes darted around, taking in the lively streets filled with merchants, travelers, and locals going about their business. He needed to find accommodation for the night before exploring this new terrain.

"First things first," Marx said to himself, scanning the area for an inn. He spotted a modest yet inviting establishment, The Wandering Wanderer, with a sign swaying gently in the evening breeze.

Marx approached the innkeeper, a burly man with a kind face and a bushy beard. "Good evening. I'd like a room for the night."

"Of course, young sir. That'll be 15 copper coins," the innkeeper replied, handing over a key.

Marx counted out the coins and handed them over. "Thank you," he said, taking the key. "Is there a place to get a decent meal around here?"

"The inn serves a hearty stew, and there's fresh bread from the bakery down the street. You won't be disappointed," the innkeeper assured him with a smile.

Marx nodded and made his way to his room. It was small but clean, with a simple bed and a small table by the window. He dropped his belongings and took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Tomorrow is a new day," he said quietly, looking out the window at the city. "A day to explore and learn."

After freshening up, Marx headed downstairs to the common area. The smell of stew wafted through the air, making his stomach growl in anticipation. He sat at a table and was soon served a bowl of the inn's famous stew and a chunk of fresh bread.

As he ate, Marx listened to the conversations around him, picking up bits and pieces of local news and gossip. Merchants talked about their wares, travelers shared stories of distant lands, and locals discussed the latest events in the city.

"This place is full of opportunities," Marx thought, finishing his meal. He felt a surge of determination. "I need to make the most of my time here."

With his belly full and his mind buzzing with plans for the next day, Marx retired to his room. He lay in bed, the excitement for tomorrow coursing through him. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was of the adventures and knowledge that awaited him in the city of Orleans.

The morning sun streamed through the window, waking Marx from a deep sleep. He stretched and got ready, eager to start his exploration. "Let's see what Orleans has to offer," he said to himself, locking his door and heading out into the vibrant city, ready for whatever the day would bring.

The next morning, Marx woke with a sense of purpose. Today, he would buy a mortar and pestle to practice with the herbs and plant materials he had collected during his travels. He had always been curious about the properties of plants and their potential uses in both healing and crafting.

Marx got dressed quickly and headed downstairs to the common area of The Wandering Wanderer. The innkeeper greeted him warmly.

"Good morning, young sir. How was your first night in Orleans?" the innkeeper asked.

"Very comfortable, thank you," Marx replied. "Do you know where I might find a good mortar and pestle?"

The innkeeper scratched his beard thoughtfully. "You should try the market square. There's a stall there that sells all sorts of apothecary tools. Tell the vendor Ulric sent you; he might give you a fair price."

"Thank you, I'll do that," Marx said with a nod. He grabbed a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, then set out for the market square.

Orleans was even more vibrant in the daylight. The streets were filled with people, the air buzzing with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and customers haggling for better prices. Marx made his way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for the apothecary stall.

After a few minutes of searching, he found it—a small, neatly arranged stall with various tools and ingredients laid out for display. Behind the stall stood a middle-aged woman with keen eyes and a friendly smile.

"Good day, young man. Looking for something specific?" she asked as Marx approached.

"Good day. I'm looking for a mortar and pestle," Marx said. "Ulric from The Wandering Wanderer suggested I come here."

"Ah, Ulric. A fine recommendation," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I have just what you need. Let me show you."

She pulled out several mortar and pestle sets, each made of different materials—wood, stone, and ceramic. Marx examined them carefully, testing their weight and feel in his hands.

"This one," he said, picking up a smooth stone set that felt just right. "How much for this?"

"That will be 25 copper coins," she replied.

Marx nodded, counting out the coins and handing them over. "Thank you. This will be perfect for my work."

"Happy to help," the vendor said. "If you ever need herbs or other materials, feel free to come back. I have a good selection."

"I'll keep that in mind," Marx said, tucking the mortar and pestle into his bag. He spent the rest of the day exploring Orleans, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling city.

As evening approached, Marx returned to his room at the inn. He carefully unpacked his new mortar and pestle and the various herbs and plants he had collected. Sitting at the small table by the window, he began to experiment, crushing and mixing the ingredients, observing how they reacted to each other.

"This is fascinating," Marx murmured to himself, his hands moving with practiced ease. He felt a sense of satisfaction as he worked, the repetitive motions soothing and the results intriguing.

Late into the night, Marx continued his experiments, losing track of time. He was determined to learn as much as he could about the properties of these materials and how they could enhance his craft and magic.

"Tomorrow," he thought as he finally lay down to sleep, "I'll explore more of Orleans and see what other knowledge I can gather." With that, he drifted off, eager for the new day and the opportunities it would bring.