"Can I get a room, please?"
"Sure thing. How long are you staying? It's 1 silver a night—comes with dinner and breakfast," the woman said, grabbing a key from beneath the bartop. It was an old skeleton key with the number 6 engraved on the head.
"Just moved here. I'll be looking for a place tomorrow—hopefully a workshop with an apartment attached," Sam said, sliding the coin across the bar and taking the key.
The woman glanced at Iggy and Tempy, clearly recognizing them as Integrated Beasts, and gave Sam a curious look.
"Aren't you a Beast Tamer? What do you need a workshop for—if you don't mind me being nosy?" she added with a sheepish smile.
"Oh, no, that's fine. I am, but my support class is Master Crafter. I'm hoping to open a shop—or more likely a market stall," Sam replied, adjusting the incubator in her arms. "This is one of mine. It's an incubator—it assists with the hatching of beast eggs."
"Fascinating." She leaned forward, eyeing the domed device with interest. "One moment." She turned toward the kitchen doorway. "Red! Didn't you say Ceisel was looking to sell his place?"
A deep baritone responded, growing louder as it approached.
"Yeah, what of it? Said he's moving in with his daughter and her husband. They just had a baby—wants to retire and help out."
Roger 'Red' Thorne emerged—once a frontliner with a kill count longer than most bounty boards, now a tavernkeep in a rose-patterned apron and a mechanical hand that clicked when he was irritated. Towering and freckled, with a ruddy complexion and a shock of ginger hair now fading to copper-gray—hence the nickname Red, though some claimed it came from bloodier times.
His right arm ended just below the elbow, replaced by a modular prosthetic he swapped out depending on the day: ladle grip for soup night, tankard hook for drinks, reinforced knuckle-fist for when things got rowdy. And things did get rowdy. Red didn't raise his voice—he just cracked his neck, and the room remembered its manners.
A faded guild tattoo peeked from beneath his sleeve—a dragon skull with crossed spears. Retired, sure. But only in the geographical sense.
"The young lady here is looking for a workshop with a living space. Any idea what Ceisel's asking?" the woman—Mary, clearly his wife—asked. Their age and matching rings were a dead giveaway.
"No clue. Never asked," Red said, turning to Sam. "If you're interested, I can take you over there in the morning. It's in the workman's section—not far from the big market."
Sam smiled. "I'd love to take a look. Thank you! What time?"
"Couple hours past dawn sound good? I'll fix you an early breakfast before we go," he said, wiping his hand on his apron.
"Perfect. Thanks again. I'll see you downstairs. Oh—one last thing. I left my cart with the stable boys. One of my tames is guarding it. Also, could I have dinner sent to my room? It's been a long day."
"Of course, darlin'," Mary said. "You pick what you want for dinner and head on up."
After placing her order, Sam made her way upstairs. Her room was on the second floor—a cozy space with a single bed under the window, a table and chair adorned with a fresh bouquet, and a dresser opposite a small door. She opened it to find a private bathroom with a tub, sink, and toilet.
"Oh, sweet merciful Gods… indoor plumbing," she whispered. Based on the world around her, she hadn't been sure. At least she wouldn't have to brave a chamber pot or a public outhouse. Sam sank into the bath with a grateful sigh. Partway through, a knock sounded at the door.
"It's just me with your dinner," Mary called. Being Integrated, her hearing was sharp enough to catch Sam's muffled reply.
"Sorry! I'm in the bath—one moment."
"Don't worry, I've got the master key. I'll just set your meal on the table," Mary said. "Okay to enter?"
"Oh! That's fine, come in."
Mary entered, placed the covered tray on the table, and called out, "Take your time. The cover will keep it warm. I'll lock the door on my way out. Enjoy!"
Sam stayed in the bath a little longer before hunger won out. She dried off and pulled on the robe hanging behind the door. Back in the room, she caught Iggy and Tempy sniffing at her food.
"Hey! That's not for you." She placed two bowls on the floor, filling them with meat scraps, then fetched two bowls of water from the bathroom.
Sitting at the table, she lifted the cover—and immediately understood the temptation. The aroma was incredible. Roasted chicken with mashed potatoes, seasoned vegetables, a few slices of bread, a glass of Hillcrack Berry wine, and a slice of Windberry tart.
As she began to eat, SYSTEM notifications popped up.
{Your meal has provided you with temporary buffs}
{Roasted Chicken Meal: +10 Health, +10-hour Satiated Buff}
{Hillcrack Berry Wine: +2 Agility for 10 hours}
{Windberry Tart: +2 Intelligence, +5% Mana Regen}
"Nice. Shame most of it'll wear off while I sleep," she muttered, polishing off the tart and wine.
Stretching, she rubbed her full belly and checked on the incubator before getting into bed.
{Embercradle Incubator}
Contents: Four (4) Peakwing Eagle Eggs
Development: 60%
Expected Tier: Purple
Expected Rarity: Rare
Emotional Imprint: Sam Foreman (100%)
Expected Hatching: 7 Days
Affinity: Air}
"Damn, that was quick. Can't wait to meet you guys."
As she got comfortable, Tempy and Iggy leapt onto the bed. No longer tiny kittens, it took them a minute to find space, but eventually they all fit. Claustrophobic? A little. But Sam still fell asleep. The next morning, just before sunrise, there was a knock at the door. Sam groggily got up and opened it to find Red with a platter: a covered dish and a glass of orange-ish juice.
Sam blinked. "Do oranges exist here? Or was the fruit named after the color? Or the other way around? Gonna have to ask Jarvis..."
"Breakfast as promised," Red said with a grin. "I'll be ready whenever you are. Oh—and that big ol' dog of yours? Didn't let anyone near your cart. But, if you don't mind me asking... who pulls it?"
"Thanks," Sam said, taking the tray and swapping it for the dinner dishes. "My horse is in her beast space. I'll bring her out soon. Meet you downstairs in, say... half an hour?"
"Sure thing. Take your time," he said, heading back down.
After eating and getting ready, Sam grabbed the incubator and headed down with Iggy and Tempy at her heels. Red nodded to her and they said their goodbyes to Mary before heading out to the stables.
Red opened the doors—only to be met by a low growl.
"It's me, Syn. It's okay." Sam said, and the wolf trotted up to lean against her. She ran her hand through Syn's thick fur. "Miss me, girl? You took your job seriously." She tossed her a hunk of boar meat. "Sorry I missed your dinner."
Syn devoured the treat, unconcerned. Wolves didn't need set mealtimes—they ate when they were hungry. Sam released Sunblaze from her beast space, fed and watered her, then gave her a quick brush-down before hitching her to the cart. With two humans and two cats riding the front seat and Syn trotting alongside, they made their way toward Ceisel's place.
It wasn't what she'd imagined. Sam had expected a cramped apartment above a warehouse. Maybe a storefront, if she was lucky. Instead, a waist-high stone fence bordered a spacious plot of land. A two-story stone-and-wood house sat toward the back. To the left was a proper warehouse. To the right, a stable with a shed tucked behind it and another building—maybe a workshop?. Sunblaze pulled the cart through the open gate, wheels rumbling over packed dirt from years of use. Sam brought her to a stop near the stable.
They hopped down as Red called out.
"Oi, Ceisel! Where are you, old man?"
A door creaked open. A disheveled man stepped out—not much older than Red, though his black hair showed less gray. He wore a well-worn apron, pockets stuffed with tools and wood shavings. Dusting off his hands, he stepped forward.
"Having one year on you doesn't make me old. If it does, then you're old too," Ceisel shot back, smirking.
Ceisel squinted at Sam with an appraising look, then gave a small nod as if he'd made up his mind.
"You're the one Red said was looking for a workshop and a roof? Crafter, right?"
"Beast Tamer primary, Master Crafter support," Sam replied. "I'm hoping to run a small shop or stall eventually. But I need a workspace to make it happen."
Ceisel let out a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the main house.
"Well, come on then. I'll show you around. If you like it, we'll talk numbers. If not, no hard feelings."
Sam followed him through the gate, with Iggy and Tempy sticking close to her heels and Syn padding along behind. The yard had a well-worn feel—stone edging around hardy shrubs, a few crooked paving stones sunk into the packed dirt path. The kind of place that had seen years of real use but was still standing solid. The two-story house was made of pale gray stone on the lower floor, timber-framed with whitewashed plaster above. Ivy crawled up one corner, and a small porch creaked underfoot as Ceisel opened the door with a tug.
"Main house first."
Inside, the air was cool and carried a faint scent of sawdust and herbs. The front room was simple but inviting—worn wooden floors, a sturdy table and chairs, and a fireplace set with a cast-iron kettle hanging from its arm. Sam noticed polished stones embedded into the hearth—likely enchanted for heat conservation.
"Living room's seen better days, but the bones are good," Ceisel said, waving a hand. "Kitchen's through there—got a decent oven and a cold box. Stone-lined pantry keeps pretty well even in the summer."
He led her through a modest kitchen with clean, functional counters, a big basin sink, and cabinets that—upon closer inspection—were custom-built and cleverly designed for space-saving. Hooks for herbs hung from the ceiling, and a few glass jars of spices still sat in a rack.
"Everything you see stays. Except the fancy spices," he said with a grin. "And my teapot. That one's charmed to sing sea shanties and I like the attitude."
Sam chuckled. "Fair."
They continued into a hallway that split off in two directions. Ceisel pointed.
"Bathroom's that way—indoor plumbing, same as the inn. Gravity-fed system with a holding tank on the roof, doesn't clog up unless you feed it bones or curses. Don't do that."
"Noted."
"Bedrooms are upstairs. Two of 'em. One big, one smaller—used to use the spare as a drying room when I was curing slabs of Cloudpine."
As they climbed the stairs, Sam took note of the craftsmanship—hand-carved banisters, clean joinery, and not a single creaking step. Upstairs, the larger bedroom overlooked the yard and stable, with wide windows that let in the light. The smaller room across the hall had a built-in shelving unit and an old writing desk bolted into the corner.
"Big one's yours. Small one makes a good office or guest room if that's your thing."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "It might be."
They made their way back down and stepped outside again. Ceisel led her toward the warehouse, waving a hand as they passed the stable.
"Stable's decent. Holds two beasts comfortably, three if they're friendly. Roof's been redone in the last few years—should hold up fine through the winter. That shed next to it? Used to be my tool house before I moved everything into the workshop."
He brought her to the warehouse next, a wide rectangular building made of old stone and thick beams. Inside was dim, but once he opened the skylight vents, natural light poured in. Rows of shelving, barrels, crates, and planks filled the space. A portion was cleared out with open floor space, likely for assembling larger projects.
"This was a storage and overflow workspace. Not much to look at, but the insulation's good, and it holds temp in winter. You could run a production line through here if you wanted to."
Then came the real showpiece—the workshop.
The smaller building tucked to the right of the property had double-wide wooden doors with reinforced metal bands. Inside was a crafter's dream. Rows of benches, racks of chisels and clamps, enchanted sharpening stones, sorting drawers, even an embedded runic ward over the doorway for dust control. Sam stepped in and could almost hear the possibilities.
Ceisel leaned against the doorframe. "I'm taking my tools and the rarer woods—Heartvine, Void Oak, Ironbark, that sort of thing. But everything else stays. Bench stock, basic lumber, the workbenches, clamps, binding straps, enchant-ready bases, the stabilizing fixtures... hell, even the spare aprons. I'd rather it go to someone who'll use it than try to haul it all across town."
Sam turned in a slow circle. The space was surprisingly clean for a workshop—lived-in, yes, but meticulously maintained.
"This is... incredible. I expected a cracked floor and a rickety bench. Not a full crafter's station with a dust ward and a stabilized tool rack."
Ceisel gave a small shrug, clearly pleased despite himself. "I take pride in my work. Always have. Figured I'd hand it off right—if the buyer wasn't a crafter, I'd gut the whole thing and sell the parts separate."
Sam ran her fingers along the edge of the main bench. It was scarred, stained, and perfect. Her mind was already racing with layout plans, shelving ideas, and where she could set up stock and her workbenches.
"Can I ask how much you're asking?"
"I was thinking twenty gold," Ceisel said, scratching his cheek. "But I'll drop it to fifteen if you promise not to turn it into a bakery or rent it out to some glassblower with a loud voice and no sense of grain."
Sam let out a laugh. "Deal."
"You serious?"
"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."
Ceisel grinned. "Then it's yours. I'll draw up the papers this afternoon. We can file it with the Registrar tomorrow—he's open late on market days."
Red, still lingering near the cart with a satisfied look, gave Sam a thumbs-up.
"Welcome to the neighborhood, crafter."