Chapter 6: Shadows of the Souk
Qarth's souk shimmered under a merciless sun, its sandstone arches casting jagged shadows, the air thick with myrrh, roasted chickpeas, and the sour tang of sweat-soaked linen. Stalls overflowed with silks in sapphire and gold, their colors dancing in the heat, while camels snorted, their hooves kicking up dust that clung to everything. Adam Stiels slouched against a carved pillar, his black cloak blending into the shade, his hazel eyes scanning the crowd—merchants in flowing robes, Dothraki with braided hair, and Daenerys' entourage weaving through the chaos, her silver hair a beacon. His mental HUD glowed: [SYSTEM: LEVEL 1, 9/100 USES, 10-MINUTE COOLDOWN.] A smirk curled his lips, his fingers twitching to snap and cast a sign, his boots scuffing the cracked stone, their soles gritty with sand. Qarth's a circus, and I'm the guy with the magic tricks, he thought, brushing dark hair from his brow, the heat prickling his skin, his cloak heavy with dust.
A girl, Lyra, stood at a stall, her tattered tunic clinging to her thin frame, her eyes sharp with defiance despite her youth—barely fourteen, a freed slave with calloused hands clutching chipped pottery. The system pinged, its tone dry: [SYSTEM: WITCHER CANDIDATE, 92% SUCCESS. RECRUIT? REWARD: 100 XP.]Kid's got more spine than Viserys, Adam thought, sauntering over, his cloak swaying, the air sharp with spice. "Lyra, right? Free life treating you okay?" he asked, tossing a coin, its silver glinting in the sun. Her gaze narrowed, but a spark of hope flickered, her voice rough as gravel. "Better than chains." Adam grinned, leaning closer, his tone light but sincere. "Join my crew. Magic, swords, no cages. Deal?" Her nod was firm, her eyes blazing with resolve, her fingers tightening on the pottery. "Deal," she said, the word sharp. Welcome to the Witcher club, kid. Don't die on me, he thought, his HUD updating: [SYSTEM: LYRA RECRUITED. PORTAL READY.]
The souk's bustle shifted, a ripple of tension cutting through the chatter as Qartheen mercenaries, their curved blades gleaming, shadowed Daenerys' group, their steps coiled like vipers. Jorah's hand rested on his sword, his eyes narrowing, while Daenerys walked unaware, her violet eyes scanning a stall's jewels. Adam's HUD pinged: [SYSTEM: QUEST: PROTECT DANY. REWARD: 50 XP.] He snapped his fingers, casting Axii, the world blurring as the mercenaries froze, their eyes glazing, their blades dropping slightly. [SYSTEM: AXII, 30 SECONDS, 10/100 USES.] He charmed them to turn away, one saluting a nearby camel, its snort sparking laughter from a fruit vendor, his baskets swaying. Adam followed with Igni, a burst of flame scorching the air above the stragglers, their cloaks singeing as they fled, their curses fading into the crowd. [SYSTEM: IGNI, 15 SECONDS, 11/100 USES.] Daenerys turned, her silver hair catching the sun, her voice soft but firm, her hand brushing her dagger. "Reckless, Adam." He winked, his grin easy, his tone playful. "Fiancé perks: saving you and stealing the show, Khaleesi." Her lips twitched, a rare smile, her eyes wary but warm, the souk's noise swelling around them.
In a shaded stall, Adam spotted a system NPC, his robes glowing faintly to Adam's eyes, a Gwent deck spread on a table cluttered with vials. Jackpot, Adam thought, sitting, his fingers deft with his Northern Kingdoms deck, the cards worn but familiar. The NPC's Villentretenmerth card burned Adam's units, but his Geralt clinched the match, winning a rare Ciri card, its edges shimmering. [SYSTEM: GWENT WIN, CIRI CARD, 1/10 MATCHES.] "Nice deck, but mine's got style," Adam teased, pocketing gold, the trader's laugh warm, his accent thick with Qartheen drawl. Adam explored the souk, weaving through stalls, the air thick with cumin and sweat, buying myrrh and scorpion tails for alchemy, their scents sharp, his cloak heavy with purchases, his fingers brushing the coarse burlap of a merchant's sack.
At a Qartheen feast, torchlight flickered on marble walls, the air warm with roasted lamb and oud music, the tables laden with figs and wine. Adam bonded with Daenerys, sharing a plate of spiced lamb, its flavors bursting, her laugh rare and bright as he flirted, his hand brushing hers, warm and soft. "Dragons are cool, but have you seen my sword skills?" he said, her violet eyes sparkling, her smile softening the room's grandeur. She's trouble, the best kind, he thought, his heart racing, the wine's tang sharp on his tongue. He pranked Jorah, casting Axii to make him salute a camel mid-feast, the knight's face reddening as Dothraki chuckled, their braids swaying. [SYSTEM: AXII, 15 SECONDS, 12/100 USES.] "Lighten up, Ser Frowns," Adam said, Jorah's glare sharp but amused, his hand gripping his goblet.
Adam taught Lyra a basic Axii trick, charming a bird to perch on her finger, its feathers soft, her eyes wide with wonder. "Start small, kid. You'll be pranking nobles soon," he said, her grin fierce, her hands steady. He bantered with a Qartheen vendor, dodging questions about his "magic" with a quip: "Just quick hands, friend. Want a card trick?" The vendor's laugh was wary, his silks rustling. Adam reflected on his transmigration, pacing the souk's edge, the stars bright above, his HUD pinging: [SYSTEM: PROPHECY'S A PAIN. KEEP DANY SAFE.]Qarth's a snake pit, but Dany's my jackpot, he thought, Lyra's recruitment a spark of progress, the souk's bustle fading, the prophecy a shadow in his mind.
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