Dragon Harem Quest - Or: Saying You Were Gay Wasn't The Conversation-Ender You Hoped For

Spending money is, you would argue, the best thing ever. And sure that might earn you some odd sideways looks from other dragons but you stand by it. The best part of having a respectable hoard is that you don't even have to bother taking inventory (although you do, painstakingly, coin by coin, every night) when you see something you want you just take it and handle the cost later. The only question is haggling, which you pride yourself at being very good at too. The best kind of spending is an investment of course, and the idea of using money to buy even more money is what made makes dragons such powerhouses of industry. Or turns you into one but when a Plutocrat scales up they normally just write it off as a sabbatical and return with even more business acumen and even less morals than before.

You head for the markets, here meaning both the various smaller markets that spring up seemingly at random all over Söfnun as chaotically yet regularly as the tides themselves and The Markets with big important capitals, the covered bazaar teeming with exotic esoterica from every corner of the map and beyond. It's below the waterline, the only place it'd fit by the time plans were finalised and construction was a sure thing. It's like its own second city under the city, any lingering rock in the way quarried out and used to line the walls, rune-rimmed floor-to-ceiling windows gazing out into the waters of the cove itself as curious fish bonk against the shimmering translucent barrier, mouths flapping gormlessly. You think it got expanded last year, peeking out past the cove itself like the tip of an extended tongue to catch a falling flake of snow. Getting a little adventurous, but more space means more trade means more sweet, sweet money.

The waters outside might be cold and blue-green but inside it's all warm orange tones, smokeless fires flickering away in brass braziers and crystal domes, fluorescent bulbs set in the stone glowing with the power of leashed lightning - a trivial use of such a precious resource some might say, but in your opinion there's a certain something-something to its light that warms you deeper than any other. Probably because it's something you literally absorb but mortals seem to like it too. In any case you set to work making rounds of the stalls and shopfronts, all crammed together and jostling for space and attention as the rich and middle class all rub shoulders seeking out the best deal. Thankfully you have status - and you're a dragon in disguise which comes with a few perks - so you're easily able to elbow your way through the worst of the crowding and make it to your favourite stores in record time. They all know your name of course, are all eager to make you special-special discounts if you'll buy more, if you'll set up some deals, have your people call their people, on and on and on. You put up with it and get your essentials, saying you'll be entertaining family at your remote country home very soon - the technical truth is always the easiest lie, and the barely-concealed distaste that slips through sets the merchants all aflutter with sympathy. You order meat and salt and spices by the wagonload each, order for them to be parked at the usual spot outside of town to be picked up by 'your own men' later, you even get adventurous and order some fruit like you'll ever get around to eating that. Dragonfruit sound nice. Very appropriate.

You do a few circuits just to give yourself the best chance of spying something interesting, and what should you find but a brand new stall off in the corner selling all manner of dusty knicknacks. Often charlatans but the whole point of being a dragon is having a sense for true value, and with every step you take towards the stall the faint heat-haze sensation of magic grows stronger. The merchant is no merchant, you realise as you draw up in front of it, but an automaton. Something of Sultanate make, a sectioned and segmented mannequin made of brass and crystal wrapped in a second-rate but well-made enough kaftan. It looks up as you approach, gemstone eyes brightening.

"Ah!" it says, its voice metallic and echoing slightly, calm and measured as anything. "Can I interest you in any of the wares on display?"

"You aren't just minding the place?" you ask, only half-interested.

"Indeed. I am authorised to conduct transactions in my owner's place," it replies. "Would you like me to describe the items on display? Are you paying cash, or do you have a line of credit?"

"Bill it to House Elding," you mutter, soon completely ignoring the construct as you scoop up and inspect each item in turn. It wisely falls silent and waits for you to finish.

[ ] A rugged brass tube inlaid with clear crystal, sealed despite your idle attempts to crack it open. The automaton explains that it cannot be opened prior to purchase for the obvious reason that it's a map and looking basically constitutes borrowing. You doubt it's lying, and you can certainly smell magic in the contents.
[ ] A detached blued steel gauntlet with individual articulated fingers - very impractical, very expensive, very in. There's a ruby set in the back and, upon closer inspection, a series of small blades set in inside of the wrist. Possibly some kind of blood magic focus. Possibly some kind of elaborate automatic-suicide-glove.
[ ] A silver-hafted trident with a head carved from living coral. The automaton helpfully explains that it is said to command the loyalty of fish. You're surprised one of the actual fishermen that lives around here hasn't snatched it up already.
[ ] Haftani's Pouch of Infinite Spices. By speaking its name, the user is able to extract the spice they wish to use on their bland, bland meal a pinch at a time. Good for ten pinches a day, refreshing once exposed to the light of a new sunrise. You are again very surprised someone hasn't already bought this.
[ ] A corked, flawlessly glazed ceramic jug exquisitely decorated in an intricate pattern of pouring, flowing liquids. The automaton explains that it can spontaneously produce one liquid of choice per day, magically pouring forth said liquid up to a certain volume before abruptly shutting off again. The limit varies depending on the liquid.

"Any liquid?" you ask.

"Any liquid," the construct confirms.

"Even mayonnaise?"

"Mayonnaise is not a-"

The jug rumbles ominously, nearly shaking itself off the edge of the table. You prod it back to safety.

"Ah. The jug disagrees," the construct observes. "However, now that the item is filled with potentially gallons of high-pressure mayonnaise, I politely request that you buy it so as to avoid potential difficulties with future customers."

You think on it carefully. It is indeed a curious and eclectic mix of items, one that requires careful-

Actually you're rich and you want everything so you buy the lot.

You sign over the required funds (with a warning from the construct to open the jug outdoors) and stow your delightful baubles away in a fine leather bag. You immediately retrieve the map case, cracking it open with unrestrained glee and unrolling the aged vellum scroll inside as you climb the stairs back to surface level. It's a magic map alright, depicting the known world and a little ways beyond it - island chains in the infinite ocean, points of interest in the infinite desert, valleys and caverns in the infinite mountain ranges, that sort of thing. Usually the Beyond changes once someone's observed it and come back, but maybe those rules don't apply when you have a magic map. And a magic compass you observe, holding it up to the light. Where normally one would simply be illustrated there lies a hole cut in the map in which a tiny scarlet spear freely spins, suspended in empty air. Only it doesn't seem to be pointing north at all.

Hm. You slow to a stop, shuffling to the side and out of the main thoroughfare so as you ponder the map more carefully. There are locations marked already by glittering motes of golden light, circling seven locations in all across the continent. One of them is right here in Söfnun. Another is... back at your lair? Is it pointing to other treasures? That only makes the most sense, doesn't it? A magic map would point to treasures of remarkable value, and the non-north-pointing compass must point directly at them! Delightfully draconic, Eldingar. You've given yourself riches to chase for a good long-

Fuck, your mother's still coming. And she could be here by anywhere between tomorrow or a few days.

And you have a wagon full of shopping that's going to be waiting for you under a tree and a jar full of mayonnaise in your bag.

The map crinkles as you tighten your grip, lips pursed deep in thought. You... could head straight home and try and make sure everything's spick and span for mother when she arrives. Or... or... you could blow her off and go look for treasure. Surely there's no way a self-respecting dragon matriarch could be that upset with her wayward progeny if he came back with something very shiny and expensive?

Hm. No, she could find a way.

Hm. Mrgh.

[ ] Return home immediately. Take the magical doodads on hand, take your wagon full of supplies, and fly back to your lair.
--[ ] Use the extra time to clean up exhaustively. Leave her as little to criticise as possible. For every inch you give her she can and will take a mile.
--[ ] Use the extra time to try and figure out which particular item in your hoard the map is pointing towards. Its light-spot isn't any bigger than the others so you reason it must be just the one thing too.

[ ] Linger in Söfnun a little longer and search for whatever it is the map is pointing you towards here. You won't have any extra time at home to prepare but you won't be late either.

[ ] Make arrangements for your shopping to be delivered in a few days instead and take flight in search of one of the other five treasures. You will almost certainly be late for your meeting with mother, but treasure definitely outranks her.
--[ ] Somewhere deep in the forests, looks to be some kind of country estate you've never heard of. That kind of place always has some kind of family heirloom or inheritance buried in a secret room in the crypt.
--[ ] Southeast, a remote mountainside tower. You think you've heard of this one, at least in passing. A wizard used to own it, but he suddenly disappeared. Swallowed up by an experiment probably. All sorts of magical knicknacks and stupid baubles, those wizards. No sense of right or wrong.
--[ ] A small island off the southeast coast of the Republic. It'll be a bit of a flight, but as far as you can tell it's some kind of lost city half-reclaimed by the waves. You're not afraid of a little water, unlike some dragons.
--[ ] Now this one's random, it just looks like some arbitrary point along one of the roads that crosses the Arosa-Plutocracy border. No history behind this one, but you won't have to leave the country at least.
--[ ] The Plutocracy capital, where every merchant company has a castle that scrapes the sky and anything can be bought and sold. No way. That's the clear other end of the continent and your greed does not outweigh your laziness that badly.