TRILEMMA GAME

You sail uneventfully through the night and at dawn of the next day the boat crests and dips across the swells near the southern point of Birevia. At the second sunset the boat rocks into the harbor of Twosister, the major town of the island.

The captain and mates deftly dock. Dwatto, the more muscular mate, steps onto the pier with you and your crates. "I'll help with the luggage," he says boldly, "and make sure you don't get lost." The captain agrees. "We'll sleep on the boat," he says. "Dwatto, mind the passengers and get the cargo safe to sale." It's clear you'll be bird-dogged til you exchange the pigment for coin.

Dwatto stumbles under the crate he's carrying. "I thought you had the contact!" he exclaims. "I've never been here before."

The market is shutting down for the evening, it's around sunset after all. There are a few stalls still open: drink sellers, and a few sketchy-looking vendors wearing fine clothing, whose table displays consist of miscellaneous cheap trinkets. You can guess that what they actually sell is not displayed openly.

The drink sellers are taciturn when it's apparent that Dahlia's not primarily seeking libations. The first trinketeer she approaches has a different demeanor. Obsequious. "May I help you, dear lady?" Is there a hint of mockery in that?

The dapper-dressed man raises an eyebrow deliberately. "Rare pigments? I know a guy. Step into here, let's talk more quiet like."

Inside of the stall, behind the gauzy yet opaque curtains, is lit by a couple of open oil lamps, the wicks give a steady yellowish glow.

The trinket vendor smiles as he sits down on a plain wooden stool about knee-high, and gestures Dahlia toward a matching seat. "Let's talk," he says. "I know a vendor of ancient curios, here in the city. She's always looking for rarities. Can you give me a better idea of what kind of … pigments … you have to sell?"

As Dahlia mentally wrenches open the mask that the vendor keeps with his eyes and face, information rushes into her own mind.

The female collector of trinkets is this vendors artifice. Himself is interested in Martoi curios of any sort. He knows that Eastern wizards particularly value Martoi pigments, both for aesthetic value and as reagents that can be ingested or administered to induce the formation of ... Flowers?

More urgent is the vendors plan to lure Dahlia and her companions into a delivery rendezvous with the non-existent curio collector. At the rendezvous they will bereft of pigments and lives.

How does Dahlia respond?

People look uneasy when Dahlia asks about wizards; the world has a long history of people doing dumb things with powerful forces, and that's what "wizard" brings up for most people. After the destruction of the Martoi wizard wars, it was the Seree wizards who first combed the ashes of Martol and then tried to bind the demigods to their will, which led to the destruction of the Seree empire in its turn. So nowadays when people say "wizard" they get a certain reaction.

Anyway, eventually Dahlia finds a shady-looking sort who grins at her in an unsettling way. "Sure. There's a couple of em folk in town," she says. "Over at the Broken Boat." She swipes the back of her hand across her nostrils, jostling the ring through her septum. "I can brings you there."