Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

Ron's calm demeanor shattered as the bartender leaned in, a knowing smirk twisting his lips. His voice dropped to a low whisper. "You're not really from here, are you? I've never seen you before. And I knew from the start, buddy. You didn't even sip your beer. Relax, this isn't a shady bar. You're overthinking things."

The revelation hit Ron like a fist to the gut, his stoic mask momentarily crumbling. "Wait, what? All my effort—pretending, going undercover, observing people like a mastermind—and it was pointless?" His thoughts raced, backtracking through every meticulous detail: the passerby's shirt he'd chosen, the shabby disguise he'd crafted, the conversations he'd analyzed at every table. All for the bartender to casually dismantle his facade with a single, simple observation.

The bartender chuckled at Ron's stunned expression, clearly amused by the absurdity. "Look, I'm used to seeing people come in here looking for information. You should've just asked from the beginning." His casual honesty cut through Ron's elaborate strategy like a blade, leaving the divinant truly dumbfounded for the first time in ages.

Ron sighed, his facade crumbling as he leaned forward on the bar. "Alright, fine. You caught me. I'm not from around here. I'm sorry—looks like you're pretty seasoned at handling people like me."

The bartender grinned but didn't respond immediately. Ron, ever the strategist, took another moment to re-assess. For the first time, he saw past the bartender's apparent simplicity, realizing his perceptiveness came from years of watching patrons pass through the tavern. The man's demeanor might seem ordinary, but he'd clearly earned his expertise through observation and experience. Shady? Maybe a little. Honest? Definitely.

"Okay," Ron said, leaning in slightly. "You seem to know the ins and outs here. What can you tell me?"

The bartender pointed toward the next building, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "Second floor. Looks like a coffee shop, but it's more than that. They sell information there—for a price. It's an open secret around here. If you were local, you'd already know."

He slid the gold coin into his pocket with a casual shrug. "And by the way—I'm keeping the coin. Thanks for that."

Ron stared at him blankly for a moment, completely stunned. "Wait... so that's it?" Dumbfounded was putting it lightly; the man had just casually flipped the script on Ron's entire strategy.

"Yes, that's it. Welcome to Havenford," the bartender replied with a faint smirk.

A Parting Gift

Ron turned to leave, pulling his hood low again. But before he stepped away, a thought struck him. He turned back to the bartender, who was already wiping down another mug. "Ah, maybe it's just me," Ron started, gesturing toward the long-haired person sitting near the window table, "but I noticed they seem into you too."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. "Someone's into me, huh?"

Ron reached into his bag and handed the man a spare eyeglass—a simple lens designed to enhance vision. "Here. Use this. You'll see clearer. And thank you, by the way."

Taking the eyeglass with visible hesitation, the bartender put it on and glanced toward the table by the window. His reaction was immediate—and visceral. The "long-haired person" Ron had pointed out wasn't quite what the bartender expected. It was a man, whose delicate facial features gave off an initial impression of femininity. The bartender nearly jumped back, muttering, "Damn..." as if his entire perception had been shaken to the core.

The shock seemed to reverberate through his body, and he stumbled slightly, gripping the counter for balance. "What is wrong with you?" he muttered under his breath, glaring at the eyeglass like it had betrayed him.

Ron chuckled under his breath and walked out of the tavern, leaving the bartender behind to reevaluate both his eyesight and his choices.

The Coffee Shop Connection

Ron arrived at the coffee shop with none of his previous antics, walking directly up to the desk person without hesitation. The shop had a charming facade—warm lights and the enticing aroma of roasted coffee—but the upstairs floor held the true purpose of the establishment. As the bartender had said, this place sold information.

"I need information," Ron said directly, his tone sharp and decisive. "I'm buying."

The desk attendant, clearly unimpressed by the lack of pretense, motioned toward the stairs. "Second floor. Speak to the manager."

Ron nodded curtly. No disguises. No pretending. Lesson learned. He climbed the stairs, ready to face whatever price the manager might demand. If this place truly held the missing link to the sorrowfiends, it was worth every effort—and every coin.

The Encounter with the Information Broker

Ron pushed open the creaky wooden door, stepping into the dimly lit room on the second floor of the coffee shop. Before he could take in his surroundings, a voice greeted him, smooth and almost amused.

"Good afternoon, Sir Ron Rugal. You had quite a funny display at the bar."

Ron paused, blinking for a moment as the figure came into view. A man sat casually behind a simple desk, his features sharp and his demeanor exuding confidence. He was clearly an information broker—his mannerisms, his air of knowledge, everything pointed to it. But the familiarity in his voice was what really struck Ron. He hadn't expected to be recognized so easily.

For a split second, Ron considered asking the obvious question: Who are you? But something about the man—his tone, the way he was already addressing him by name—made Ron change his approach. This guy already knows me. He was watching me. With that in mind, Ron decided to play it cool, acting as though he was completely unfazed.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Ron asked, his voice calm, adopting the same air of confidence.

The broker leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Why, of course. The elder himself went ahead and asked for information. He was thinking of helping you."

That revelation hit Ron harder than he cared to admit, but he kept his composure. Inside, though, he felt like throwing his hands in the air. The elder already got the information? I could've saved myself the trouble. Should've waited for the elder to tell me everything.

The broker continued, clearly enjoying Ron's unspoken frustration. "Everything's already been paid for, so I wouldn't mind telling you what I know. I've already shared the details with the elder. The survivor from Windmere, Havenford's defenses—everything. No secrets, no shady dealings. Straightforward."

Ron exhaled sharply, realizing there wasn't much left for him to dig up here. "You seem to know exactly what I'm looking for."

The broker's faint smile turned into a grin. "Yes, and yes. But I'm a businessman, Sir Ron. And while the elder's inquiries were already covered, you... you're an additional opportunity. If you want more—something extra—it'll come at a price."

Ron narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward. "How much?"

The broker shrugged nonchalantly, his grin never fading. "Depends on how much you're offering. The depth of the information is just the depth of your wallet."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The Broker's Offer

Ron leaned casually against the edge of the desk, his sharp eyes fixed on the broker. Despite knowing the answer was unlikely, he decided to press forward with a bold approach. "Who's the source of this sorrowfiend? And... who are you people, really?" His voice carried an air of confidence, though in his mind he already anticipated the evasive reply. This is either a tease or a test. Let's see how he plays it.

The broker's faint smile faltered, replaced by a look of quiet disappointment—or was it irritation? His hands rested on the desk, and he tilted his head as though scrutinizing Ron's intentions. "First question," the broker said, his tone clipped, "off-limits." He let the words linger before leaning forward slightly. "Second question? Easy. Become a regular member, and I'll answer that for free."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Member? What do you mean?"

The broker's grin returned, sly and knowing. "Ahh, you know exactly what I mean. Don't act coy—you're smart enough to figure it out, aren't you? We're interested in you, Ron. You're a valuable asset."

Ron's posture stiffened slightly as he studied the man, his mind working quickly to decipher the subtext. "Valuable asset?" he echoed, feigning nonchalance.

The broker leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but calculating. "You have access to information—Warrior Faction information. You travel to places most people wouldn't dare, and you're chasing stories about the malice. People who ask questions about sorrowfiends usually have information to share themselves. And we, Sir Ron, are not just brokers. We're buyers of information too."

Ron's eyes narrowed. He had to admit the man made a solid point. He wasn't just here to gather information—he also carried insights others might pay dearly for. But even so, this was a game he needed to control. "So, you're not a shady organization," Ron said evenly, testing the waters.

The broker chuckled lightly. "We deal in shadows, yes, but we're not shady. Call us what we are—information brokers. We sell, we trade, and yes, we buy too. And you, Sir Ron, are exactly the kind of person we'd like to work with. Think about it—why limit yourself to one side of the table when you can sit on both?"

The offer hung in the air, tempting yet laden with implications Ron wasn't ready to untangle. But for now, he played it cool, his mind carefully filing away every word the broker said. Regular member, huh? Looks like I just stepped into something much bigger than I thought.

The broker straightened his posture, pulling his hands off the desk as if ready to move on. "Now, about your offer for more information—it all depends. The depth of what you want is the depth of your wallet." The grin was back, smug and composed.

Ron smirked faintly. "I'll keep that in mind. But for now, I'll stick to what's already been paid for."

And with that, the room shifted back to silence, both men quietly sizing each other up, aware that this exchange was only the beginning of something larger.

The Broker's Presentation

The room was quiet as the broker began his next move, a calculated display of the kind of quality and depth his network could provide. With a faint smirk, he pulled out a thick stack of documents, placing them on the desk in front of Ron with deliberate precision. "Let me show you what the elder has asked," the broker said smoothly, his tone exuding a mixture of confidence and professionalism.

Ron watched silently, his sharp eyes scanning the pile as the broker began to separate the papers into distinct sections. These weren't just casual notes—they were detailed reports compiled with care, and each sheet seemed to hold valuable insights about the sorrowfiends and Havenford's connections.

"This," the broker began, pointing to the first stack, "is the report made by Havenford's soldiers. Detailed encounters, defense maneuvers, observations of the sorrowfiends, and strategic notes from the fortress's leadership."

He slid the next stack closer to Ron. "Here we have witness testimonies, compiled from survivors who fled Windmere or encountered the fiends near Havenford. Locations, descriptions, and even fragments of their emotional state—they've been thoroughly recorded."

Another set of papers followed, the broker continuing his systematic display. "And here," he said, tapping the stack, "are maps with locations of the witnesses, tracking the sorrowfiends' movements. Alongside that, you'll find extra documentation—the kind most people wouldn't care about. Weather patterns, unusual animal behavior, the sorts of things that seem irrelevant but often hold hidden clues."

Ron leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued despite himself. The broker wasn't holding back—he wasn't just presenting information; he was showcasing value. Even the pieces that seemed unnecessary painted a clear picture of the thoroughness of the network. The man wasn't simply trying to impress; he was sending a message: This is the level of detail we deliver.

Ron's Assessment

Ron furrowed his brow slightly, flipping through some of the documents. As a divinant and experienced investigator, he had an eye for spotting gaps and inconsistencies in information. But to his surprise, everything here seemed well-organized, thorough, and surprisingly free of embellishments or speculation. Even the extra details—things he wouldn't normally care about—helped provide context for the larger story. If this is what they offer routinely, then this broker means business.

He glanced up at the man, who was watching him carefully, clearly aware of Ron's silent scrutiny. The broker smiled faintly, as though he knew exactly what Ron was thinking. "You seem to be analyzing the quality of what we provide. That's good. As I said, we're not shady—we deal in facts."

Ron leaned back slightly, his mind working as he reassessed the broker's motives. It was obvious now: This guy really wants me to join their network. The documents presented were overkill—more than Ron had asked for and far beyond what the elder likely needed. And the extra effort didn't feel random. It was deliberate, meant to paint the broker's organization as trustworthy, thorough, and professional.

"You seem to be really interested in getting me to join," Ron said bluntly, tapping the edge of the desk.

The broker's grin widened slightly. "Of course we are. You're chasing sorrowfiends, digging into the malice—things most people avoid altogether. People who ask about such things usually have their own insights. And you, Sir Ron, have access to information others don't. Warrior Faction insights, Rugal Estate details, firsthand observations. You don't just find information—you make it."

The broker paused for effect, his voice lowering slightly. "Think about it. Joining us isn't just about buying information. It's about trading it, expanding it. You could sit on both sides of the table, gaining far more than you ever would as just a buyer."

The Twist in the Offer

Ron tilted his head slightly, intrigued but cautious. "So you're not just selling me information. You're trying to recruit me."

"Why wouldn't we?" the broker replied smoothly. "You're valuable, Sir Ron. And we think you're smart enough to see that. But don't misunderstand—we're not forcing anything. You can walk away with just what the elder paid for, no strings attached. Or," he gestured toward the documents, "you can dive deeper. Your choice."

Ron thought for a moment before smirking faintly. "Fine. Tell me the price for more."

The broker's grin returned in full force, his hands folding on the desk. "Like I said—the depth of what you want is the depth of your wallet. You tell me how far you're willing to go, and I'll make sure it's worth every coin."

The Deal is Struck

Ron leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady as he broke the silence. "Fine. An information for an information." His tone was unwavering, a perfect balance of confidence and calculation.

The broker's smirk widened, clearly pleased with the direction the conversation had taken. But before the man could respond, Ron interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the room with precision. "You pay in advance—I'll pay you when I get back. Information for an information."

The broker blinked, momentarily taken aback by the boldness of the proposal. But then amusement flickered in his eyes, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet chuckle. Ron Rugal. A divinant, a warrior beyond most, and now a master of the information trade. The broker couldn't help but be impressed—not just by Ron's ability to negotiate but by the sheer confidence with which he carried himself.

"Interesting," the broker said, the amusement in his voice undeniable. He nodded once, clearly approving of the deal. "Very well. I agree. An information for an information, no payment upfront. You impress me, Sir Ron—most people hesitate when it comes to playing this game, but you? You're decisive. Remarkable."

He paused for a moment, his sharp gaze studying Ron intently. This man isn't just a buyer—he's a player in the larger game. A reliable informant, someone who sees the value of trading and building relationships without being pressured into commitments. The broker calculated Ron's survival rate based on the information he was about to receive and found it high. And more importantly, he saw Ron's value not just as a buyer, but as a source—someone who might eventually return with insights that even his network would find priceless.

The broker's grin shifted, his tone lowering into something more businesslike yet still cordial. "Now, ask me," he said, his words delivered with an air of finality, as though the deal had already cemented their understanding.

The room seemed to pause in anticipation—a deal established, and both men knowing that this was only the beginning of a complex exchange. Ron wasted no time, his calculating mind already forming the first question. This conversation was now his, and he wasn't going to let this opportunity slip away.