It seems like years of change have come, though only a few months have passed since the group joined forces with Lucian to help rebuild the Slums. Peace came quietly, gradually, flowing like a flood through the district. It started with that first neighbourhood, slowly settling and rejoining the community, but like the first in a row of dominoes, the effect soon spread. Deals were brokered (largely by Tyrone and Albert), guards were trained (largely by Bolor and Guai), families were reunited (Tyrone), wounds were healed (Guai), apprentices were trained (Albert) and a few faces that needed punching were punched (Bolor).

Three weeks ago, the group escorted Lucian to a meeting with Hedrick, the city's Master of Warehouses. While not a Councillor, Hedrick wields significant authority, holding control over the flow of goods into the city that do not immediately go to market. His support of the Old Alliance had been a significant thorn in the side of the People's Alliance since its inception, as they lacked access to the supplies Hedrick controlled, while their enemies did not. The group stood guard as Lucian and Hedrick discussed business in private, and several hours later the two emerged, arm in arm, singing sea shanties and seeming the best of friends.

Life has become a whole lot simpler since then.

Suddenly, Lord Highaxe's troops became well armed, well fed, and well equipped. Artisans gained easy access to raw materials, and Guild Shops, for the first time in decades, began to collectively outproduce and outperform the many independent artisans in the Slums. Membership soared.

The Artisan's Guild now holds sway over more territory than it ever did during the Shadow War, and Lord Highaxe's esteem in the Council has risen with it. But success does not come without rivalry, and the murmurs of discontent from other quarters of the city have moved the battle to a new arena: the political. High Priestess Venestra (of the Church of Janla), High Priest Hentin (of the Church of Oorinh), and Mistress Chalina (of the Merchant's Coalition) have all voiced concern over the growing power of Lucian and his "People's Alliance" (it is now an open secret that Lord Highaxe and Lucian are working directly together). So far, however, the Governor-General has made no move to curtail their influence, and the rest of the Council remain too divided to impose sanctions.

Today is a landmark day. The Old Alliance has officially crumbled, as its last bastion of support has turned them away. The Fallen Flagon has new ownership, and its owner is hosting a celebration of this grand re-opening. Lord Highaxe is there, as is Milo (the chubby elf, now Mayor of several neighbourhoods) along with Ath and Malcolm (as well as Annabelle; and David, whom both now call father) resplendent in Guild finery. The group, of course, is in attendance as well - as guests of honour, no less, as much of the success of the People's Alliance is due solely to their efforts.

The party is in full swing, though the new owner has not yet made an appearance. Wine flows like water, the smell of roast and greens wafts through the rafters, dance and song fill the air, and merriment is the very watchword of the day. It seems, at long last, that peace may finally be coming to the Slums.

Tyrone is in high spirits. He can cut quite a rug for such an expansive fellow, with a huge white grin splitting his chubby dark face as he dominates the dance floor with a certain waitress whom he convinced to take the night off from the Fuzzy Bunny for some partying with the competition.

Eventually he stops for a breather, and gets Highaxe's arm.

"Not bad for a few month's work, Guildmaster."

"It is good to see prosperity lay its hold over a new neighbourhood." volunteers Albert, taking a sip of his wine. "And this is an excellent vintage." he adds.

Bolor is sitting with Ath, drinking his dark beer, and watching the party.

"Well. How're you liking how things shaped up?"

Lord Highaxe grins, clapping Tyrone's hand. "Couldn't have done it without you, m'boy. You and your friends are wonders."

Annabelle, who thinks wine tastes funny and wishes she could get someone to bring her a small beer instead, looks at Albert. "What's a vintage? How do you tell?"

Ath shrugs at Bolor. "I dunno. Running a guard's a lot more work than a gang." He waves a hand - he still wears the studded glove, even though it clashes horribly with his Guild attire. "I guess it's worth it. We've got all this, got lots of kids off the streets, got work for the helpless and homeless." After a bit, he amends, "Well, some of them, anyway. Hopefully this continues, but who knows?"

"And that's when I bought the horse a prostitute!" Guai states, finishing the story to the crowd he assumes is gathered around him.

Des, the blacksmith, slaps Guai on the shoulder. "I love this guy!"

The dwarf nods, draining his mug.

"Gotta work for it. If it's worth it, you fight to keep it."

He scans the party, shaking his head.

"This is too hifalutin' for me. Though the monk is doing his damnedest to muck it up."

"It's the wine." explains Albert. "Unless you have an army of mages to control the weather and soil over a vineyard for an entire year, you can end up with a large year-to-year variation in quality; the same vineyard can have good years and bad years. One can tell mainly from the taste, although colour and smell also play a role."

"I heard we've got some special guests coming later," Milo remarks to Bolor's comment. "Probably wanted to fancy up the place for someone from Hilltop."

Annabelle listens intently to Albert's explanation, or seems to. Her response is just a soft "oh" and a nod, then she goes back to making faces at the wine. Malcolm, who is a little drunk by now, just laughs. "Maybe you'd like some rosemary mint tea better, baby."

Bolor flags down a server and has a small beer sent over to Annabelle, and another stout for himself. He then nods at Milo's words.

"Ah. Yep, the folk up on Hilltop like things fancy. Never saw the reason myself. Serviceable, for sure, but adding a bunch of fancy doodads onto something just makes it more likely to break."

"Oh, there is utilitarianism to opulence, my bearded friend," speaks a musical voice from slightly behind the group. Its owner pushes back the hood concealing her features, revealing the most perfect and beautiful features any at the table have seen (were Guai here, and capable of vision, he would disagree, for he has gazed upon the beauty of a Goddess. Still, these features would not be out of place in a contest with Her.) Alabaster hair, coiffed in an elaborate style that somehow survived being hooded, offset obsidian skin in a combination all but unknown in Daimar.

Were her features not enough to identify her, Lord Highaxe's reaction shall confirm it. With a surprised bow of his head, he acknowledges the new arrival. "Mistress Chalina, I had not expected to see you at these proceedings."

Chalina, the Mistress of Merchants and easily the most wealthy individual in Dust Town (and quite possibly the world), offers a radiant smile. "I never allow myself to be surprised by the marvels the world can bring, Lord Highaxe. Let us not allow our professional disagreements to interfere with our pleasurable exploits." She slides gracefully next to Milo (where a few empty seats await the host's party still), brushing his arm to draw his attention. "My dear Milo, I hear business is booming for you. I could not be happier for you."

Milo shakes his head, laughing. "Chalina, if we did not all already know where you came from, one might mistake you for an actual lady of breeding."

With an exaggerated eye-roll and feigned affront, the Mistress of Merchants gasps. "Why, whatever do you mean, old friend? Surely I am the paragon of virtue."

"The paragon of something, anyway," mutters David under his breath. He not-so-gently urges Annabelle up and leads her away from the table. Malcolm, after a long moment's consideration and leering, follows.

Des, leading the blind elf to his spot at the table, pauses when he sees the dark-skinned elf standing with the group. He doesn't have the social breeding to stop staring, or even close his mouth.

"What'd we stop for?" Guai asks.

"Pretty lady," Des replies lamely.

Surprised at the company he finds himself keeping nowadays, Albert gulps down the wine in his mouth and quickly looks around to make sure he's at the right table.

Lord Highaxe is one thing. Lord Highaxe is his employer. But the Mistress of Merchants is another thing entirely.