In the heart of the bustling port city of Marisol, where merchant ships laden with silks, spices, and secrets arrived daily, worked a trader named Calen Pryce. He was known not for his wealth—though his coffers were undeniably full—but for his uncanny ability to procure what others could not. Need an ancient relic? Calen would find it. Missing a loved one? Calen had a knack for tracking people down. The price, however, was never predictable, and rarely did it come cheap.

Calen’s shop was unassuming, tucked in an alley where shadows stretched long even at noon. Inside, trinkets from every corner of the world adorned the shelves: gilded daggers, faded maps, and jars of rare herbs. Beneath the shop, in a cellar only Calen and a select few knew about, lay the real treasures—artifacts of power, objects with stories so dark they were whispered only in hushed tones.

One such object was the Coin of Veritus, said to compel absolute truth when held. Calen never used it himself—truth, in his line of work, was a dangerous thing. But it brought him customers willing to pay exorbitant sums or offer favors steeped in desperation.