A brutish human yelled out a new high bid. The black scar leader pulled him to his seat and shut him up, but the bid was accepted. The auctioneer looked to Arlin to see if he would go any higher. The young prince of Catheldor shook his head no.
“Looks like we have our first winner of the day,” the auctioneer called out. “You’ll need the extra protection from your boss after an outburst like that. The armor can be picked up at the rear entrance of the hall later today. It will just take a few moments for a proper fitting and repairs to that battle damage.”
“Got lucky on that one, Arlin,” Firae hissed under his breath.
“I knew what I was doing the whole time. This day shall be a piece of cake.” Arlin smiled but Firae shook his head in disbelief.
As the morning dragged on Arlin continued to place bids and followed Thothen’s advice. Occasionally Firae would chirp up when the magical auras upon an item didn’t compare to what the power auctioneer reported the item was capable of.
During the bidding the group acquired a handful of magical scrolls, a backpack capable of carrying more than it appeared to be able to carry, and several different types of potions. Most of the potions were in groupings of twos or threes, except for a lot of fifty potions which let a man breath fire as if he were a dragon. Each accidental purchase didn’t seem to affect Arlin. His bidding showed strength through his folly. Each time Thothen reassured the group he would be able to sell the goods and repay the spent gold coins.