Having done so only minutes before, it was easy for him to recapture that feeling.
In moments, a sort of sixth sense was unstoppered, flowing out of Morne like a gentle wave.
Exhaling, he grasped for these waves and rounded them up, directing them to his hand.
Heten hadn't been lying; there was a small mark on Morne's hand. It was a two-dimensional circle that didn't have anything remarkable about it other than the faint trace of magic Morne sensed.
Having found his target, he coaxed some of his Chimh up his chest and down his arm, feeding the mark a drop.
The mark didn't need very much to activate. The Chimh Morne used was negligible even compared to his tiny Chimh Well. Almost instantly, it pulsed softly and the card in his hand vanished.
With a deep breath, he released his Chimh, allowing it to flow back into the well.
"To retrieve it, just do the same thing. It won't work if you don't want it to, and it can only use neutral Chimh, that is, Chimh that hasn't passed through a Tower. These are designed for Mages, after all. If they disturbed Spellcasting, no one would use them.
"I left four large silvers within your account when I opened it, for the required initial deposit. I'll put the first month's payment in by the end of the week. Just consider what's in there a gesture of goodwill from me."
Morne nodded, making a mental note of the man's words. His business concluded, he turned to leave.
.......
Heten Lenderm bade farewell as Morne left the store, finally letting his relief shine through.
As a Mage, Heten recognized the clumsy use of Chimh that Morne employed. Chances were that he only knew a single Spell. Heten could easily win an exchange of magic between them, being a Practitioner himself.
But that was all the more reason to be wary.
Heten recalled his father's stories of the demon vividly. They would often haunt his nightmares as a child, the boogeyman his father used to instill discipline.
It was an effective tactic, made more efficient by the horrifying fact that Heten's father never lied.
His father was a great businessman, and always wore a lie-detecting enchanted bracelet as a gesture of good faith and proof of his honesty. It was one of the many reasons this business had grown so successful.
It was that same enchantment that let Heten know that each and every story was in fact a retelling of events.
The things that demon had done were numerous; some good, most bad. And anyone that such an existence sent in his place was someone to be treated with caution.
Yes, this man could hardly be considered a Mage right now, but Heten was positive that if he lived long enough, this Morne would become a fearsome man indeed.
So Heten treated the stranger with the polite persona of a businessman, not daring to deny him once he proved who he was.
Those stories Heten's father had told him when he was but a lad, those restless nights and fitful sleeps, were now all that he could think of.
Brej-N'Ha-Frikt didn't take kindly to those who failed to repay a debt. And Heten valued his own life too much to test a demon's bottom line.
.......
The sun was starting to set when Morne left Lenderm's Leather Goods.
For a second he was worried he would have to sleep in the streets, but then he remembered that Heten had left him four large silvers.
So he started hunting around town for a cheap inn to sleep at. He didn't need anything garish or flamboyant, just a bed and a roof over his head.
As usual, he received stares, but the majority of the passersby ignored him entirely despite his larger frame, too focused on their own business.
A stranger that looked different from them, in his type of clothes, wasn't as odd in the inn district as one in front of a business that served almost exclusively nobles.
Morne heard whispers at every corner, some the gossip of housewives and others the concerned questions of frightful citizens.
The second one was what caught his attention, if only because the conversers were walking in the same direction as him.
"These damn Knife-Tongues," growled the woman. "They took Kathrin last night. I know they did. And what do the guards have to say about it? Nothing!"
"Calm down, honey," the man said, lacking the accent of his wife. "I'm sure Kathrin is fine. She probably just went off to see that young man from Endet."
"She would've told me if that was the case," the woman replied. "She knows I worry. Regardless, the guards should be searching for her, but instead they're all sitting on their asses taking a free paycheck!"
"Language, dear," admonished the man. "And the guards are doing the best they can, I'm sure."
"You can take your manners and shove 'em, Bert," snapped the woman. "My sister is missing! These bandits have been getting worse ever since the war with Vadnerben started.
"Our border is a mess, and our cities are hardly better. What good is winning a war if these bandits leave nothing to return to? Kathrin wasn't the first these bastards took, and she won't be the last, not if these guards don't leave their hindquarters and get some Gods-damned work done!"
"Tretha!" hissed the man, Bert, who glanced nervously around. "Do you WANT the churches after us? Because blasphemy is a quick ticket to life behind bars!"
Bert gulped, tapping Morne's shoulder. "Please excuse my wife, sir. She's just cranky this morning. She meant no offense, I assure you."
"I didn't hear anything," Morne said, not pausing in his stride.
"Appreciated, sir," Bert replied gratefully.
Bert squinted up at the dusky sky above. He concluded based on the area of the city they were in that this stranger was looking for an inn, and decided to pay back this favor with some advice.
"If you're looking for a place to sleep, the Rocky Mule is quite cheap for its service. It's down that street and on the left. I often go there when the missus is angry at me. Better than sleeping on the couch, I'd say!"
He chuckled anxiously, only to be silenced shortly after by a glare from his irate wife.
"Thanks," Morne said, happily breaking away from the couple as they launched into an argument.