"PS: If you find any mistakes, please leave a comment."
The shadowy high-rises flanking the road loomed ominously. Weeds poked through cracks in the pavement, and decaying billboards lay scattered in disarray.
Even by Zaun's standards, this street was remote and perilous. It appeared deserted, yet countless gleaming, rodent-like eyes darted about from the shadows.
Known as the Backstreet, it was a forsaken stretch abandoned by the Border Market—a dark mirror to its bustling counterpart. Here, dubious dealings thrived under the cover of darkness, every moment abuzz with clandestine activity.
Durin navigated the alleys with practiced ease, eventually stopping in front of a shop. A lopsided sign on the wall read: "Countdown to Death."
Blocking his way was a burly man, shirtless and tattooed from head to toe.
"I'm here to see the black-market doctor. I've been here before," Durin said, sizing up the unfamiliar gatekeeper.
The man sneered at Durin, his Ionian garb simple and unassuming. "You say you've been here? Got an appointment? This is Backstreet, kid, not a place for random wanderers."
In Zaun, Ionians were often seen as impoverished pacifists, babbling on about harmony and nature.
Durin sighed. "You're new here, aren't you? I know the doctor. I don't need an appointment."
"No appointment, no entry!" The man slammed his fists together, creating a loud whooshing sound.
"Alchemical enhancements?"
Durin's eyes narrowed. The man's arms gleamed with brass and circuitry. Green liquid pulsed through tubes, and wires snaked along his exposed forearms.
"You want in? Not unless I say so," the gatekeeper growled, his gaze threatening.
Before Durin could decide whether to fight, a cheerful voice called from within. "Let him in, Durin's with me!"
Reluctantly, the brute stepped aside.
Inside, Durin took a quick glance around.
The shop was more clinic than storefront. Scissors, scalpels, tongs, hammers, and mechanical parts cluttered every surface. Shelves embedded in the walls held jars filled with strange herbs and wriggling creatures.
At a workbench sat the doctor—a towering toad standing upright. His rotund body was disproportionately supported by thin limbs. Blue warty skin glistened under the dim light. Around his neck hung an unpeeled string of onions, and atop his head rested a towering blue turban.
"You've hired a bodyguard now?" Durin asked.
The doctor, a black-market witch doctor introduced to Durin by a necromancer, chuckled. His notoriety was such that even Piltover residents sought his unconventional remedies.
"I need some muscle to keep me undisturbed during research," the toad said, stirring a bubbling cauldron with a wooden spoon. The room reeked of pungent herbs and onions. "But enough of that. You know I require monthly checkups. Let's see how you're holding up."
"You seem awfully concerned," Durin said dryly.
"Not concern—curiosity. You're a perfect medical specimen, after all!" The toad's laugh was unsettling as his catfish-like whiskers twitched. "Honestly, if I weren't so morally bound, I'd dissect you just to see how your insides work. But alas, I'm a healer, not a killer."
"...Just start the checkup," Durin replied with resignation.
Durin's current state was the result of a near-fatal experiment by his former necromancer master. Exposed to necromantic magic, his organs had failed almost entirely.
Fortunately, the necromancer had sent Durin to the black-market doctor with a shrug: "Save him if you can. If not, use him for research."
To everyone's surprise, the toad's unorthodox treatment worked. Durin recovered, albeit with lingering aftereffects—he now needed regular medicinal brews to sustain his organs.
Durin also gained a deeper understanding of medicine, though his skill remained at a rudimentary level after months of neglect.
The toad began the checkup, placing a disproportionate hand on Durin's wrist to feel his pulse while puffing on a bronze smoking pipe. His seated form resembled a mountain, unmoving except for the rhythmic expansion of his throat as he exhaled wisps of smoke.
"Durin, your recovery is remarkable," he said lazily after a moment. "Your constitution is not only stable but stronger than before. However, your internal organs remain slightly weakened—no surprise given Zaun's toxic environment. Rest and you'll be fine."
Relieved, Durin sipped water and asked, "Do I still need the medicine?"
"Absolutely. Another month's worth should do it. But I'll warn you: Dragonthorn Grass has skyrocketed in price. A month's supply now costs 3.6 silver crowns."
"3.6? That's an 80% increase!"
"Take it or leave it," the toad said indifferently.
"Can't we round it down to 3 crowns?"
"No. My price is final."
"…Fine. I'll take it."
"Can we get a discount? Round it down—how about 3 silver wheel coins?"
"No way! That's not how rounding works! It's a fixed price—take it or leave it!"
"...Fine, I'll take it!"
Only then did the toad shaman slowly rise from his chair. His stubby, muscular hind legs hit the ground with a thud, and with each step, his large, blue, blubbery frame wobbled visibly.
He approached a thick iron door secured by a massive iron lock. The lock itself wasn't particularly challenging to open; the difficulty lay in the door. Weighing half a ton, opening it quietly was no easy feat.
The toad shaman rummaged through the folds of his flabby skin, eventually pulling out a key. After unlocking the iron lock, he pushed open the heavy door.
Inside was a room spanning nearly 100 square meters, filled with neatly arranged medicine cabinets. Each drawer bore a label, showcasing an array of rare herbs: ginseng, lingzhi mushrooms, ambergris, cordyceps, He Shou Wu, and even Tianshan snow lotuses.
On the eastern wall of the room stood a two-inch-high idol, carved exquisitely from centuries-old peachwood. Beneath the idol was a one-meter-tall sandalwood table and chair set, draped with three layers of yellow cloth. Hidden behind the idol was an unassuming piece of yellow fabric, two feet wide and one foot tall.
The toad shaman lit three sticks of incense, bowing respectfully three times before retrieving a small, pre-packaged cloth bag labeled "Dragon Osmanthus Ling."
After locking the iron door again, the toad shaman casually placed the bag on the table, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it in one gulp.
Durin, gritting his teeth, took out 3 silver wheel coins and 60 copper circle coins from his pocket, reluctantly laying them on the table.
The metallic clinking of coins filled the room, resonating between the man and the toad.
After paying for the medicine, Durin was left with only 4 silver wheel coins to his name. His wallet felt noticeably lighter, and he suddenly found himself speaking with less confidence.
Moreover, today was April 30th. Tomorrow would mark the start of May, leaving just ten days until rent was due.
Durin needed to find a way to earn more money quickly to avoid compromising his standard of living.
"Alright, since you've paid, let me tell you why the price suddenly spiked." The toad shaman puffed on his pipe, releasing white smoke rings from his wide nostrils as he explained. "Some brats from Zaun decided to stir up trouble in the Upper City Academy district, blowing up an entire building. A lot of people died—an outright slap in the face to the Piltovans."
He chuckled darkly, continuing, "If it had been just an ordinary building, they could've pinned it on any Zaunite and called it a day. But those kids had the gall to steal from the Giopara family's laboratory."
"The Giopara family?"
Durin blinked, stunned. "You mean that Giopara family?"
The toad shaman glanced at him like he was an idiot. "Is there another Giopara family in Piltover?"
Durin fell silent.
The Giopara family was one of the most influential in Piltover's aristocratic council. Its history stretched back to Piltover's very founding—perhaps even earlier. Known for constructing Piltover's waterway systems, they had amassed immense wealth and influence.
It was said, "The Giopara family crest is a passport to anywhere."
The famed Piltover Sheriff, Caitlyn, hailed from this lineage and was its future heiress. Though just 17 years old, her reputation was already well-established.
Durin realized that the events of Arcane had officially begun.
The toad shaman's intelligence was typically reliable; his dealings with the Upper City were extensive. Piltover residents, desperate for the shaman's remedies, would often brave the slums with breathing apparatuses just to see him.
Durin began to ponder how he could leverage his foreknowledge of the show's storyline for his own benefit. Honest labor alone wouldn't get him to the middle plazas—or even the Promenade.
He'd have to take risks to seize opportunities, perhaps even relocate to Piltover and become one of its respected residents.
Or, perhaps, align himself with the Noxian forces that would eventually arrive in Piltover?
His thoughts raced through the possibilities: shimmer serums, Hextech technologies, and the priceless Hex crystals featured prominently in the series.
He decided that the first step was to gain access to shimmer serums or the Hex crystal currently in Jinx's possession.
Shimmer serums, in their early stages, were little more than addictive narcotics. Large doses turned users into mindless monsters, but with refinement, they became potent tools for pain relief and wound healing. Nations like Noxus would inevitably take interest in such technologies.
As for Hex crystals, they were magical storage devices with immense value. Each one was formed from the shells of Hexborn beings and was virtually irreplaceable on the market.
With this in mind, Durin resolved to earn Jinx's trust and acquire the Hex crystal for himself.
"The tension between Piltover and Zaun is palpable. Those Piltovans are desperate to pin the blame on Zaunites. On top of that, the herbs I imported from Ionia got hit with heavy taxes!" the toad shaman growled, slamming his bronze pipe on the table.
Durin said nothing, pocketing the bag of Dragon Osmanthus Ling before leaving.
After riding the public elevator back to the slums, Durin reviewed the job board for work. Among the listings, one caught his eye:
Job #15: Debt Recovery
Reward: 20% commission on a bond valued at 1 gold cog (equivalent to 4.8 silver wheel coins).
Though tempting, Durin knew anyone living in the middle plazas wouldn't be easy to handle.
Still, with his dwindling funds, he decided to give it a shot.
By morning, Durin was determined to quit his old job at the slaughterhouse and focus on his new role as a mage's assistant, earning 6 silver wheel coins per month—a necessity now that the cost of living had soared.
It was time to start turning things around.