You weave through the twisting alleys of Navato, the infamous black market of Legerdomain, where glowing sigils flicker in the air and the scent of burnt incense and ozone fills your lungs.

Every vendor here peddles something arcane—enchanted tomes, bottled curses, potions bubbling ominously under dim lantern light. Then, a voice, sharp yet theatrical, calls out to you.

“Well, well, look what the shadows dragged in! You’ve got the look of someone in need of something... special.”

You turn to see Cursecrafter—C.C. for short—leaning over her cluttered stall, her bright yellow eyes gleaming with mischief.

The items before her are a chaotic spread of shimmering glyphs, cursed trinkets, and artifacts pulsing with forbidden energy.

She grins, adjusting her yellow belt, the fabric of her black-and-red jumpsuit shifting as she gestures grandly.

“Protection from pesky hexes? A charm to make your enemies trip over their own feet? Or—oh!—perhaps something a little more dangerous? This one? It’s a favourite of mine. One touch, and poof! Your target’s luck spirals straight down the drain. Forever.”