Of Monocles and Overconfidence

From the records of Tarric Vethrin

I once met a merchant who tried to sell me a “miracle tea.” She said the name as though the word alone justified the price.

She stood in my tavern, very confident in herself, and explained that this tea could do everything ordinary tea could not. Provide energy. Bring clarity. Chase away fatigue. Perhaps even correct bad decisions—though I was never entirely sure whether she meant that seriously or was simply being bold.

I listened. Then I told her that the exact same tea had been on my menu for three months. Under the name it actually deserved: herbal tea.

She hesitated for a moment. That is usually when people decide whether they are going to be honest or interesting. She chose interesting.

Her monocle betrayed her more than she betrayed herself. I am always cautious around people who wear one. They are rare—and the versions that usually find their way into my tavern tend to contain shards that are better left unregistered.

Humans and dwarves who try to sell you something while wearing a monocle usually expose themselves rather quickly. They react too precisely. Too quickly. As if they are already having the conversation before it happens. Elves tend to handle this kind of shard much better.

The merchant was not using an ordinary analysis shard. She was not reading the tea’s properties, nor its value. She was reading me.

Body language. Reaction patterns. Delays in decision-making. A very expensive way to create misunderstandings.

She knew when I doubted something before I had even decided whether I was doubting at all. Very impressive. Completely useless when the person in front of you has learned not only how to read conversations, but how to guide them.

So she began predicting my arguments. I began making her predictions worthless. “You are uncertain,” she said eventually. “Correct,” I replied. “And what exactly are you going to do with that information?” She raised an eyebrow. “Knowledge alone is useless if you cannot make use of it.”

She smiled. So did I. We were probably both quite certain, at that point, that I was not going to buy that tea.

did not need a monocle to notice when a conversation starts to turn. I hear it in the pause between sentences. In the way people suddenly begin explaining things too quickly. When dwarves change their tone before they become angry. When elves start becoming unnecessarily precise.

As an innkeeper, these are exactly the things that stop guests from throwing furniture at one another. Or from “accidentally” forgetting to pay. I learned not only to understand people, but to control a conversation.

Eventually, she no longer needed her monocle to realize that it was not helping her inside my tavern. It showed her everything about me. But nothing about why it was not enough.

At some point she simply stood there, motionless. Not defeated. Not convinced. More like… attentive.

She placed her monocle on the table and started asking questions. No tricks. No shards. Just questions.

She stayed for a while and worked for me. Learned. Months, perhaps. Hard to tell when someone starts truly listening instead of merely analyzing. Eventually, she left.

She now calls herself Shade. A respected merchant on Elyndor’s black market. Perhaps even the best. She has a talent for acquiring things that nobody else can.

I could tell you how that happened. I really could. But that would be another story.

And she still visits my tavern from time to time. Not to trade. To listen.

I think she is going to become interesting.

— Tarric Vethrin