After contacting the photography store, I discovered they offered a three-day workshop on film development and photo printing in black, white, and color. Excited, I signed up for the earliest one available and continued my shopping spree.
During my exploration, I stumbled upon five pawn shops, two gaming stores, and a flea market. Over the next five days, I made it a point to visit all of them. The first pawn shop I visited finally looked like the pawn shop I envisioned, and not a giant store. It was a cluttered little place, with narrow aisles lined with glass cases displaying an array of items—from vintage watches to tarnished silverware. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a bushy white beard and twinkling eyes, greeted me warmly. I inquired about gold jewelry, and he led me to a case filled with delicate chains, ornate rings, and intricately designed bracelets. I picked up a few pieces, feeling their weight and admiring the craftsmanship.
Next, I visited a gaming store that had an overwhelming amount of merchandise packed into every corner. Posters of fantastical creatures and epic battles adorned the walls. At the counter, a young man with a mane of curly hair and a pair of thick glasses was deeply engrossed in a strategy guide.
"Excuse me," I said, drawing his attention. "Do you have any copper coins in stock?"
His eyes lit up with curiosity. "Why do you need copper coins?" he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
I smiled, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. "I'm working on a large art project," I replied.
Satisfied, he led me to a shelf where I found several bags of copper coins. I bought their entire stock.
The flea market was a vibrant, chaotic place with stalls selling everything imaginable. The sounds of haggling vendors and the delicious aroma of street food permeated the air in the vibrant, chaotic flea market. I roamed from stall to stall, picking up cookware, glassware, linens, and blankets. One stall had a variety of colorful carpets, each with intricate patterns. The vendor, a middle-aged woman with a broad smile and a colorful headscarf, enthusiastically showed their quality by vigorously shaking one carpet, causing the dust to fly. I chose a few that looked durable and exotic.
At another stall, I found toys and baskets, which would be perfect for children in the fantasy realm. The toy vendor, a cheerful man with a thick mustache, demonstrated a wooden puzzle box that clicked and clacked in an intriguing way. I couldn't resist buying a few, imagining the delight they would bring. I also purchased a few giant rolls of cloth and various figurines that caught my eye. By the end of my shopping spree, my haul included cookware, lots of glassware, linens and blankets, carpets, toys, baskets and chests, giant rolls of cloth, figurines, and a myriad of other items I could buy cheaply and sell where they didn't have those things.
When I checked my Storage, I found everything in a chaotic mess. It was a strange experience looking into it; I didn't change the direction of my head but shifted my vision, as if peering through a door into a room. I could see the entire space and all its contents as a general mass, without distinguishing between individual items. But it was not "seeing" with my physical eyes, but mental eyes. Despite this, I knew everything I had inside and where each item was located. It was disorienting for a few minutes, this duality of vision and knowing, but slowly, I got used to it, and it began to feel natural. While looking inside, I couldn't see the outside world; I either looked into my Storage or at the outside world.
The space was a giant 8x8x8 meter cube, with everything piled at the bottom. I assumed things would stack up as I added more. The whole setup looked strange and wrong to my Earthly sensibilities. I disliked how my things stacked up, and the high ceiling made me uncomfortable. The ability description mentioned nothing about reshaping the space, but I tried it, anyway.
I attempted to "will it" with my mind to change shape, but it didn't work. Next, I sent all my senses and attention inside, following the walls or boundaries of the space until I fully grasped it as a space or object. Then I "pulled" one end while "pressing" on the top. The action was done entirely with mental intention, not physical movement. Slowly, the space began to stretch and elongate while its height decreased. It took an incredible amount of concentration, and I felt my mental faculties "sweating" from the strain, but I didn't give up until I had a long hall with a 2.5-3 meter high ceiling.
Much better.
I went to Ikea and bought cheap shelving units. The store was bustling, and I had to navigate through crowds of families and couples. I found the shelving units in the storage section, flat-packed and ready for assembly. I also found a barrel—the idea of a barrel full of coins was too cool to pass up. The barrel was large and sturdy, with metal bands holding it together. It had a rustic charm that I thought would look great in a fantasy world.
I organized all my purchases on the shelves, placing the jewelry in a nice pirate chest I found at the flea market. The pirate chest had dark wood, brass fittings, and a lock shaped like a skull. It was perfect for storing the gold jewelry I had bought. I stored my coins in the barrel, filling it until it was almost overflowing. I also found some personal items I would have never thought of, like a manual coffee grinder and a manual ice cream churn. The coffee grinder was an elegant, hand-cranked model with a ceramic burr, and the ice cream churn was a charming, old-fashioned contraption with a wooden bucket and metal paddles.
The workshop's first day arrived, and I made sure to attend. As I walked into the store, the distinct smell of photographic chemicals greeted me and the sight of vintage cameras displayed neatly on the shelves. A friendly clerk directed me to the back of the store where the workshop was being held. I joined a small group of enthusiasts gathered around a long table laden with various pieces of equipment—enlargers, developing tanks, and trays filled with mysterious liquids.
Our instructor, a grizzled veteran photographer named Anselm, began by introducing us to the basics of film development. With a gruff but enthusiastic demeanor, he explained the process of developing black and white film. We learned about the importance of maintaining the right temperature for the developer, stop bath, and fixer solutions. Anselm's hands moved deftly as he demonstrated loading the film onto a reel in complete darkness, a task that required both precision and patience.
"Patience is key," Anselm emphasized, his eyes twinkling with the passion of someone who has spent decades perfecting his craft. "Rushing through this will ruin your negatives. Take your time and do it right."
My first attempt at loading the film was a fumbling mess, but Anselm's patient guidance helped me get the hang of it. Once everyone had their film loaded onto reels, we proceeded to the developing tanks. The darkroom was dimly lit, with the faint red glow of a safelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. I found the process both nerve-wracking and thrilling, as I carefully poured chemicals into the tank and agitated it at regular intervals.
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As we waited for the film to develop, Anselm regaled us with stories of his early days in photography, tales of trial and error that made me feel better about my own initial clumsiness. When it was finally time to unveil our negatives, I felt a surge of accomplishment. Seeing the images appear on the strips of film was nothing short of magical.
The second day of the workshop focused on printing photographs from our newly developed negatives. Anselm introduced us to the enlarger, a device that projected the negative image onto photographic paper. He explained how different exposure times and apertures could affect the final print. We experimented with test strips, adjusting the exposure until we achieved the desired contrast and detail.
One of the highlights was learning the art of dodging and burning, techniques used to lighten or darken specific areas of the print. Anselm demonstrated by skillfully manipulating pieces of cardboard to control the light exposure, adding depth and drama to his prints. My attempts were less refined, but with practice, I started to understand the subtleties involved.
In the afternoon, we moved on to color film development. Anselm warned us that this process was more complex and required even greater precision. The addition of a temperature-controlled water bath for the chemicals added another layer of complexity. Despite the challenges, I found the vibrant hues of the color negatives exhilarating compared to the stark contrasts of black and white.
By the third day, I felt more confident in my abilities. We spent the morning perfecting our prints, experimenting with different papers and toning techniques. Anselm encouraged us to think creatively, to see beyond the literal image, and to use the medium to express emotions and narratives.
One of the most memorable moments was when Anselm showed us how to create a contact sheet. This involved placing the entire roll of negatives directly onto a sheet of photographic paper and exposing it to light. The result was a single print that contained small versions of every image on the roll, a handy reference tool for selecting the best shots to enlarge.
The workshop concluded with a critique session. We pinned our best prints to a corkboard and took turns discussing our work. Anselm's feedback was invaluable—constructive, insightful, and always encouraging. He had a way of pointing out areas for improvement without discouraging us, making the experience both educational and motivating.
As I walked out of the workshop area on the last day, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. I had not only learned the technical skills of film development and photo printing, but also gained a deeper appreciation for the artistry involved. The workshop had ignited a passion within me, and I couldn't wait to apply what I had learned to my own photography projects. The world of analog photography, with its intricate processes and tactile rewards, had opened up before me, promising endless possibilities for creative expression.
After completing the workshop, I bought all the stock they had of chemicals, photography paper, film for my camera, and equipment for wet printing. The store staff tried to dissuade me, mentioning the expiration dates, but I wasn't worried; my Storage would keep everything good for decades. The staff consisted of a young woman with a pixie cut and an older man with a ponytail and glasses. The young woman, whose name tag read "Hanna," seemed particularly concerned.
"Are you sure you need all this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "These chemicals have a limited shelf life."
I smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure."
She seemed skeptical, but didn't press the issue further.
I also searched for more cameras like mine, which proved harder. Most vintage cameras I found could work without a battery but had the option, which I wasn't sure about. My phone had died in the first Gate; I didn't want the cameras to fail. But I found five cameras that worked. The cameras were beautiful pieces of craftsmanship, each with its own unique quirks and features. I visited other photography stores and bought all their chemicals, paper, and film, along with another three sets of equipment. In one store, I even found a portable darkroom tent. It was a compact, lightweight tent designed for fieldwork, perfect for developing photos on the go.
I even gained the skills [Develop Negative] and [Print Photograph]. The idea that everything could be a skill made me laugh. "I guess I really am becoming a jack of all trades," I mused to myself.
The tent reminded me to start checking out camping equipment. There was a vast selection. The first outdoor store I visited was an enormous warehouse filled with everything an adventurer could dream of. There were tents in all sizes and for any weather, with or without canopies. I picked up a few tents, including a small, lightweight one for solo trips and a larger, family-sized one for more extended stays. I also grabbed a fire starter kit, which included flint and steel, waterproof matches, and a compact, foldable stove that worked on coals.
Hammocks and mattresses were next on my list. I found a comfortable, double-sized hammock made of durable, weather-resistant fabric and a self-inflating mattress that promised a good night's sleep even on rocky ground. Cooking equipment was another must-have. I picked up the portable stove, a set of lightweight pots and pans, and various utensils. There were also different gizmos for showering in the wild. Folding chairs and tables were a great find, making it easier to set up a comfortable campsite.
Backpacks were essential, and I found a rugged, leather one with an Indiana Jones feel that wouldn't look out of place in a fantasy world or on Earth. I bought five, knowing that even with my Storage, I'd travel with a backpack; every adventurer needs one, and it would look less suspicious.
I also researched touring bikes, chose a model, and bought five, along with plenty of spare equipment for their upkeep. The bikes were sleek and sturdy, designed for long-distance travel over rough terrain. I picked up spare tires, chains, and a comprehensive tool kit to ensure I could maintain them on the road.
The seller insisted that I also needed a bike trailer to carry all the gear. At first, I didn't want to buy one because I had the Storage, but then I remembered that sometimes there wasn't a secluded corner to store things secretly, so the trailer could actually be an excellent solution.
The store also had a crazy selection of shoes, clothes, hats, vests, jackets, socks, and other apparel. I bought a few pairs of durable hiking boots, a set of moisture-wicking shirts and pants, a weather-resistant jacket, and a wide-brimmed hat for sun protection. I also stocked up on warm socks and thermal underwear for colder climates.
After the life insurance cleared, I had over $350K in my account. Knowing I wasn't coming back, I bought multiples of almost everything. My account balance significantly decreased, and my Storage was nearly full. I needed more storage capacity—more ability points.
Two days before my flight home, I visited the other Gate to find out where it led. I drove there and, on my way, stopped at three more pawn shops and a gaming store. The pawn shops yielded more gold jewelry, and the gaming store copper coins. Almost all the pawn shops had musical instruments, so I decided to buy a guitar—or maybe three guitars and extra strings, just in case. The guitars were of various styles: two different classical acoustic guitars and a steel-string acoustic. I noticed skills for playing instruments—again; I needed more ability points.
Arriving at the Gate, I checked the destination:
Travelers Gate #468217258
Destination: Shimoor
Status: Integrated
Mana level: 17
Threat level: Very low.
That was a surprise. I had thought it would lead somewhere else. Even the gate number was consecutive. After taking out one of the binoculars I had bought, I looked all around. There were no houses, smoke, or signs of people—only mountains, trees, and a river in the distance. Walking around the mountaintop where the Gate was situated to find a way down, I couldn't find any. I've decided to purchase climbing equipment as a precaution, but my plan was to cross over near Frankfurt. Or maybe one of the other Gates I planned to visit to raise my level also led to Shimoor.
I took out my camera and snapped a few pictures to ensure it worked. Satisfied, I drove to the rental agency, returned the car, and headed to the airport. It was time to go home and handle my affairs.