Markus quickly found out that Ellianora didn’t really have a plan, simply wandering around wherever in whatever random direction she was interested in a the time. Eventually he put a stop to it, and they now found themselves on the outdoor patio of a restaurant, both with pieces of paper and ink pens writing lists of everything they needed to do.
“I could use a restock on bullets, I’m down to my last few handfuls. In addition, I also need to restock all my consumables: smoke bombs, flashsticks, caltrops, oil, whetstones, ball bearings, loose gunpower, the list goes on and on. I’d also like to look for a good deal on better armor, more speed loaders, and a short sword or dagger too, and that’s just off the top of my head.” Markus read off his list.
“I need: more ink, a catalogue on the local flora and fauna, a better packing and travel solution, more paper, a map of the region, a weapon for myself so I don’t have to over draw my magic so regularly, and a few other research pieces, plus some safety items for the road like ante-toxins and potions in addition to regular medical supplies.” She added off her own to-get list.
Markus crossed his arms and stared at the list on the table, “it’s a lot to do, how’s your cash well look?”
“It should be doable with what I have so long as I don’t get ripped off, and get some things cheap, you?”
“I need a really good deal on the armor and or the sword, but otherwise not to bad. You sure you want to do all the general resources yourself?” he looked up at her.
“It’s my expedition, I should be the one funding it. Also, I planned this a while in advance when I was solo so it’ll be fine.” She concluded.
“Hmm… what do you think? Split up, meet back at the fountain at around six-ish?”
“Yeah, see you then.” The two got up from their seats and separated to try and accomplish some responsibilities.
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Ellianora had spent several hours doing her favorite thing, perusing through bookstore shelves, and had come out with the majority of what she’d hoped for. Currently though, she was searching for a map of the known west lands only to discover such an item was tragically rare and valuable, (as well as guaranteed to be incomplete) due to the fact that knowledge of the Westlands was earned from effort and closely guarded by those who possessed it. she sighed and shook her head, I guess I’ll just move on to potions for now, worst case we’ll need local guides. After asking directions, she eventually settled in front of a narrow yet tall shopfront, large glass windows reached to a barrel shaped skylight, and green and brown paint adorned the humble, squished looking store. The hanging wooden sign held a picture of two feathers over a pestle, reading “Feathers and Tinctures, Alchemist and Apothecary”. The wooden door had a small, attached bell that jingled gently, and the smell of herbs and chemicals settled on her nose as she entered. In contrast to the orderly and unassuming exterior, the interior looked… unmaintained. The shops front was two floors tall with a balcony separating the upper and lower halves, a single spiral staircase to one side allowed access above and the walls seemed to be made of tiny labeled drawers, the majority of which were left open and obviously empty. The hard wood floor sported a thick lush carpet that was covered in dust, and several crates.
Taking stock around Ellianora called out “Um, excuse me the door was unlocked. Are you open for business?”
An echo-y female voice responded in a melancholic tone “For now, but I will be closing soon. You may peruse my remaining wares, or I can try to make you something with the few reagents I have left.”
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Ellianora whirled her head around to see where the voice was coming from. Over her right shoulder near the ceiling was an Avirril, her claws gripping tiny holes in the wall seemingly made for the express purpose. The figure let go of the wall and her large feathered body drifted down to the shop floor. Her legs fully extended, she appeared identical to a barn owl except she was seven and a half feet tall, and her feathers were jet black instead of a barn owls usual light brown. She turned her head over her shoulder as she dropped several pouches into a crate. “So, what has brought you to my shop?”
It was hard to not be intimidated but the massive predatory face that was well above her head height, but Ellianora somehow managed to get her voice working “I need to stock up on these items.” She meekly stated while holding out her list. A long thin arm reached out under the massive wing and plucked the small paper from her. The long narrow hands had three fingers and were covered to the shoulder in soft, grey, down-like feathers. The left hand had a small silver band across her dainty middle finger.
“You’re Married?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “I-I’m sorry I don’t mean to pry”
“Hmm?” the massive owl head rose from the paper, its gaze moving to the ring. “Yes I am. This shop was our dream for retirement now that our fledglings have gone off into the world.” She sighed, or at least did something similar to sighing as her feathers ruffled and dropped with her shoulders.
“But, your closing, what happened?”
The massive raptor moved in slow gliding motions as she went through drawers and cases of vials, checking the list as she went. “Defore he settled down my husband was a professional mercenary, he specialized in hunting monsters and became known for working well in expeditions and large groups. When we moved here some of the guards recognized him and asked him for help fighting the mutant creatures leftover from when the spell storm still raged. Even though he was retired he enjoyed being on the hunt like back then, and since the guards always stayed close to home it made for a nice little side earner whenever they needed the help.”
“A monster got him?”
The Avirril shook her head like even the thought was ridiculous “Of course not, he always said no beast on this earthen planet could keep him from home and he was right.”
“What happened?”
“Cultists, they saw the hunting party coming back and saw an opportunity to gain high quality weapons and armor. Whoever was leading them was an idiot though, as soon as the city figured out what happened they descended on the forest and left nothing alive in their path”
The Shop keeper sighed, “My husband was the alchemist of the shop, without his skills I’m afraid I don’t have the means or funds to keep the shop operating.”
Ellianora listened to the owl as she watched her mix various item in a stone bowl, emptying a few of the last drawers in the process.
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Markus meandered through the streets checking his list, oil, caltrops, ball bearings, flash sticks, and smoke bombs. He ticked them of the list one by one, bullets had been worryingly cheap, but the saved money had landed him two more speed loaders for his pistol, which just left the whetstones and the short sword or dagger. Putting a knuckle to his chin he pondered, A blacksmith is next I guess. Id prefer a new blade but its likely to be prohibitively expensive, a used one might be in good condition. He checked a clock in the side of a building. I’ve got a few hours still, lets shop around some pawnshops.
The oldest district of West gate were made of narrow low buildings hewn of stone, and narrow cobbled streets. There were three pawnshops to be found according to the directions Markus had inquired from a passerby, the first he’d checked dealt mainly with gems and jewelry. Though he’d been tempted by the runestones, the astronomical cost had immediately made him turn toward the door.
An hour later Markus walked out of the second shop thoroughly disappointed. With only one more shop to go and several hours to waste Markus wended his way through the uneven pebble road toward his last hope. The sun sat just on the cusp of pre-dusk casting shadows down on the road. Markus felt something, stopping in the road he looked around. A sort of weight sat in the air, pulling on his stomach like a stone. The other few passers-by gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary, so he panned his gaze until his eyes fell upon a doorway he’d walked past. The narrow white door’s paint was peeling, the small window set into it was dust-caked, all but obscuring the hanging sign inside that read “open”.