Markus peered over his shoulder at the inconspicuous doorway. He narrowed his eyes at it before sighing and walking up to the stone stoop. The strange feeling he had seemed to intensify as he approached, each step filling him with apprehension, until his hand gripped the knob. He stopped and looked down, the feeling was gone now but he hadn’t really intended to grasp the handle, yet here it was clasped in his hand. With a deep breath to steel his nerves, he turned the handle and pushed open the slightly stiff door. Musty air filled the space between the narrow walkways, flanked by tall shelves that seemed mismatched in different styles. Sunlight filtered through narrow windows near the roofline and the occasional square skylight in the flat ceiling, casting branch like rays that caught the flittering dust particles.
Closing the door behind him revealed a small bell that tinkled when he finally pressed the poor fitting door shut. He turned to the shelves, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what was on them and no organization to speak of. They held things from plates and silverware to children’s toys, a large and ornate jewelry box filled with buttons, brooches, umbrellas, hats, maps, books, a jar filled with an unknown blueish purple substance labeled “wyrm gloo”. There were items on every shelf, and often items inside of other items with how little space there was on the shelves. The shelves themselves were made from a variety of materials mostly various wood types and had been laid out in an almost maze-like fashion. The walkway following a winding path that often split, switched back or deadened unpredictably. Apon making the maze observation Markus narrowed his eyes and backtracked a bit. The door sat innocently where he’d left it, still sitting mostly closed but unable to be pressed all the way to the catch.
Frowning to himself, he decided to look around as much as he could with his remaining time. His gut had never led him wrong before and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here worth searching for. And so, he wandered up and down the shelves, opening pouches and turning over upside-down bowls. He found a few items of note, an old cross bow engraved with the initials L.V.A. caught his eye but it needed new string, a large leather tome was intriguing, until he opened it and found that he couldn’t read it (the dust on the cover alone was enough to make him fight to hold in a cough). A compass labeled L,F,H,T instead of N,E,S,W was definitely useless to him, as was a stuffed and taxidermized Gila monster. He pulled down a small wooden box with a sliding lid, revealing several dominos, instead of being numbered one through six however, each one had a unique carved image of a dragon. He smiled to himself, he couldn’t help it, he had to. Taking about six of the dominos out of the box, he carefully stood them up on their short edge, oriented so that the dragons would face up when they fulfilled the true purpose of dominos. He gingerly poked the first one with his finger and watched in confusion as the dominos did something rather odd. Each domino knocked the others as one would expect. Four of the dominos however after knocking over the next one in line, stood back up on their edge, pushing the fallen two out of the way and over the edge of the shelf.
Markus caught one domino with his hand but the other fell and bounced off his shoe, colliding with a narrow trunk before coming to a stop on the floor. Leaning down to pick up the domino Markus observed the trunk, it was on the bottom shelf and covered in a thick layer of dust much like the ridiculous admirals hat sat atop it. Considering it for a moment, he placed the dominos back on the shelf next to the others before kneeling down and moving the hat aside to pull out the case. Approximately two foot long and a third that wide, the trunk had three latches. The middle latch had been designed to receive a lock, but no such obstacle was present, and the smooth glossy wooden shell anxiously awaited being opened. Placing his thumbs on the latches, Markus flicked them open and cracked the lid that had been closed for who knows long. The inside of the case was filled with a pair of soft velvet cushions that pressed down and protected the contents.
A short sword, dressed in a silver and blue scabbard sat daintily, untouched by the dust that had challenged its home. The handle was simple, a fine leather grip over a one-piece silver core, and the scabbard was embossed with filigree in the form of silver wisteria branches. Markus sat in awe, taking a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding, he gingerly lifted the short sword from its confinement. The blade slid effortlessly from the scabbard as he drew it, with no noise or friction. He made a small motion with his wrist, giving it a small swing. As it moved through the air it gave off a gentle pitched hum, as if singing and its weight sat perfectly in his hand.
A closer inspection of the item, now that it was out of the scabbard, revealed a few notable details. First, the sword was made entirely from one piece of metal, a metal that had no imperfections or signs of use. The blade, guard, handle and pommel were entirely one piece, only the leather cover for the handle broke this convention. The second thing he noticed was the blade itself. A single edged, foot-and-a-half long blade was thick and straight until it met a sharp tip and spine, opposite the cutting edge was a name. lifting it up to read the symbols, the strange three-dimensional language was almost second nature to him.
“Silver light” the name sat on his lips as he read it aloud, the cool sensation of the handle shifting as he turned the blade over in his hand.
“Impressive!” Markus nearly jumped out of his skin, he hadn’t noticed the unearthly quiet of the shop until an old voice ripped his eyes toward the end of the crooked aisle. Standing there was an old woman, wrinkled and hunched with bladed eyes and a confident smile that was somewhere between a grin and a smirk. Her white curled hair held back the edges of a shawl and exposed a pair of long pointed ears. An elf. An old elf.
She thunked her walking stick as she shuffled a bit closer, “Not many people can read luminous these days.” Her eyes turning what was a simple observation into a clearly pointed question.
“There isn’t really much use for it.” Markus shrugged, sliding the blade back into its sheath.
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“there used to be.” She narrowed her eyes at him in appraisal and held her chin. “Say, you wouldn’t be interested in buying her would you?” She indicated the blade with a nod.
Markus only really needed a second to prosses what she was asking before sighing and looking down at it in his hands. “I’m afraid something of this quality is well out of my price range.”
“Not necessarily,” She muttered. “She’s a picky one that, and been on the shelf for a long while… I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”
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Ellianora sat and talked with the avirril apothecarist for hours, whom she had learn was named Dhaliara going by Dolly for short. She was a trove of knowledge when it came to the various (often strange and esoteric) magical plants and minerals of the west lands, as well as their side effects and how to safely gather them, without exploding.
“They really explode?”
“Indeed, the high amount of raw arcanum contained in the seep pods is very volatile. It is a defense mechanism to deter any that would eat them.”
“Then how do you harvest them?” Ellianora inquired as she watched Dolly pour the contents of a beaker into several small vials.
“You get them cold.” Was the short and simple answer that accompanied the sounds of corks. “the plants drop their seeds in winter to conserve energy, so by freezing them or simply lowering the temperature in the air around them enough, you can get the pods to fall off right into your palm.”
The shopkeeper placed the vials next to the other assorted items Ellianora had purchased, double checking that everything was present.
Ellianora scribbled on her notepad before pulling her bag up and counting out the coins, “So if you’re closing the doors here, where are you going? What’s the next step?”
“I intend to head west, to ply my trade somewhere cheaper.”
“My partner and I are planning on heading west as well. Any advice or help would be appreciated, if you had any.”
The giant owl head tilted with a finger on her chin, “About once a month large caravans leave town, there is no fee to participate, but the large slow moving wagon train is a target for bandits.”
“So, we should avoid the wagon caravans?”
“No, the caravan is worth the risk. The west lands are harsh and unpredictable, with weeks between towns or even established roads. The pooled resources of a larger caravan means you can purchase most things you might run out of or had not considered you would need.”
“Thanks for the advice, do you know when the next large group leaves?” Ellianora beamed as she stowed her purchases and resettled her satchel.
“The next one leaves in two days and will be leaving via the mountain route, before swinging south toward hollindar.”
Finishing her last note, Ellianora waved goodbye, thanked Dolly for her help, and headed for the meeting point.
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“I’m sure we can come to an, arrangement.” The old woman looked Markus up and down before giving the kind of smile an alligator gives a toddler.
Markus thought a moment trying to glean any information he could from either the woman or the sword but neither revealed anything of help to him, “What are you asking for it?”
“600.” Markus stopped his motion. That’s worryingly cheap, especially if this sword has any properties other than being just a nice sword. A typical magic blade like those used by the dragon knights rank and file was worth more than twice that, and they were just really nice swords, lighter, more durable, and easier to maintain. A real named magic sword was in a word, priceless. Priceless, that word sat on his mind as he looked at the blade, and yet so cheap. Or at least, relatively cheap, the woman was basically asking for every last coin Markus had to his name. Either it was cursed (a worrying possibility) or it had been on this shelf a very long time. After taking a second to consider and running his expected expenditures, he decided to take a risk.
“I’ll give you 400 for it.” He noticed her finger tighten ever so slightly on her cane.
“Trying to rob an old lady huh? You can take it for 550”
“I have more expenditures coming up, and a suspicious magic sword isn’t exactly a planned expense. 425”
“Even if she turns out to be the most basic kind of magic sword, that’s already an unbelievable price. 530”
“An unbelievable price on an unknown magic sword is a good way to get cursed. 460”
The old woman thought for a moment before tacking her walking stick against the floorboards “Tell you what, peruse the shop with her and see if she grows on you, at the price of 510.”
She turned to hobble off toward a different part of the store, stopping to look over her shoulder at the shelves. “Also, in case you’re still curious boy, those dominos are magic. Who ever used them last must’ve forgotten to use the activation word to turn them off.” Rounding the corner out of sight, her footsteps vanished instantly, leaving the area silent once more.
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He hated to admit it. He did, but Markus had spent more time walking around looking and investigating all the small little knickknacks, almost an hour and a half. And all the while, he had been thinking about that sword, there was clearly more to it than he knew, and more than the lady was telling. He’d found one other item of note, a journal of about a hundred or so pages written (supposedly) by a spell caster called Melbin Brave. It detailed his alleged time traveling across the world, going on adventures, and studying with other (significantly) more famous mages. It wasn’t particularly interesting to him, but Ellianora might get a good read out of it. Thinking to himself a moment and considering his options, he eventually looked at Silver light and made a decision. Picking up the book and sword in each hand he began to look for the counter. His meandering had somehow brought back near the door (he wasn’t sure the exact way how) and a few quick turns revealed a shop counter next to the exit that he must’ve missed on the way in.
Sitting behind the thick wooden counter on a rocking chair, the old woman was ruffling through a stack of papers and counting coins with her off hand. “You’ve made you’re way here, and you’ve brought the sword along. I knew you’d come around” she stated without looking up from her work. “And you brought Melbin’s journal along too, an interesting choice.”
Markus placed both items on a clear space of counter, “460 is my limit on the sword, but I can do both for 480.” This was it, the limit of what he could spend without jeopardizing the immediate future, if she refused he’d leave them on the counter. The old woman considered a moment, “I can do 480, on a condition.”
Markus narrowed his eyes, “And what would that be.”
“I told you I wanted 510 and no lower, but if you can’t afford it I’ll agree to 480 if you will work off the remainder.”
“I’m afraid I’ll be leaving town soon, so that’s not an option.” Markus began to give up but she cut him off. “Who said anything about you working here? I have a job I need done and if you’re heading west soon that’ll just be perfect. ” The crone finally raised her eyes from her papers, locking his gaze with a crooked smile. “So, help an old woman out and you get the items. That’s the deal, are we agreed?”