Chapter 55
After the companions discuss The Lady’s visit and the limited information she revealed, it’s late morning and they’re all feeling a bit restless. The cool, outside air should help. Exiting Lord Neverwinter’s manor, aptly named Castle Never, they head south towards the Neverdeath Graveyard.
They cross the river that runs westward, towards the bay, dividing the city’s northern and southern sides. It’s not long before they find themselves meandering the stone streets of Protector’s Enclave, a thriving market district. As The Lady said, most things look familiar. Most of the town folk wear practical clothing, homespun from rough wool and linen. The city’s guard dresses in leather armor, cheap enough to buy in bulk while strong enough to afford the level of protection usually needed in a well-behaved metropolis. Few shopkeepers hawk their wares verbally in the streets, most relying on their reputations and fancy storefront displays to draw customers inside well-appointed shops.
Bilwin stops for a moment, perusing the beer offerings of a street vendor. After purchasing a pint he ponders aloud, “I want a battle hammer, or maybe an axe. I’ve been using my hurdy-gurdy, while it’s safely in its case, mind you, but it’s not quite as effective as a good old fashioned hammer that’s designed to turn an enemy’s head inside out.”
“It’s been a long while since I was able to enter a proper magic shop, like that one.” Mond points further down the road, where a sign hangs off the front of a brick building. The metal work portrays a sigil, inlaid with leafed gold and carved deep into a piece of what appears to be ironwood. Concentric rings and intertwined runes pulse with a low, warm light around the name, The Gilded Glyph.
Looking back to the dwarf, “They likely have a special hammer or axe that you might take a liking to.”
Nextdoor to The Gilded Glyph, is a jeweler shop with the entrance two steps down, below street level. What catches their eye at first is that the four and a half foot door. Carved in the stone above it, the store’s name is written in dwarven. Gven reads it and a short burst of laughter escapes from between her tusks. The others look quizzically at her and then to Bilwin.
The dwarf grins and points at the words inscribed above the door. “That translates to ‘Fucking Duck’ and the words carved into the door say,” he points a little lower at more dwarven characters. “Screw you, you can duck.”
Mond is the first to pass through The Gilded Glyph’s door and a light, airy melody fills the shop—it’s neither too loud nor too quiet, it’s the perfect volume. At first glance, the inside is much larger than it should be. Carefully studying the layout, Mond realizes there’s magic at play with the architectural design. The smell of incense permeates the too-large room; it’s a perfectly balanced blend of sandalwood and sage—once again, neither too strong nor too weak, the perfect equilibrium. Old parchments are neatly rolled up and stored in oak cabinets with glass fronts that open upward, preventing the dust from ruining their longevity. Along one side, an organized flurry of potions and scrolls float in the air, rearranging and inserting themselves into different spots on the wooden shelves and glass-front cabinets.
Bilwin ambles into the shop behind Dolor and immediately takes in a deep breath, “Ahhh, that’s a wonderful smell of freshly quarried limestone with a hint of lichen! Where is that coming from? Oh my goodness, are those vials floating? Look, they’re putting themselves to bed. How do they do that?”
On the other side of the store, much further than physics should allow it to be, given the front door’s proximity to Fucking Duck, stands a half-elven woman. Her silky black hair is filled with streaks of silver, parted at the center of her forehead, and falls in straight lustrous strands to her waist. Deep azure robes glide along her shoulders, drape around her arms and reach the floor—hidden behind the counter at which she stands.
“Wipe your feet.”
After dutifully cleaning their footwear on the fluffy welcome mat inside the door, the group meanders over to the counter along separate pathways, taking in the enticing merchandise.
“I am Maelis Varn, owner of The Gilded Glyph and scholar of innate esoteric arcane manipulations!”
Unsurprisingly, Bilwin is the first respond. “Oh, that sounds lovely! And important, too. But also lovely. I’m looking for a magic battle axe or hammer. You know, something that works better in battle than my hurdy-gurdy. Which I keep in its case when I’m smacking bad folk upside the head. But an axe would be better, don’t you think?”
Without any expression on her face, she looks over the dwarf for a solid minute, sizing him up. She retreats through a door behind the counter—presumably to a storeroom. An odd quiet emanates from within the unseen room, except for a single utterance. “Seriously, that’s where you went off to sulk. If sentience is going to make you so emotional and sullen, I’ll enchant another poleaxe. No warrior wants a mighty weapon that’s going to slink away and pout.”
Maelis returns to the counter holding a battle axe. It’s not pretty, by any means or from any perspective, but it appears to be solid and exactly the proper length for a dwarf of Bilwin’s size. “This is the only one I have at the moment, but it’s a good, sturdy axe that’ll bash in brains better and for longer than most. The enchantment gives you a boost with your attacks and the damage done.”
The cleric reaches over the counter to take the battle axe and feel its weight. One or two swings—carefully orchestrated to not break any other wares—reveal that it’s perfectly sized and weighted. “This is it, thanks!”
“Anything else for you fine folks?”
Grindlefoot is the last of the companions to leave the shop and enter the street. The purple-hued oak door to The Gilded Glyph swings closed silently and effortlessly. Maelis’ soft voice reaches them easily from inside, “Lovely doing business with you! Come back soon, and best of luck in the graveyard.”
The halfling is wearing a new item around his neck, the Collar of Breath and Blood. A deep red crystal is set into the plain, sturdy bronze collet—Dolor describes that as the cup that encloses the gem—and secured with a filigreed bezel around its outer edges. The Collar enhances Grindlefoot’s constitution, allows him to cast Enhance Ability - Bear’s Endurance once per long rest, and gain advantage when concentrating on his spells. Although his most noticeable acquisition, that wasn’t his only purchase from the arcane scholar. His favorite discovery was a Seed Pouch of Old Barrows, with magical seeds that yield healing herbs and a slightly strange hybrid fruit that can have random effects on whomever eats one. The bag refills with every cycle of the new moon. He’s anxious to find a safe spot to plant the first batch.
Dolor unconsciously twists a ring around his index finger as he takes in the mildly crowded street. The Signet Ring of Wyrmkind Favor is made of a dark gold and bears the insignia of an ancient, noble dragon. Ever the peacemaker and arbitrator of the group, the ring grants him additional charisma, compelling others to listen more attentively, whether through persuasion or intimidation.
Not only is Bilwin carrying a new battle axe, but the dwarf is garbed in magical chainmail, dubbed Ironbound Wardchain. If he ever takes a killing blow, the armor will pulse with a dull blue light and, most importantly, protect his life. Hanging from his shoulder is a satchel crafted from supple, midnight-blue leviathan leather, the seams reinforced with spun-silver thread that never frays, stitched in geometric runes that subtly shimmer in low light. Unbeknownst to onlookers, it’s a Bag of Holding that extends four feet deep and can hold up to 500 pounds. With a grin on his face, the dwarf pats the extradimensional pouch and wanders down the street.
The half-orc follows the dwarf at a deliberately slow pace, basically a strut. Her tusks fully visible with her wide smile. Her arms are bare, muscles rippling in the afternoon sunlight, while her torso and upper legs are covered by a sleeveless longcoat. She can will the sleeves to reappear whenever she wishes, but at the moment she prefers the bare-armed version. According to Maelis, she created the Vestment of the Bound Sigil from an arcane-enhanced fabric as strong as any set of chainmail, while much more stylish. The deep purple fabric shimmers as the barbarian moves, the glyphs woven beneath the surface seem translucent and move subtly within the fabric in ways that defy physics or logic. Once each day, if she’s attacked the coat’s sigils will flare and absorb a significant portion of the damage. Tempest Edge’s pommel protrudes only slightly from within the longcoat’s confines, within easy reach when necessary.
Mond stands still for a moment, flexing his back to stretch the taut muscles. After sitting in the arcane tattoo artist’s chair for two hours, his body is stiff and his back is sore. The magical quill used to create the tattoo wasn’t as painful as a knife, but only mildly less so. Across his upper back, from below the collar down to his waist and touching each shoulder blade, she drew an abstract dragon. Parts of the body and its surroundings glow when its activated, allowing him to cast Shield. If he receives a killing blow, the arcane tattoo will burst into draconic flames, assaulting all enemies within ten feet, while also preventing his own death. A plain satchel is draped across his mid-section, an inconspicuous Bag of Holding, unlike Bilwin’s extravagant choice.
The sorcerer quietly follows Bilwin and Gven heading southward, towards Neverdeath Graveyard. Dolor and Grindlefoot do likewise. Each of the companions quietly enjoying their recent magical purchases.