A sign bearing the image of a unicorn horn, an hourglass, and the words “Garwan’s Curiosities” hangs above a short wooden door on a cramped back-street of
As Amondor pushes open the door, the stale air of the room hits his nose and a mechanical bird leaves its perch above the inside of the door. It chirps and squawks as it takes a couple laps back into the store, announcing a customer. The mecha-bird swoops low over a young dwarf who makes a futile swipe at the creature while shouting “Poxed bastard!”
“Zark! Leave that be and get back to work,” a gravely voice carries from the back of the store. Zark adjusts his black leather vest in a huff and makes sure his belt of silver-hilted daggers is set just right before he continues pushing a floating disc filled high with plated armor towards a back room. He attempts a smile at Amondor, but it comes across more as a sneer.
From around a stack of embroidered cloth bolts, a white-bearded dwarf catches sight of Amondor. “Ahh, Master Celebrendal. So great to see you, I have found the, err, item you requested.” Zark’s ears visibly perk and his head turns at the mention.
As Amondor carefully weaves between precarious piles of most certainly expensive items, the morning sunlight dances through the potions in the window casting colored shadows across the wall.
“You have very specific and exquisite taste, Master Celebrendal. I had to call in more than one favor to get my hands on this little gem…” his had rests on a long, thin wooden case atop a counter. Inlaid gold leaf weaves a long, looping design in the cover and the corners are worn with age.
“Garwan, I assure you that you will be paid directly in proportion to the value of the item but not a coin more. My pockets are not a mine ripe for plunder.”
Garwan let’s out a sound of exasperation somewhere between and a “harumph” and a trumpeting of his lips as his stubby fingers fumble with the clasps of the wooden case. They spring open silently and the lid rises of its own accord, revealing a chamber much deeper than the height of the box. Inside, a longbow rests atop a stone base. At first, the bow appears to be nothing more than a fine wooden bow; but closer inspection reveals a surface free from imperfections and a slightly golden hue.
“The Bow of Hankin, origins unknown.” Amondor leans in for a closer look.
The case slams shut and Garwan leans on it from his stool perch behind the counter.
Without breaking eye contact with Garwan, Amondor unshoulders his bow and leans it against the counter. Next to the case he piles 3 heavy sacks, ringing of coins, and some magical nick-nacks. “This should be enough to buy a ship, man it with a crew, and sail it off the edge of the world should you desire it.”
Garwan relinquishes his grip on the wooden case and peeks into one of the sacks. Finding it to his liking, he nods to the elf. “Pleasure doing business, keep Garwan’s in mind the next time you’re in nee–” Garwan is cut short with a cringe as a loud crash is heard from the back room. Through the open doorway a wooden shield rolls and a couple fish come flopping in search of a larger puddle.
As Amondor lets himself out the front door, he can hear Garwan laying into the younger dwarf for his carelessness. Amondor smiles.