The Spoils of War [Closed]
Posted: November 10th, 2019, 7:33 am
(( A shop buried in the back alleys of Verdant Row, with an... "eclectic" inventory, a confused shopkeep, and a compact layout. Simon's been busy following up on a tip for a book of peculiar importance, acting quickly in case of possible competition - such as from fellow book-delver, @Edward Sterling. ))
It had been near impossible to find the place; for starters, it lacked any kind of signage denoting the building as a place of trade - only a very creatively dressed mannequin soliciting in the window, wherein the storekeep forgot what clothes were appropriate for the season midway through and invented a couple extras. Such as the upside-down basket for a hat, or the arrangement of pan flutes filling in for a skirt.
The second inconvenience of the shop had been the spacious layout: either the owner was expecting a massive influx of inventory in the next few days or she had completely forgotten to order display furniture, instead opting to pile all the items in exactly half of the shop. The eastern half, to be precise. The western half was as vacant as a bordello on orc night, with an imaginary line demarcating the middle that even rugs wouldn't cross, the few that should instead arranged to fold over themselves and remain on their side.
The end result was a catastrophic hodge-podge lacking any rhyme or reason, tea mixes packed in between gauntlets leaning against potions balanced on chairs aligned against paintings wrapped in scarves and decorated with a smattering of randomly-sized spoons - well and truly, just an utterly chaotic mess. It was no wonder that it had taken forever for any sightings of the book to reach Simon; it seemed entirely reasonable that the blasted thing had simply been buried here for years, not stolen away or locked up in collections.
He had been spending the better part of an hour just sifting through all the odds and ends of the far corner of the shop, having finally worked through everything tucked away in an old chestnut dresser. Spoiler alert: most of it was junk. The most interesting item in that particular pile had been a charm bracelet tagged with a hand-written note that read, "Greater Ward of Fish Concerns," which honestly only lingered in Simon's mind for the sheer absurdity of it. Was it supposed to be anti-anxiety jewellery for marine life? Or maybe it was to cure a land-dweller of their icthyophobia? And most importantly, what in the frozen reaches was a lesser ward of fish concerns?!
The ue'drahc was still slightly pondering the thought as he worked on a new pile, moving baskets of swimwear sprinkled with jars of preserved small animals as he made his way to the bottom of the mountain. He had tried to ask the shopkeep earlier for help, inquiring as to where he might find the book collection. She had merely shrugged, and smiled, and said, "I like the talkative pictures too," only to grab his wrist and hover near his ear - a feat that in itself took the tall researcher by surprise! - and added, "But don't believe the blue covers - they are not on sale today."
Needless to say, the draconic book-finder had not sought out her wisdom again, and proceeded to find his treasure the old-fashioned way. He tossed aside an assortment of black boxes, all of which seemed to be marked from a limited run of pocket watches and finally found the bottom of the pile: a perplexing portrait of an elderly lumeacian who was evidently still very proud of his birthday suit. And, no, the fruit bowl he was posing with did not cover what it needed to.
What he wouldn't give to have the fish bracelet consuming his thoughts again...
Understandably dumping all the idol-embroidered throw pillows back on top of that cursed heap, Simon paused a moment to rub at his eyes beneath the glasses, doing what he could to empty his mind and reignite his will to brave the depths of the curious shop again. After all, was a long-lost tome of forgotten enchantments written by a possible-genius,-possible-crackpot really worth this kind of sacrifice...?
And then he spied it: one of the boxes of watches he had tossed out before wasn't quite the same shape as the others and lacked any enumerations. It was a black-bound book with no title cover hidden in the sea of camouflage, and only very faintly engraved along the spine, 1001 Rituals by Uliri Morro.
(( Abstract Advicing Shopkeep: #b3090c ))
It had been near impossible to find the place; for starters, it lacked any kind of signage denoting the building as a place of trade - only a very creatively dressed mannequin soliciting in the window, wherein the storekeep forgot what clothes were appropriate for the season midway through and invented a couple extras. Such as the upside-down basket for a hat, or the arrangement of pan flutes filling in for a skirt.
The second inconvenience of the shop had been the spacious layout: either the owner was expecting a massive influx of inventory in the next few days or she had completely forgotten to order display furniture, instead opting to pile all the items in exactly half of the shop. The eastern half, to be precise. The western half was as vacant as a bordello on orc night, with an imaginary line demarcating the middle that even rugs wouldn't cross, the few that should instead arranged to fold over themselves and remain on their side.
The end result was a catastrophic hodge-podge lacking any rhyme or reason, tea mixes packed in between gauntlets leaning against potions balanced on chairs aligned against paintings wrapped in scarves and decorated with a smattering of randomly-sized spoons - well and truly, just an utterly chaotic mess. It was no wonder that it had taken forever for any sightings of the book to reach Simon; it seemed entirely reasonable that the blasted thing had simply been buried here for years, not stolen away or locked up in collections.
He had been spending the better part of an hour just sifting through all the odds and ends of the far corner of the shop, having finally worked through everything tucked away in an old chestnut dresser. Spoiler alert: most of it was junk. The most interesting item in that particular pile had been a charm bracelet tagged with a hand-written note that read, "Greater Ward of Fish Concerns," which honestly only lingered in Simon's mind for the sheer absurdity of it. Was it supposed to be anti-anxiety jewellery for marine life? Or maybe it was to cure a land-dweller of their icthyophobia? And most importantly, what in the frozen reaches was a lesser ward of fish concerns?!
The ue'drahc was still slightly pondering the thought as he worked on a new pile, moving baskets of swimwear sprinkled with jars of preserved small animals as he made his way to the bottom of the mountain. He had tried to ask the shopkeep earlier for help, inquiring as to where he might find the book collection. She had merely shrugged, and smiled, and said, "I like the talkative pictures too," only to grab his wrist and hover near his ear - a feat that in itself took the tall researcher by surprise! - and added, "But don't believe the blue covers - they are not on sale today."
Needless to say, the draconic book-finder had not sought out her wisdom again, and proceeded to find his treasure the old-fashioned way. He tossed aside an assortment of black boxes, all of which seemed to be marked from a limited run of pocket watches and finally found the bottom of the pile: a perplexing portrait of an elderly lumeacian who was evidently still very proud of his birthday suit. And, no, the fruit bowl he was posing with did not cover what it needed to.
What he wouldn't give to have the fish bracelet consuming his thoughts again...
Understandably dumping all the idol-embroidered throw pillows back on top of that cursed heap, Simon paused a moment to rub at his eyes beneath the glasses, doing what he could to empty his mind and reignite his will to brave the depths of the curious shop again. After all, was a long-lost tome of forgotten enchantments written by a possible-genius,-possible-crackpot really worth this kind of sacrifice...?
And then he spied it: one of the boxes of watches he had tossed out before wasn't quite the same shape as the others and lacked any enumerations. It was a black-bound book with no title cover hidden in the sea of camouflage, and only very faintly engraved along the spine, 1001 Rituals by Uliri Morro.
(( Abstract Advicing Shopkeep: #b3090c ))