((
Your call how you want to post it. I have to write up there next part, so it'll at least give everyone something to read in there interim.
It'll give everyone something to read, as well as trust issues directed at Galen for sure. Black magics and all in this story.
But here it is, a walk through parts of Galen's stay in Bellows, even broken into three separate sections
)
((
A Venture into the Artisans Quarter))
Once the party has settled in for their stay in Bellows, has acquired and distributed a greater store of funds, and has had a chance to talk things over, Galen hits the streets. His first order of business is to see to his bow. While well-used, it remains in good condition, but such maintenance is not quite what he has in mind. Galen makes his way to the Artisans Quarter, examining each shop or stand he passes and trying to get a feel of the most reliable of the peddlers of magical enchantments.
”You," states a hoarse voice from behind him. ”You with the curvy stick."
Galen turns around to find a small shop –just a room within a larger building, opened up with a wide, uncovered window with a hinged shelf in strangely the exact same dimensions as the window itself– manned by what appears to be a young man with wild blonde hair. ”Yeah, you," the man says nonchalantly in his raspy voice. ”You're the one. I know exactly what you are looking for, even if you don't know yet yourself." He ducks below the opening and rummages through the piles of objects that fill the space.
”You–" Galen begins before he is cut off as the man rises with a finger held up to silence him.
”See here." The shop's keeper drones, indicating a thick blue cloth in his hand. ”This is a headband of great power: when worn over one's eyes, it magically afflicts the bearer with temporary blindness."
”But why do I want such a thing?" Galen questions.
”Why, because unsight is a rare gift," his new acquaintance explains: ”With this headband, you can prevent yourself from seeing horrible sights that you cannot bear; you can face the sun directly and not go blind; you can even hide from monsters simply by not seeing them." The man's face never changes as he speaks, and his lips hardly move as the words escape his mouth. ”This is truly a wonder, good sir with the curvy stick. Truly a wonder indeed."
”I am sorry," Galen says carefully, ”but my curvy stick relies on my sight, and, using my sight, it protects me, and more importantly, it protects my friends. If I cannot see, my curvy stick cannot see, and if my curvy stick cannot see, everyone will die, and my curvy stick will fall into a great, dark sadness. It, also, will not be able to see, as I cannot see if I am dead." Galen looks very seriously at the man. ”You would not want that, would you?"
”No, good sir with the curvy stick, you are right: your curvy stick must be able to see. I understand." The man's face remains unchanged. ”If I may, I will offer you instead a flask of water that will take away your thirst for five minutes."
”As intriguing as that sounds," Galen answers, ”I have something else I would like."
The man looks at Galen expectantly.
”Silence sounds really good right now."
The man lifts a finger and disappears below sight. When he returns, he is holding a glass jar.
”The Silent Jar," he says. ”It holds no noise inside, and it releases its silence when opened."
”Uh huh." Galen says. He hums for a few seconds, acting as though deep in thought. ”Yeah, I think we're done here."
Galen continues on his way, and the man calmly says as he leaves, ”Maybe another time, good sir with the curvy stick." Galen does not intend to offer the man another time.
Having had this encounter, Galen decides to expedite his decision-making and, no longer intending to look at too many more possibilities, he finds a place that appears reasonable. He enters the building and finds himself in a room with soft, light blue carpeting, plain walls, a couple chairs sitting in a corner, and a counter running from one wall all the way to the other side. On a small cushion at the end of the counter lies a bronze-colored lizard, sleeping, and behind the counter –opposite the lizard– is an open doorway to another room. The room Galen is in is well-lit by a chandelier spinning slowly about a foot away from the ceiling.
He walks up to the counter, pulling out his bow and holding it at his side. Nothing happens, and he gets ready to knock on the surface before him so as to signal his presence, but, as he does so, a woman hurriedly strides out from the other room, head down, fiddling with some object in her hands. Her burgundy robe billows about her legs, and her chestnut hair is unkempt. On her shoulder is perched what appears to be a small, pale blue dragon, and a pair of glasses with nearly rectangular lenses rests atop her head. She can be heard muttering to herself as she walks.
Suddenly, she stops, silent, and slowly turns toward Galen, raising her gaze to look at him. She blinks a couple times before quickly shoving the object onto a shelf below the counter.
”Sorry about that," she apologizes. ”Servi normally–" She stops when she looks at the lizard off to the side. ”Is sleeping." She takes a deep breath. ”Is there something you're looking for?" She pauses before remembering that, perhaps, it might be a good idea to continue. ”We– I mostly deal with enhancing... magical enhancements to otherwise generally mundane objects." She looks him up and down before adding, ”That is what you're looking for, yes?"
Galen lifts his bow and places it on the counter. ”I'm just looking for something to add to this," he explains.
The woman reaches for the longbow, pausing to look at him for permission, and picks it up. She pulls her glasses in front of her eyes and examines the bow through their sapphire lenses. Once she has looked at it, she returns her attention to Galen. ”Maybe you would like it to send forth projectiles that scream gibbering nonsense at a target in Draconic?" she asks excitedly, a grin appearing on her face.
Galen shakes his head. ”I'm afraid not," he answers. ”I am looking for something decidedly more useful in these times." The woman behind the counter gives him a disappointed look, and he continues. ”After the recent events in Telmur, my traveling companions and I have run into a couple difficulties along the road, and it nearly ended in one of our deaths. I need to be able to prevent a repeat of that near tragedy."
He receives a nod in response. ”Understood. Brutes are taking advantage of the chaos that has erupted from the city's crushing destruction and are waylaying groups of armed travelers." A pause. ”I don't think arrows can be made to heal the target."
Galen smiles. ”No, and I don't think a couple of my companions would be too thrilled to be that target.
Maybe something for a powerful enemy." He pauses before asking, ”Something anti-mage?"
The woman cocks her head to the side, mouthing silent syllables as she thinks. She puts the bow down.
”Anti-mage?"
”Possibly."
”And maybe Draconic gibbering nonsense? Perhaps with a code word?"
”Maybe another time."
”A sparkling trail of color behind the arrows?"
”Is a trail to where they come from. Probably not the most useful."
”Just something anti-mage?" She places her elbow on the counter, resting her cheek in her palm.
”For now, at least."
”Tea?"
”Pardon?" Galen gives a quizzical look.
”Would you like some tea?"
”Not right now, thank you."
She sighs, pulling a few papers out onto the counter and looking at them quickly. ”It looks like Anti-mage will cost you five-hundred gold coins. That's okay with you?"
”It'll be acceptable."
The woman's eyes suddenly go wide, and she stands up straight, thrusting out her arm toward Galen.
”I'm terribly sorry!" she exclaims, ”We never introduced ourselves. Ariadine Ven."
Galen accepts the offered hand and shakes it. ”Galen."
She smirks. ”I'll get to work on your bow. Come by tomorrow."
Galen makes it out of the building alive; he's certainly seen stranger. He makes his way to the mercantile district, where he picks out a specific shop to visit.
((
Traveler's Stop))
The inside of the store has seemingly random tools and merchandise strewn around the floor and shelves, and a large, pale-skinned man greets him as he enters. ”Good day," the man drawls, ”and welcome to
Travelers' Stop, the stop for all your traveler needs. What may I help you with, traveler?"
”I'm here to speak with your boss, Mr..." Galen trails off.
”Carlos," the man offers. ”Carlos Smidgen."
”Mr. Smidgen. I am here to speak with your boss."
”I am sorry, traveler, but he is unavailable. Perhaps you would like to leave me with a message?"
”Very well," says Galen. ”Please inform him that–"
The two are interrupted by an excited voice. ”Galen!" it cries. ”Galen Keene! I thought I shouldn't be seeing you again." A small gnome scurries out from the back, stopping before Galen. ”Thought you'd turn up dead. Food for the foxes for sure." The gnome glances around, as though he expects someone might join them. ”What can I do you for? Always happy to help you big folk." A pause as Carlos experiences the exchange, shocked. ”You've gotten older," the gnome adds.
Galen crosses his arms and slowly shakes his head. ”You certainly do have an imagination, Ostad. Food for the foxes." The gnome looks like he might interject, but Galen continues. ”As it turns out, I've found myself in a bit of an odd situation," he explains. ”You see, with a large structure falling from the sky and crushing an important city" –Galen gives a sidelong, fleeting look at Carlos– ”I've need to prepare for winter. You can help me with that, right? A few sets of good, warm clothes –as warm as you've got– and several blankets?"
The gnome, Ostad, shakes his head violently, trying to sort things out. ”A large structure is creating winter?"
”Not quite. I need to prepare for winter."
”All right, all right. Not my place to question your madness."
”I also need a special set of winter clothing," Galen adds. ”Something large. Think like a horse, but longer legs and a much longer neck. Make it majestic."
The gnome looks at him with a blank face. ”An odd request."
Galen nods. ”I will also be needing a yurt. Ten occupant. My size."
The gnome now looks at him like he's gone mad. ”Whatever could you need a party-size tent for?"
”Yurt. Camping with the elves."
”Camping with the elves? In a tent? The old man's mad. Elves don't camp. What manner of crazy story did he come up with this time? Flying goblins?"
”Flying goblins on horseback, I'm afraid." Galen laughs. ”Always one for stories, now isn't he?" Before the gnome can answer, Galen returns to business: ”I could also use a walking stick."
((
Artisans Quarter: Redux))
The next day, after Galen has added to and sent a certain letter –requiring another trip to visit a bewildered gnome– he makes his way carefully through the Artisans Quarter, making certain to avoid the area where he had been introduced to a little shop of oddities.
He enters Ariadine's shop and finds her seated behind the counter, hair straight and pulled back, petting her miniature dragon, and his bow waiting on the counter's surface. She looks up with a bright smile, glasses nowhere to be seen. ”Mr. Galen!" she greets him, rising to her feet with her dragon still in hand. ”As you can see, your bow is ready."
Galen crosses over to the counter. ”I do see. Five-hundred, was it?"
Ariadine nods. ”I do believe so." Her bronze colored lizard climbs up onto the counter, looks at Galen, and begins scurrying across the counter's surface, leaping over the bow with smoke trailing from its mouth.
Galen pulls out the payment, already counted, and hands it over. As he does so, Ariadine places a hand in front of the small dragon in her arms. ”Careful. Aris bites."
After being encouraged to come back for repeat business, Galen once again makes it out alive, and, as he walks away from the building, he hears a sudden thud from a nearby wall, and a raspy voice behind him calmly states, ”Good sir with the curvy stick. It is good to see you again."
((Looking at this again, I clearly need some manner of help.
Or Galen needs to get out more.))