The perfume of this shop shocks your senses. There is a heady mix of the scents, from sweet flowers and bitter herbs dangling from the ceiling, while jars of unknown powders that line the shelves no doubt add new notes with each breath you take. The proprietor isn’t immediately obvious, but the circular grinding sound of a mortar and pestle come through a curtain that hangs in the doorway behind the counter.

The following items are on display with the following marked prices:

6 Healing potions 50 GL
1 Potion of Greater healing 400 GL
2 Potions of Heroism 200 GL
1 Potion of Superior Healing 600 GL
2 Potions of Fire Breath 200 GL
1 Potion of Climbing 250 GL
1 Scroll of Charm Person 150 GL
2 Scroll of Protection from good and evil 150 GL

The morning after they arrived back, Thromm stumbles into the shop cursing the sunlight. "Bloody thing. Now I know why honest, ale-loving folk live underground, eh?" Slowly growing as he approached the counter, Thromm's smile was radiant by the time he arrived there. He belched loudly and waved away the smell now invading his nose, "My apologies, I apparently ate an entire jar of pickled eggs last night. The morning's revenge has been most unpleasant. Ahem. Now, I happen to adventure with a lot of folks for whom the word reckless does no justice. Now, being of the clerical persuasion, I do what I can, but it is proving taxing to say the least."

Another noxious belch caused the dwarf to turn a bit green in the gills and he turned away for a second, "Hanseath have mercy, whatever human invented pickling needs to be thanked right before he is lashed through the streets. Honestly, how can food that delicious produce such airs?" Another shallow belch and then the dwarf returned to his task, "Anyway, I see that you have scrolls. Do you perchance produce them yourself? I don't have the knack myself. I was wondering if, should I provide the spellcasting elements, we might find a deal on some scrolls of healing magic? I'd even be willing to do a bit of extra work so you might be able to sell some to the local constabulary." The dwarf then grinned. You didn't become a successful brewer just by knowing your malts and hops.

The old lady let the dwarf explore his thoughts on nature of pickled produce.  She continued to work on grinding her potion components.  When Thromm moves on to a topic of interest she shuffles over to speak to him.  Yes, I can or should I say could produce scrolls.  But alas no longer.  A year or so ago I had a foolish apprentice who thought they would run of with some adventures into the caves.  Those poor souls never came back.""  Maven said to Thromm.  When she looked at him, he could see that her eyes were almost completely white with cataracts.
"Now you are probably wondering why my way ward apprentice would cause in me an in ability to write my magics down.  Well Aradia took my quill with her, no idea why she would take that with her, but she did.  So my good dwarf, I can not produce any more scrolls for you."

Thromm's face went blank at the mention of the caves, though he suspected there was more to the not being able to write, but any reasons to hate goblins were welcome in his breast. "Aye, tis the lot of the young to be brash and to believe completely in their own immortality. My pap thumped that nonsense out of my head early. Set me to cooking barley about as soon as I could walk. Nothing like the smells of brewing ale in your clothes day in and day out to dissuade anyone of their grandiosity." Thromm chewed the words he had heard a bit more then grinned broadly.

"As to your predicament, well then, lucky day, my companions and I are of the adventuring persuasion and planned to clear those wretched caves. The only good goblin is a dead one, I always say. So, should I upon your quill or another of its ilk, I'll just fetch it back to you. Was there anything special about the quill so I might know it upon seeing it? Also, any ways I might identify young Aradia?" Thromm waited patiently for her reply while also gathering a small supply of healing potions.

"He will be buying 4 healing potions from Maven.

"Your pappy didn't thump you hard enough if you are out here asking for healing magics.  No good comes from the seeking of fortune in caves and ruins.  Aria is a halfling bright red hair, and such are the little ones afraid of naught.  She was a good girl, as for the quill it was crafted from the feather of a young phoenix.  You will know it if you see it.  It shimmers back and forth from yellow to red."  The Mistress said with her smile fading as she remembered her lost apprentice.

"Aye, that's true enough. I spect he's rolling in his tomb ta know the last of his line's galivanting about on the surface using an axe for something other than trees. Then again, there's little that he or my clan can do about it. I'll join them ere long, but not before sending every last greenskin I can lay hands on ahead of me." Thromm hocked the spit the foulness from his mouth but then spied Maven and thought better of it. He glanced around for a spitoon, but seeing none, swallowed his pride.

Harrumphing solidly, he nodded to her and committed the descriptions to memory, "I'll broach the topic with my group. There's no sense being about the work we are if'n we can't help folks along the way. I'll take these four potions then, for now, along with the promise that you'll let me help you out a bit around the shop now and again long as I'm here. I know not one whit of potion-making but I know the basics of brewing right enough."

Nthanda enters with Zenphar, carrying the staff of bird calls.  Waving her hand around she looks at Thromm with an amused, if disgusted, expression.  "Master Thromm, you've outdone yourself this time," she says.  Holding up the staff, her nose still wrinkled from the smell, she addresses Mistress Maven.  "I was told you purchase enchanted items; this is a Staff of Birdcalls we recently acquired, slightly used," she says offering it in case she would like to inspect it.

Zenphar follows Nthanda into the shop, but stops at the entrance still holding the door open.

"Gods Thromm! Your stench is worse than rotting goblin in summer!"

The elf holds the door open in hopes of clearing the air in the shop.

Eventually he braves the stench to enter. While Nthanda negotiates with Maven, Zenphar looks around at wares for sale. His eyes light up at the sight of the two potions of healing.

Once Maven is finished with Nthanda, Zenphar approaches her, "Mistress Maven, I will take those two potions of healing."

---

100 gold lions deducted

Concluding her business Nthanda gives Mistress Maven a parting farewell and then leaves the shop.  As she does she turns to Zenphar (and Thromm?).  "What is our next move?  Return to the caves?  There are goblins and hobgoblins there at least to deal with," she says, in her mind predicting Thromm's approval of such a plan.

The old lady ran her hand along the enchanted staff, "This is a cute item my dear.  I will give you one hundred lions."

Thromm grumped grumpily as he was interrupted in his conversation. "Rudeness seems in the offing. Here I was conversating and you just had to interrupt!" He tapped his toes a couple times them his face cracked and he split open in a belly shaking laugh.

He watched Zenphar purchase the last two potions and raised an eyebrow, "Between you and I, Zenphar, we'll have purchased her entire stock. I do hope the local guards are not in need of them?" he directed the question to Maven. Then he chuckled at nodded to Nthanda's suggestion, "Aye, before the interruption, maven was just telling me of a party of adventurers, including her own wayward apprentice, that disappeared into those tunnels. The apprentice absconded with Mistress Maven's quill what she needs for scroll work. I was just offering our services in seeing about it."

He then turned to the proprietor again, "Ahem, as I was saying, we'd be glad to help, if'n you might have any more information or know who might? That cave system is quite large after all. Might help to know where to start."

"Don't worry about the guards, I will have another batch ready soon for them.  As for where in the caves to start, I an not sure. In the lead up to Aradia's ill fated adventures she spoke of hairy goblinoid."  The mistress said to Thromm as she found the coin to give to Nthanda.

Frowning darkly, Thromm twined his fingers into his whiskers and considered the clue. "A party of young adventurers seem to me to be seeking out bugbears?" He looked to Zenphar incredulously, "Are the young that foolish? Does 'hairy goblinoid' make sense as bugbears or is there some wooly variant of goblins I know not of?"

"Hairy goblin sounds like a bugbear to me, Thromm. As to why some inexperienced adventurers would go after them, my guess would be treasure and fame. Same as most adventurers."

Their business with Mistress Maven complete, Zenphar suggests, "Let's meet with the others, at the Dancing Goat. We can discuss divvy up coins, and discuss our next foray over a mid-day meal."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:12, Fri 15 July 2022.