Welcome to "Mortimer's General Shop, Curiosities & Curses," the most decrepit yet oddly enchanting establishment in the bustling fishing town of Ebonside. As you approach, the shop's weathered sign swings precariously in the salty breeze, creaking out a mournful tune. Most of the letters have worn off, leaving only " eneral Sh p" clearly visible. The building itself appears to have survived centuries of relentless storms, with its timeworn wooden façade sagging under the weight of age. The windows, smeared with a film of mist and grime, cast a dim and eerie glow, revealing the shadowy secrets held within.

Upon crossing the threshold, the air becomes heavy with a mix of musty books, dried herbs, and a faint aroma of brine. Shelves lined with crooked, dusty artifacts jut out from the walls, and old tapestries drape the corners, hiding whatever lies behind them. Dimly flickering candles provide the primary source of light, their feeble glow dancing along the walls like restless spirits.

In the center of the room, you'll find the enigmatic proprietor, Mortimer Nightshade. Clad in a tattered velvet robe, Mortimer stands hunched over a gnarled counter, as if bearing the weight of the shop's centuries-old secrets. His long, silvery hair cascades over his shoulders, partially obscuring his pale, gaunt face. His eyes, a piercing shade of violet, seem to hold a thousand tales of forbidden knowledge.

Mortimer's voice is a low, gravelly whisper that seems to emanate from the very depths of the earth. He greets you with a knowing smile, revealing crooked teeth stained with age. His bony fingers beckon you closer, and you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as he gestures to the curiosities he's collected over the years.

Among the items on display are peculiar trinkets from distant corners of Ralan Gul, bones of unknown creatures, faded maps to forgotten treasures, and vials filled with mysterious liquids that shimmer with unnatural colors. Mortimer's extensive collection of spell components and occult tomes rests in the darkest corner, beckoning those who seek the secrets of the arcane.

"H- H- He-" Archimander clears his throat. "Salutations. I am Archimander Quintillius Effluvient, part of the team assembled to investigate the strange craft offshore."

Archimander's voice wobbles slightly as he begins, but gradually gains in strength.

"I am in the process of gathering ingredients for either a potion of fortitude, or some similar variation of smelling salts, sufficient to quell the nauseating aura reported to occur around the ship. Here is a list of the ingredients I would need." Archimander hands Mortimer the scrap of paper: "I have listed the primary ingredients I need, as well as any possible viable substitutions, depending on resource availability. Do you have any of these in stock?" Archimander's voice trails upwards as he finishes, looking expectantly at Mortimer.

"Additionally," Archimander pauses, as though thinking of a side thought, "would you happen to have any scrolls of comprehend languages, detect thoughts, tongues, polypurpose panacea, or perceive cues?"

The aged mage extends a hand in your direction. "Ah, Salutations, Archimander Quintillius Effluvient, a pleasure to make your acquaintance amidst the mysteries that swirl around us. Your quest for the means to temper the unsettling forces that emanate from the offshore vessel has brought you to my humble emporium of enigmas. Allow me to peruse the parchment you present, and I shall reveal the secrets of my inventory." He takes the parchment from you an examines it closely.

"For the concoction you seek – the potion of fortitude or its kin of aromatic respite – the arcane ingredients you require do indeed grace the shelves of Mortimer's General Shop, Curiosities & Curses. Behold, for I possess the following mystical essences:

Aetherian Moonpetals: The silvery blossoms harvested beneath the radiant glow of a full Aetherian moon. They bring a touch of ethereal resilience to any brew.

Ebonroot Extract: This dark root, plucked from the depths of the shadowy Ebonwood Forest, imparts a sense of grounding and stability to the potion.

Mistveil Ectoplasm: Gathered from the lingering mists of the ethereal realm, this substance enhances the potion's ability to soothe the senses.

Starfire Crystals: These rare crystals, found only in the heart of the Astral Peaks, lend a shimmering luminescence to the mixture, guiding one's inner strength.

Siren's Tears: The crystalline tears shed by ancient sea sirens, imbued with the power to ward off the effects of eldritch disturbances.

Fear not, for I possess each of these precious ingredients and shall willingly provide them to you in your noble endeavor. As for the scrolls you inquired about, I have a variety of intriguing items that may pique your interest, though a twist of fate has woven an irksome enchantment into my Ring of Comprehend Languages. Should you choose to don this ring, be prepared for a most peculiar experience – understanding shall be yours, but at the cost of an ever-so-slight tickling sensation that dances upon your skin.

However, regarding scrolls, I must regrettably inform you that my current collection does not include the specific ones you seek, though my inventory tends to evolve as the tides of fate shift and wane. Is there anything else, perhaps, that might catch your attention amidst the myriad curiosities displayed within these timeworn walls?"

As Mortimer mentions the tickling sensation, Archimander shudders.

"I'll pass on the ring - sounds just a tad bit uncomfortable. However, how much does each of the ingredients cost per gram or milliliter? Otherwise, I think that will be all for the moment. I'll see if any of my compatriots might be able to make use of the ring, though."

Archimander sets his pack down and begins to rummage through for his coinpurse in anticipation
This message was last edited by the player at 17:36, Wed 16 Aug 2023.

Mortimer responds slowly. "I don't recall mentioning a price. No, this is just my civic duty." He busies himself collecting the ingredients in appropriate containers.

15:10, Today: The GM, on behalf of Archimander Q. Effluvient, rolled 33 using 1d20+19 ((14)).

Subtle as a sneeze, you can clearly see the old mage slip a small silver ring into the pouch he puts all the ingredients into. "Here you go, young man. I won't hear a word of refusal. Now shoo, I have cleaning to do." He begins to wave his hands at you, clearly intending for you to leave. Why he is suddenly so concerned with cleanliness is anyone's guess, since this shop looks like it was last dusted sometime before your father was born.

"I-" Archimander looked up, gobsmacked. "Well, thank you."

Seeing Mortimer gesturing him on his way, he gathers his packand sets off towards the door.

"Of course. I understand. Cleanliness is next to oddliness, and all that stuff. Anywho, should my calculations work, I'll inform you of the success. Cheers"

With a jaunty wave and a nod, he steps out the door and begins to make his way back. Before he reaches the inn, he pulls the ring out of the bag and inspects it

[Private to GM: Appraise check 29 (nat 20), knowledge: arcana 18]

With a shocked look, he then changes his grip on the ring, holding it just between his thumb and forefinger, shuddering. "Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:09, Thu 17 Aug 2023.

It is for sure magical, and you are fairly certain that it does indeed grant a continuous Comprehend Languages effect, but just the slight contact with your fingers makes your whole hand feel as if tiny delicate insects we crawling around on it. It would be much harder to concentrate on anything with that on your finger.

With great restraint, Archimander drops the ring back in his pack. As the ring disappears into the bag, his body contorts in one final spasm, traveling up his legs and back, and down his arms, ending at his splayed fingers.

He slung the pack onto his back and set off on the way back to the inn, jerking every few steps. Once he reaches the inn doors, he takes a deep breath and steps back inside