[Flashback] Gift With Purchase (Grot)

[Distortion]

Timestamp: XX Spring, 460 A.V. (Further date to be specified by Grot)

Alvadas is a city of twisting passages and secret places. A city of Illusions and mystery that made it easy for a person to get lost, even if the person in question was an eight foot tall Jamoura.

Which is how Grot found himself far removed from the bustle and noise of the main streets of Alvadas in a shadow dimmed alleyway less than a hand's breadth wider than his shoulders. Although he could hear the dull roar of the city's inhabitants going about their business somewhere in the distance behind him, a glance over his shoulder would reveal nothing but twisting alleyways behind him, even narrower than the one he now stood in, alleys that had not been there when he started.

A short distance ahead, the alley opened slightly to frame a pair of oak doors with drawn curtains pulled across the inside of the dust stained frosted glass windows set in their upper halves. Clearly visible despite the deepening gloom at the end of the alleyway, an orange lacquered placard hung above the doors, written in stylish purple letters, "Courous' Curious Curios".

[Grot]

Grumbling to himself Grot examined the alley behind him, "Blasted city, once more it confounds me."

Scratching his head, the Jamoura glanced up to the top of walls of the alley, which stretched unusually high over head so that the light of the sun was but a memory. Giving up the hope of climbing out, Grot turned once more to the doors of oak, examining them more closely. They were old looking. Much of the painted was either flacked or scrapped off, and several cracks had begun to appear in the aging panels and frame. The frosted glass on either side also bore marks of age, several cracks and breaks marked their surface, and the black curtains within looked as if moths had begun to have their way with them. The entire demeanor of the little shop (For Grot now assumed it was an old shop of sorts) spoke of age and neglect. All but the sign however.

Looking closer Grot noticed that the sign itself seemed very well taken care of. The wood seemed freshly carved, and the paint appeared only days old. The black lettering of the sign seemed to gleam despite the lack of light. His curiosity was piqued, Grot admited, but not so much that he would venture into such an old building.

"It could very well come tumbling down on my head come my first step accross its passageway. No, tis better to allow the dust to settle as it is." And with that Grot turned (after some work to fit his wide shoulders in the tight space) and began looking for some way out of the maze of walls and shadows. As he was gazing up trying to judge the distance to the top of the alley walls, the Jamoura flinched as he heard the creak of a door from behind. Turning as fast as the space would allow, Grot looked back at the old shop, but now the shop was old no longer.

It was as if the shop had shrugged off the ware of time much like a man removes his coat when entering his home. About the alley dust was beginning to settle anew, and the shop seemed as new as the day it was first built. Its windows were without a crack or break, and the Oaken doors had regained their old luster, fresh black paint seeming to have appeared on them. No sign of the old ware and tear remained but for a bit of dust that settled at the foot of the door step.

Scratching his head Grot took a step forward, warily at first. The door opened further, gliding on new hinges without a sound. It was dark within the shop, darker even than the alley outside. From within a cool breezes wafted past Grot's cheeks. A cough issued from the darkness, and a rasping voice issued, "Welcome to Courous' Curious Curios. Step in side and see what curiosities await thee."

[Distortion]

The exterior of the shop may have regained the youthful glow, shrugging off the weight of decades forgotten in the alley, but its contents had found no such rejuvenation. From within the gloom shrouded interior of the building wafted the scent of old paper and leather, and an undercurrent of something... else. A hint of a strange spice that defied identification. If he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness, Grot would be able to see the vague outlines of objects, laid out seeming haphazardly, through the now opened doors. With a dry shuffle, the darkness resolved itself into the outline of a man. The same rasping voice continued, with a sound akin to rustling leaves, "Do come in. You haven't found what you are looking for yet. If you had, you would not have come to Courous' shop, now would you? NoteI like what you did with the shop changing. Very similar to what I would have done. However, going forward, please leave control of the NPC to me.

[Grot]

Warily Grot Stepped forward into the shop, ducking under the doorframe and turning to fit his large shoulders inside. His eyes swept over the dusty interior, looking back and wondering at the illusion on the outside. He turned as he heard the rasping voice. His hair standing a bit on end, Grot squinted into the darkness, "What I am looking for? If that be why I have come then point me in the direction of the inn and I will have all that I require."

Though he would not say it, Grot felt an uneasy aura about the place. It was as if a will not of this world settled about the shop, much like the dust that settled on the merchandise. Casting his gaze around the Jamoura noticed the seemingly randomness of the items held within the shop. From great Grandfather clocks to miniature figurines, it seemed as if everything one could imagine could be found given enough effort. Looking back at the shadowed man Grot grunted deep in his throat, a grow enunciating his words (Mostly to hide his own uneasiness), "Why not join me in the light friend? The darkness tends to twist things more than they ought to be twisted, and I would see the face of who I am speaking with."

NoteWoops sorry about that. Im used to Rping live in game. Bear with me for a bit as I get used to not taking over plz. Ill get better as I go

[Distortion]

"Well, that's the question now, is it not?," the owner of the voice replied with a rattling laugh, "You wouldn't be here if all you wanted was a bed and a pint." With a clearly audible shuffling of feet, a tangle of shadows emerged from between two high shelves bearing an assortment of scraps of lace and revealed itself to be a man of average height, craning his neck to look up at the towering Jamoura. He was thin, gaunt even, with deeply recessed eyes, and his simple but well made clothing hung loosely on his frame, as though he had once carried much more weight. "No, he said, clasping his hands in front of him, "You are looking for something... specific. Don't worry though, you can find here." He unclasped his hands long enough to make a broad gesture encompassing the shelves to his sides and the bins behind him. It did indeed seem that, if Grot was looking for something, it could be found within this shop, hidden amongst the seemingly random jumble of odds and ends. Dimly lit glass bottles filled with incomprehensible liquids, bundles of herbs and dessicated flowers, dolls of every size and shape, articles of clothing from hats to boots to capes and cloaks. Almost invible in the low light of the room, far in the back, there were mannequins, dressed in elaborate costumes and each holding what appeared to be a musical instrument, ready to perform.

[Grot]

With a grunt Grot looked around the shop, taking in the merchandise in the dim light. He then raked his gaze over the man once more, nothing his thin frame and loose clothing. The Shop keepers gaunt features made him look like the aftermath of some horrid plague that had swept the land, of which he was the only victim.

His skin is pale and his features are sunken. Perhaps he is suffering from some form of disease? Grot sniffed the air for a moment, He does not posses the sent of death, though his appearance would suggest it. The shop keeper, noticing Grot's examination, gave the Jamoura a crooked smile (If it could be called a smile) and waved him along. With a sigh, Grot turned and made his way deeper in to the shop, turning his wide shoulders to fit between the shelves.

"Bah! What luck I have," Grumbled Grot, "What luck I have. The Eyes of Ionu must be on my this day to have ended up in a place such as this."

Picking up an old looking top hat Grot dusted it off and examined it, "There is naught but babbles and oddities in this place, and I am to find what I need? With a sigh the Jamoura continued on deeper into the shop until he reached the dimly lit back area. Just as he was about to turn he noticed the elaborately dressed mannequin and their array of musical instruments. His curiosity piqued, Grot stepped forward to examine them closer. He looked over each and every instrument, but none seemed to interest him overly much. As his gaze continued down the line the Jamoura suddenly noticed the mannequin all the way down on the far right. In its hands it held a violin. His curiosity overcoming his other judgements, Grot stepped closer to the mannequin, taking out his spectacles to examine it.

[Distortion]

"That's the secret of old Courous' shop, my boy," the shrunken shopkeeper replied with another dry chuckle, shuffling along slowly to keep pace with the towering Jamoura, "If you are really looking... it finds you." As he approached the mannequins, each armed with their own instrument, the Jamoura could hear a low rattle of movement and a faint musical chiming, more a memory than something truly heard. A closer inspection would reveal the human shaped figures in a slightly different position, as though they were preparing for a show rather than standing, lifeless and forgotten, in the back of a dimly lit shop. With his specatcles perched precariously atop his broad nose, Grot's closer inspection revealed what, to his eye at least, was a masterfully crafted violin. Still in an excellent condition despite a thin patina of dust, it was formed from a wood that was more orange than brown and had a tight, spiraling grain. Beneath the dust, the varnish was still bright, and the left and right sides of the body's face bore faint, almost invisible artistic carvings of flowing lines, unevenly spaced. "Ahh," the shopkeeper piped with a smile that seemed a trifle forced, his arms raised and hands out, as though to protect the violin from Grot, or perhaps the other way around, "That piece is one of a kind. You won't find its like anywhere else in the length and breadth of Mizahar. "

[Grot]

Grot adjusted his Spectacles as he examined the fine craftsmanship of the violin. It was indeed unlike anything he had ever seen before. The fine polish and the engravings all seemed to have withstood the test of time. Indeed, they all looked as if they had been crafted just the other day by the hands of a skilled maker. The fine layer of dust, however, seemed to suggest that it had been some time since the instrument was actually used.

Now, what is a fine work like this doing in such a place? Grot wondered to himself. The jamoura made as if to pick up the instrument, but stopped and turned to look at the shop keeper, "Tell me, what do you know of this instrument? Has it been here long, and who was its crafter?"

In the back of his mind Grot thought he could hear the chimes once more, echoing as if from some far off memory. Shaking his head he looked at the shop keep, "Also... what is its price?"

[Distortion]

When Grot picked up the violin, its masterfully carved form seeming small and very delicate in his huge hands, the shopkeeper winced visibly and then offered a small smile when the instrument remained unbroken. Clearing his throat with a dry rattle, he said, "That instrument has been here for over two years, waiting for the perfect performer to claim it. As for the maker," he looked away for a moment, seeming to survey his shop, before he grinned and said, "The creator was a master of his craft. Surely you can tell just from seeing the piece. Honestly, I am surprised you do not recognize the maker's mark." He studied Grot, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet and then back to his eyes, and the shopkeeper's friendly grin had sharpened, "And it is a steal, for only four hundred gold rimmed mizas."

[Grot]

Grot twisted his face into a look of distaste. 400 gold mizas? Grot shook his head, An outrageous price to pay on a whim such as this. Grot began to set the instrument back down, but the chiming began again in the back of his mind. With a growl of frustration, Grot turned the Violin over in his hands, examining the instrument from every angle

"Where is this mark you speak of?" Grot asked over his shoulder, "400 gold rimmed mizas is an outlandish price if I cannot see for myself the mark of its maker."

The Jamoura's eyes returned once more to the instrument. There was an itch in the back of his mind. Grot knew that he would leave with this instrument in his hands, but he was not convinced it was worth 400 gold mizas...