Field of the Dead - Shoppe of Forgotten Mementos

[Kaeldre]

The woman steps inside the building and starts to survey the wares in silence. She stops by a pair of gloves and looks back up at the shopkeeper."This pair has piqued my interest, what can you tell me of them?"

/// The gloves in question is Inebriated.

[Selande]

The woman steps inside the building and starts to survey the wares in silence. She stops by a pair of gloves and looks back up at the shopkeeper."This pair has piqued my interest, what can you tell me of them?"

The shopkeeper looks over to the item. She takes a long, slow sip from her goblet of wine before answering. "An interesting choice." She holds her goblet infront of her as she examines it coincidentally.

"Those once belonged to a most talented and exotic musician. It is said that she would perform frequently at taverns, often for only a meal and drink."

The cloaked woman swirls the goblet of wine.

"It is a very long story with a sobering ending. To cut it short, she drew the attention of mercenaries who hired her. She was first paid for her services then in turn paid for her services. Mercenaries barter in gold and blood, after all."

The woman fills her goblet from the large bottle again. "Afraid those gloves are likely all that remains."

"She never was suited for taverns anyways." The shopkeeper takes another sip.

[LISA100595]

*The Morninglord Loriah has strangely been absent from the Crypts the past few days.*

[Kaeldre]

Yet again her lips curl up underneath the hood. "Perhaps not the most pleasant of tales, but strangely I feel intrigued." The woman opens one of her smaller pouches, and looks up at the shopkeeper. "For what coin could I acquire the pair?"

[Wrecks]

Several paces from the entrance of the ruin, Blackthorne waves his hand and snaps into visibility. He removes a hooded cloak that covers his pieced together set of armor and neatly places it in a backpack. He unrolls a crudely draw map that was stashed inside his glove, scanning for landmarks and estimating the distance he has traveled from Baldur's Gate. Yes this has to be the right place. He quickly tucks his map in the backpack and slings it over his shoulders. His face shows a blank stare as he quietly recounts a conversation explaining who is likely inside and an item he was told might still be in her possession. Suddenly he snaps out of his concentration when he hears a sweet melody emanating from inside the ruin. His handsome young face shows both joy and relief to know that the halfling he spoke to at the campfire outside the Friendly Arm Inn had so accurately lead him to the correct location. He silently echoes the woman's name inside his head in preparation of the meeting. The slow walk to the entry way is as loud as he can manage, not wanting to startle anyone inside. Blackthorne steps inside and comes to a sudden stop when he spots the woman sitting atop a stone step, head down and writing in her large tome. When she does not immediately look up he clears his throat and in a friendly voice speaks "Lady Zeda?"

[Bad Omens]

A woman materializes upon a moonlit hilltop where there had seemed only the shadows of passing clouds prior. The slender figure is adorned in silver mithral armor, a silver cowl, and with a jeweled longsword scabbard resting upon her hip. She strolls down eloquently toward the purveyor.

She smiles warmly at the being, before beginning to appraise the items being shown. When she comes upon the Dancer's Garb, she stops to inspect it. Her head turning to and fro with great patience. She looks up to the seemly merchant, "I do not know the asking price for this simple armor in gold, name the price and I might make it so...", she states with a raised brow.

[Selande]

Yet again her lips curl up underneath the hood. "Perhaps not the most pleasant of tales, but strangely I feel intrigued." The woman opens one of her smaller pouches, and looks up at the shopkeeper. "For what coin could I acquire the pair?"

The shopkeeper reaches over to the bottle of wine with a gloved hand and examines it with scrutiny. "Fourty thousand would be acceptable. Fifty if you intend it as a gift to someone else." She turns the bottle slowly as her companion considers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several paces from the entrance of the ruin, Blackthorne waves his hand and snaps into visibility. He removes a hooded cloak that covers his pieced together set of armor and neatly places it in a backpack. He unrolls a crudely draw map that was stashed inside his glove, scanning for landmarks and estimating the distance he has traveled from Baldur's Gate. Yes this has to be the right place. He quickly tucks his map in the backpack and slings it over his shoulders. His face shows a blank stare as he quietly recounts a conversation explaining who is likely inside and an item he was told might still be in her possession. Suddenly he snaps out of his concentration when he hears a sweet melody emanating from inside the ruin. His handsome young face shows both joy and relief to know that the halfling he spoke to at the campfire outside the Friendly Arm Inn had so accurately lead him to the correct location. He silently echoes the woman's name inside his head in preparation of the meeting. The slow walk to the entry way is as loud as he can manage, not wanting to startle anyone inside. Blackthorne steps inside and comes to a sudden stop when he spots the woman sitting atop a stone step, head down and writing in her large tome. When she does not immediately look up he clears his throat and in a friendly voice speaks "Lady Zeda?"

The shopkeeper keeps writing in the tome. It could be that she didn't hear the man or is simply distracted. She has moved a candle closer to where she is sitting than she typically has when visited by other guests. Doubtful that the candles warmth is needed, the cloaked woman sits huddled by her tome, a touch more illumination being cast upon both the woman and her writing than usual.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A woman materializes upon a moonlit hilltop where there had seemed only the shadows of passing clouds prior. The slender figure is adorned in silver mithral armor, a silver cowl, and with a jeweled longsword scabbard resting upon her hip. She strolls down eloquently toward the purveyor.

She smiles warmly at the being, before beginning to appraise the items being shown. When she comes upon the Dancer's Garb, she stops to inspect it. Her head turning to and fro with great patience. She looks up to the seemly merchant, "I do not know the asking price for this simple armor in gold, name the price and I might make it so...", she states with a raised brow.

The hooded shopkeeper leans over her tome to gaze at the armor in question. "In gold?" The woman asks, though as if speaking to herself aloud. She then looks over her guest appraisingly for a moment. "Sixty thousand would wear it well. I've only known footpads to take interest in this sort of attire. You don't strike me as one. Is it intended for another, perhaps?"

[kleomenes]

A traveller approaches the ruin, seemingly drawn by the melody. He is a human, clad in dark, ill kept armour, a longsword in the Cormyrean style at his side, and a scaled towershield on his back. The figure wears no helm, instead a hood and dark mask hide his features. Magic flickers around him, some sort of arcane shield.

The figure's brows crinkle above his green eyes, set as they are on the flickering light. After some moments of quiet stillness, his strides are with purpose as he approaches, pausing only to read the sign before entry.

His eyes widen in surprise at the interior, both at its contents and its seemingly improved state. His gaze pulls about until it settles upon the scribing elven figure on the stone step.

"Lady." He says, voice even and polite. "Not all things in this shop are forgotten, I think."

There is a lilt to his voice. And a flash of warmth in his eyes. The figure bows, once attention is upon him.

"My apologies to disturb. May I look around, and take stock of your wares?"

There is curiosity in his tone.

Assuming this is permitted, he begins to slowly walk around the shoppe. He pauses here and there, but nothing seems to take his interest until he stops at the Velve. The man crouches before it, reaching out to run a gloved finger along the flat of the blade. "Memories cling to this blade. Its cruel shape revealed truths once."

He looks back over to the figure, still crouched by the Velve. "This is being...traded?"

[mrm3ntalist]

"Aha! Yes, I could use some gold. I seen such armor go for more than 600000 gold. How does that price sound to you?"

The shopkeeper writes the number on a slip of paper. "I don't keep that much here with me but I can see about borrowing some. Or if something sells decently..." She looks up from her note. "Is there somewhere I can send a messenger if the sum becomes available?"

Yes, there is an elven merchant inside the Misty Forrest. I can mark it on a map for you if you want to visit
(( http://bgtscc.net/viewtopic.php?f=55&t=52016 ))

[Charraj]

An armored man in his forties carefully enters the building and approaches the woman. He looks at his surroundings with some caution, but he does not seem afraid. His battered armor and weathered face suggests years of combat and injury. Focusing on the items on display, he cants his head.

"Greetings. My name is Ken. The melody brought me here, and the sign intrigued me. It seems you sell items with some history behind them. While I already have more memories than I care to recall, that blade doesn't seem to be something I would regret carrying. Would you accept five hundred trade bars for it?"

The man is studying the Lightning Scimitar closely.

((Ken is offering 500K for the Lightning Scimitar.))

[Selande]

A traveller approaches the ruin, seemingly drawn by the melody. He is a human, clad in dark, ill kept armour, a longsword in the Cormyrean style at his side, and a scaled towershield on his back. The figure wears no helm, instead a hood and dark mask hide his features. Magic flickers around him, some sort of arcane shield.

The figure's brows crinkle above his green eyes, set as they are on the flickering light. After some moments of quiet stillness, his strides are with purpose as he approaches, pausing only to read the sign before entry.

His eyes widen in surprise at the interior, both at its contents and its seemingly improved state. His gaze pulls about until it settles upon the scribing elven figure on the stone step.

"Lady." He says, voice even and polite. "Not all things in this shop are forgotten, I think."
There is a lilt to his voice. And a flash of warmth in his eyes. The figure bows, once attention is upon him.

"My apologies to disturb. May I look around, and take stock of your wares?"

There is curiosity in his tone.

Assuming this is permitted, he begins to slowly walk around the shoppe. He pauses here and there, but nothing seems to take his interest until he stops at the Velve. The man crouches before it, reaching out to run a gloved finger along the flat of the blade. "Memories cling to this blade. Its cruel shape revealed truths once."

He looks back over to the figure, still crouched by the Velve. "This is being...traded?"

The shopkeeper nods consent to the man browsing as he pleases. She pauses her writings to watch him wander around the shoppe. As he wanders, she quietly judges the mans gait and garb, the tone of his voice, and which items he lingers on and for how long. It's difficult to determine whether it's fleeting curiosity that compels her to watch the man so or a new habit she has picked up after numerous visits by strangers. When the man speaks of an interest, the shopkeeper seems amused.

"It's cruel shape?" She shifts her weight where she sits. "Old memories to some. Cruel or truth would be added weight to the blade. But yes, it is being traded. Does a... cruel blade suit you?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Aha! Yes, I could use some gold. I seen such armor go for more than 600000 gold. How does that price sound to you?"

The shopkeeper writes the number on a slip of paper. "I don't keep that much here with me but I can see about borrowing some. Or if something sells decently..." She looks up from her note. "Is there somewhere I can send a messenger if the sum becomes available?"

Yes, there is an elven merchant inside the Misty Forrest. I can mark it on a map for you if you want to visit
(( http://bgtscc.net/viewtopic.php?f=55&t=52016 ))

The woman nods and offers him a rather well drawn map so that he can make his mark. "I might send a messenger in a tenday. He's often fond of forests anyways."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An armored man in his forties carefully enters the building and approaches the woman. He looks at his surroundings with some caution, but he does not seem afraid. His battered armor and weathered face suggests years of combat and injury. Focusing on the items on display, he cants his head.

"Greetings. My name is Ken. The melody brought me here, and the sign intrigued me. It seems you sell items with some history behind them. While I already have more memories than I care to recall, that blade doesn't seem to be something I would regret carrying. Would you accept five hundred trade bars for it?"

The man is studying the Lightning Scimitar closely.

((Ken is offering 500K for the Lightning Scimitar.))

"A serious offer." The shopkeeper speaks as she sets aside her tome and folds her gloved hands in her lap. "I have not had long to consider that sword. It is a recent acquisition. I had hoped to trade it for something similar that I could hold in my hands for a while. Until such a time, I prefer it to the weight of gold."

She looks the man up and down appraisingly. "You seem like you can appreciate that sentiment."

[kleomenes]

The shopkeeper nods consent to the man browsing as he pleases. She pauses her writings to watch him wander around the shoppe. As he wanders, she quietly judges the mans gait and garb, the tone of his voice, and which items he lingers on and for how long. It's difficult to determine whether it's fleeting curiosity that compels her to watch the man so or a new habit she has picked up after numerous visits by strangers. When the man speaks of an interest, the shopkeeper seems amused.

"It's cruel shape?" She shifts her weight where she sits. "Old memories to some. Cruel or truth would be added weight to the blade. But yes, it is being traded. Does a... cruel blade suit you?"

The man's gait and garb may be familiar to the shopkeeper, as might the lilt in his voice. It is weapons he pauses at, mostly, although the amulet Sheen does draw his eye, only to be dismissed.

When the man replies, he answers her question first. "Not for some years. Although cruel words and cruelty in negligence are more recent."

He would look back to the blade, then. "I remember a blade of similar shape though. Its sharp blade struck me across the eyes, blessing me with sight, so that I could behold the true meaning of the ideal I served, and know my duty."

A soft chuckle, he looks back to the Shopkeeper, an apologetic tone. "Metaphorically, I mean."

He looks back down at the blade, then to the Shopkeeper. "I remember a blade much like this breaking a rack, even as other walls tumbled down. I remember a blade like this spilling the blood of cruel demons, surrounded by the pillars of the Triad. Such is the memory a blade like this has for me."

He pauses. And his tone continues with softness. "So I would like to trade for it."

[Theodore01]

As a young dervish travels thru the fields, he notices the strange melody.
Curious as he is, he investigates its origin. After watching and doublechecking about imminent danger he approaches.
His eyes are instantly drawn to the falchion. (\\Heirloom "Velve" (Falchion))

"That one is of masterwork quality. May i ask who it belonged to ?
And" he hesitates a moment" is there a way i might acquire it ?"

When the man enters, the shopkeeper is seated against a wall, slowly tapping a stick against several stone surfaces near her as if testing them for something. She stops when the man speaks and looks over to the falchion. "Oh that was mine from when I was young.... well.. younger. It was given as a rite of passage. I was meant to pass it down to my child but I don't really intend to have any." She begins tapping the stick against stones again.

"It is quite nice though. I was always fond of it's curves. Despite its size, it is surprisingly light."

She then holds the stick up and looks at it contemplatively. "You're supposed to be given it when you've first drawn blood but I imagine you're well past that stage already." She then breaks the tip of the stick off and tosses it aside. "Most people are, around here."

"First blood...........can't really remember when that happened. But what i never forget is the first person i had to kill in self defence. His bloody lifeless eyes will haunt me forever i fear. Do you have any advise how to handle those memories ?"

he ponders.....

"So you did wield that fine blade yourself, guess you are skilled blademaster." he looks at her with awe. "Would you teach me a few moves, as i wonder if i could keep my balance and flow with such blade?"

[LISA100595]

* Loriah, Morninglord of Lathander can be seen in the crypts once again, scouring them dutifully and thoroughly. She would stop in to the shop to look around, offering a smile to the sales person even, then gracefully slip out the door and on her way with perhaps a nod or wave goodbye. *

[sinopip]

The fire genasi took a breath after a long day under a cloudy sky. He went through many places in the north of Baldur's Gate from the Fields of the Dead to the northern Crags and then to the High Moors. He did the way back from this path he followed, with a steady pace, as it seemed that no trolls, bears and other creatures stopped his passage.

As he approaches the crypt, he notices the unusual. He came here before, though it was months ago. He hears the melody. Under the cover of invisibility magic, he quickly goes forth, looking for some evil necromancer ritual, but what he sees makes him perplex. He dismisses his invisibility and says in a neutral tone : "Good day.", looking up to the cloaked figure
The fire genasi takes a little time to familiarize himself with the place and looks at the items on the blankets. "So you're trading with artifacts? Odd place to do this." He examines them with curiosity. "I may be in need for a new weapon and I'm interested in the ones you have. Do you want a price? Or for that one, " he points to the scimitar, "I'd trade it for my auxiliary mithral fullplate. It is more effective in deflecting undead physical attacks, if you don't have other means of defense. This came enchanted by the Order of Aster during the 1351 war." (((+3 Armor AC versus Undead)))
The fire genasi makes a few simple requests for a price for the Frozen Courtblade, the Frozen Heavysword, the Heirloom "Velve" and the Bolt rapier, and also for the Sages Serpent ring. "If you don't agree with the trade I'm proposing to you, then I could buy the "Bolt" rapier for a gold sum I can handle... But then I'm awaiting your decision about that." The fire genasi gives a small smile.