The Shopkeeper's Tale

Heavy and uneven footsteps cut through the quiet chill of the morning like a blade. Cliff looked up from his position behind the counter as the bell over the shop’s door tinkled softly. The sound of metal claws tapping against wood resonated, accompanied with a weigthy footfall.

Three figures ducked through the low doorway, their broad shoulders and towering forms filling the shop that made the empty space feel almost claustrophobic. Delivery beastmen, evolution or mutations of baser animals, creatures of strength and endurance, often used for transporting goods to remote locations like this one. Cliff stared at them, his head barely reaching up to the reptilian beastman's waist. They were formidable, otherworldly, yet deeply rooted in the world of commerce. Cliff had to remember that their realm is a world of profit and commerce, and they had to make a living in order to survive. Unless they go back to the wilds and the mountains, full of poisonous, inedible food, and chaos wherever you turn.

The first to enter was a griffin; a towering woman with sharp, angular features and feathers of pale gold that faded to white at the tips. She moved with a confident grace, her talons clicking softly on the wooden floor as she crossed the threshold. Cliff noticed her talons were not sharp. Dawnclaws, Cliff knew her name was, from the shipment order he’d placed weeks ago. Her wings, folded neatly against her back, rustled slightly as she straightened to her full height, nearly brushing the ceiling.

“Cliff Ermes?” Dawnclaws’ voice was surprisingly soft, a low, resonant tone that carried a hint of warmth beneath its sharp edge. She looked surprised that this new shopkeeper was so young. “First shipment.”

Cliff nodded, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat as he stepped out from behind the counter to greet them. He forced a smile onto his face, trying to muster some semblance of professionalism and enthusiasm. “Yes, that’s me. Thank you for coming all this way.”

Behind Dawnclaws, a second figure entered; the reptilian courier, his scales glistening like frost in the dim light. Cameron was shorter than Dawnclaws, but no less imposing, his sinewy frame coiled. His eyes, slitted and cold, regarded Cliff with a dispassionate curiosity as he shifted a large crate from his shoulder and set it down gently on the floor.

“Light shipment this time,” Cameron remarked, his voice a low, sibilant hiss. He tapped the side of the crate with a long, clawed finger, and the wood creaked faintly in response. “Potions and some weaponry. Got a few trinkets in here, too. Should keep you stocked for a while—if you’re not planning on selling to the wolves.”

Cliff’s smile tightened, a flicker of unease passing through him. He nodded again, more stiffly this time. “I’ll make do. Thank you.”

The third and final beastman to enter was a lion-like figure with a mane of thick, russet fur that framed his face like a regal halo. Shif, the name on the manifest read. He moved with a languid, feline grace, his large paws making barely a sound as he carried a second crate into the shop. His eyes, a striking shade of amber, swept lazily over the room before settling on Cliff with a look of amused interest.

“Quite the place you’ve got here, young merchant,” Shif rumbled, his voice deep and resonant. “Remote. Quiet. But cold as all hells. You sure this is where you want to set up shop?”

Cliff hesitated, glancing around at the empty shelves and the dim light that seemed to drain all the color from the space. He nodded. “I’m sure.”

Shif shrugged. Without warning, Dawnclaws let out a soft, almost maternal cluck of disapproval, her bright eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. She stepped closer, her massive frame casting a shadow over Cliff as she leaned down, the feathers around her neck ruffling slightly. Cliff did not dae to move and allowed her gaze to pierce him.

After a few moments, the griffin-woman retreated. “My feathers tell me you’ve got a good heart, but a grey spirit,” she murmured, her voice low and thoughtful. “You’ve got to take care of yourself out here. Places like this can wear you down if you’re not careful.”

Cliff looked up at her, surprised by the gentleness in her tone. There was a sincerity in her gaze. It made him ache unexpectedly. He managed a small, strained smile.

“I’ll be all right,” he said softly. “Thank you, Dawnclaws.”

She straightened, a slow, graceful movement that seemed to fill the space around her. “Just remember, Cliff Ermes,” she murmured, her eyes lingering on his face. “The cold gets into more than just your bones."

Shif and Cameron exchanged glances, but neither said anything, both content to let Dawnclaws’ words hang in the air like the frost that lingered on the windowpanes.

“Anyway,” Shif said, breaking the silence with a lighthearted chuckle. “We’d best be going. Got other deliveries to make before the day’s out.”

Cameron nodded curtly and turned toward the door, his tail flicking lightly against the crates as he moved. “Take care, merchant,” he said in his low, sibilant tone. “Hope your shop does well.”

“Thanks,” Cliff replied, the word feeling hollow even as he spoke it. “Safe delivery.”

Dawnclaws lingered for a moment longer, her gaze still fixed on Cliff with that curious look of concern. “Maybe our paths will cross again,” she said quietly. “And maybe by then, you’ll have more than just these empty shelves to show for your work.”

Cliff nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He watched as she turned and followed the others out the door, their massive forms disappearing into the pale, icy morning beyond. The door swung shut behind them, and the soft jingle of the bell faded into the oppressive silence that settled once more over the shop.

For a long moment, Cliff just stood there, staring at the closed door. The cold seemed to press in on him from all sides, numbing his fingers, his face, his thoughts. He felt strangely hollow, as if some part of him had gone with the beastmen.

With a sigh that echoed in the quiet, he turned back to the crates and began unpacking. The potions came first; small, shimmering vials of liquid in various shades of red, blue, and green. He placed them on the shelves with care, the motion of his hands mechanical and detached. They glowed faintly in the dim light, casting delicate patterns of color against the bare wood, but even their vibrant hues seemed muted.

Next came the simple weapons of a few short swords, daggers, and a single, sturdy battle-axe. They were the most basic things a starting adventurer likely needed, and soon, perhaps, an adventurer's guild will get in touch with him soon, asking when they woud go on sale to provide for their endless stream of members. Cliff arranged them on the racks with the same lackluster precision, his movements slow and methodical. The metal gleamed softly, but they were just things. Objects to fill empty spaces.

Finally, he unpacked the enchanted trinkets: rings, amulets, and small charms imbued with minor protective spells. He placed them carefully in the glass display cases near the front of the shop, the delicate pieces catching the light in brief flashes of brilliance. They looked beautiful, glittering softly against the dark velvet lining of the cases. He was unsure if anyone had money to buy them, but Cliff shrugged. They would serve their purpose well enough: he was at least certain their bright colors and shapes will catch the eyes of passersby milling around in the streets.

When he finished, he stepped back and surveyed his work. The shelves were no longer completely empty, and it felt too dark inside the shop, the sun already low on the horizon.

Cliff ran a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against the faint chill that lingered at the nape of his neck. He thought of Dawnclaws’ words, the concern in her gaze, the warmth in her voice. A grey spirit, she said.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the shop; getting it stocked, getting customers through the door. That was the lif ehe resigned himself to.

With a deep breath, he turned away from the shelves and moved back to the counter, the silence settling around him like a heavy shroud. He forced a smile onto his face, even though there was no one there to see it, practicing politeness he would muster to speak to customers.