The Shopkeeper's Tale

Fowler's Inn was warmly lit, with the flickering glow of oil lamps casting long shadows over the rough wooden tables. The aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the sharp scent of ale. Among the familiar faces of adventurers and soldiers, a few clerics, some archers, and one paladin stood out. Kellan stared in awe at the paladin’s gleaming silver armor. Two of Neil’s party members—a novice cleric and an archer—were in the stables, tending to the horses they had rented.

Cliff sat across from Neil, nursing his drink. Neil, however, appeared completely relaxed. He leaned back in his chair, a playful grin spreading across his face as he shared tales of his latest escapades. His cheeks were rosy from the cold and the drink, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“So, The Veil of Skymire,” Neil said, swirling his mug of ale. “You’ve heard of it, right? You know it's not just any dungeon. It’s filled with ancient ruins, forgotten magic, and creatures older than the empire itself. The real treasure, though, are those aether lilies. They only bloom under the moonlight, deep within the Veil. Their petals can brew potions that restore a mage’s mana in seconds, and they'll fetch a fortune in the capital.”

Cliff nodded absently, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. He was familiar with the Aether Lilies, of course. They were unique ingredients in alchemical circles, not exactly rare, but they were tricky to cultivate and harvest in a green mage’s garden. The Veil, however, was perilous; only the bravest or the most reckless dared to venture into its depths.

“You should come with me,” Neil urged, leaning in closer. “I could really use someone like you. You have the skills and the knowledge of herbs and potions. It’d be just like the old days. You, me, out there in the world, making our mark.”

Cliff took a slow sip of his drink, the warmth of the ale doing little to soothe the tightness in his chest. He glanced at Neil, who was looking at him with that same eager expression he had as a child, always dreaming of greater things. Of changing the world together. But Cliff had made his choice years ago when he left the bustling cities of the empire to start his modest shop in Reuben’s Rise. He had told himself he wanted a simple life, away from the danger and the chaos of adventuring.

Neil must have sensed something was off because his grin faded, replaced by a more serious look. He tried to smile. “You know, you once said you wanted to make a difference.”

Cliff chuckled, but it sounded empty. “That was ages ago, Neil. I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“No, you’re not,” Neil replied, leaning closer. “But that doesn’t mean you have to stay this way. I understand. Life can be disappointing and dangerous. But is scraping by in a small shop, selling basic potions and herbs to adventurers who hardly know your name… really enough for you?”

Cliff looked down at his drink, the ale gently sloshing in the mug. He didn’t respond immediately, but Neil’s words hung in the air, eating away at him. Was this truly enough? Was this all he wanted from life? The quiet, predictable routine of his shop? The safety of staying in Reuben’s Rise, far from the dangers lurking beyond the snowy peaks?

Cliff’s gaze met Neil’s, and for a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of his younger self reflected in his friend’s eyes; the boy who had bargained boldly in the village square, convincing merchants to give him and Neil more than they deserved. The boy who had dared to believe he could make a difference, that they both could.

But the world had other plans. It was easier to get by, to accept less, than to face the disappointment of trying to change the world for good.

Neil leaned back in his chair, studying him intently. “You still have that spark in you somewhere. I can see it. Don’t let it fade away.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy. Cliff took another sip of his drink, his mind racing. Neil made it sound so straightforward, so effortless. As Cliff stared into his drink, a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that Neil was onto something. They finished their drinks in silence, the crackling fire and the soft murmur of other patrons filling the space around them. Yet, even as the warmth of the inn enveloped him, Cliff couldn’t ignore the cold knot in his chest, the sense that something within him was awakening, stirring after years of being dormant.

Neil slapped him on the back as they left the inn, the cold night air biting at their faces. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he said, his breath visible in the frosty air. “I’m heading to the Veil soon. You’ll take care of me, yeah?”

Cliff relaxed. That was easier to manage. He would make sure Neil and his party members were all right.

Cliff nodded, though he wasn’t sure what he’d say when the time came. He watched Neil walk off into the snow-covered streets, his figure disappearing into the darkness. The wind howled through the peaks, and Cliff stood there for a long moment, staring after his friend, feeling the weight of the decision that loomed before him.

As he turned and walked back toward his shop, the quiet of the night pressed in around him. The snow crunched under his boots, and his thoughts churned.

___

Despite his hesitation, Cliff found himself pacing the aisles of his small shop the next day, mentally gearing up for Neil’s upcoming journey to the Veil of Skymire. He looked over the shelves, filled with basic potions and herbs, and searched for any enchanted gear that could assist his friend with the coins he had given him. Unfortunately, there was nothing suitable. He took a deep breath. That was the downside of running a small store: he lacked the high-quality equipment needed to support adventurers on more perilous quests.

As the day progressed, Cliff carefully compiled a list of items he thought Neil would need. At the top of his list was frostbane armor; a shimmering, blue-tinted breastplate that provided protection against the biting cold of Reuben’s Rise. He shivered at the thought of the harsh chill of the mountains and how it could drain the energy of even the most experienced adventurer. Next, he included blazing swords in his inventory, powered by runes, their magical flames flickering gently as he held them, envisioning how they would cut through the tough hides of the dungeon creatures lurking in the Veil once Neil activated the temporary runes on their hilt.

Cliff sighed as he readeied his coat. He was about to travel far beyond town, possibly running into some merchants back at the university. He hoped they wouldn’t recognize him with a mask hiding his face.

The next morning, Cliff got ready to meet his suppliers. His first destination was Boor's Forge, a blacksmith renowned for crafting enchanted weapons. As Cliff stepped into his forge, the air was heavy with the scent of burning coal and molten metal.

Boor, a stocky man with a face marked by soot, glanced up from his workbench, his brow slightly furrowing at the sight of Cliff. “What can I do for you, young shopkeeper?” Boor grumbled, wiping his hands on his apron.

“I need to stock up on some gear for an adventuring party,” Cliff replied, forcing a smile and then recalling that the blacksmith couldn’t see his expression. “He’s heading into the Veil, and I want to make sure he’s well-equipped. I heard you make these kinds of weapons?" Cliff showed the blacksmith his list. Boor smiled at what he saw.

"Frostbane armor and a blazing rune sword? Two of my specialties.” Boor raised an eyebrow. “You think you can afford that?”

Cliff took a deep breath, the familiar sense of challenge igniting something in him. “I can if we negotiate a fair price.”