(aka Women’s Linens)

A peculiar invitation arrives, penned in flowing script that occasionally sparkles with traces of arcane residue:

Dearest Potential Associates,

Perhaps you’ve noticed the recent changes at 73 Silversmith’s Row in the Merchant’s Quarter—the old Blackhaven Trading Post has shed its decades of dust and cobwebs. The creaking sign that once announced “CLOSED INDEFINITELY” has been replaced with a gleaming brass placard reading “Marlowe’s Menagerie: Curios, Curiosities, & Commodities Most Peculiar.”

I, Thaddeus Marlowe, formerly of the Collegiate Arcanum’s Department of Paranatural Procurement (and yes, that rather dramatic departure involving the Dean’s prized singing crystal was greatly exaggerated), have invested my life’s savings in this establishment. The previous owner, poor old Maurice Blackhaven, disappeared under rather mysterious circumstances involving a cursed music box and what witnesses describe as “an unfortunate incident with time itself.” The Merchant’s Guild assured me that after seven years, the property rights default to new ownership, and any temporal anomalies are strictly the previous owner’s responsibility.

But I digress! The shop itself is a marvel—three stories of aged oak and weathered stone, with windows that seem to peek into impossible angles and a cellar that, I’m quite certain, occasionally rearranges itself. The previous inventory is… well, let’s call it “eclectic.” Thus far I’ve catalogued:

• Seventeen empty bottles labeled “Bottled Starlight (DO NOT OPEN INDOORS)”
• One seemingly ordinary sock that keeps trying to hop back to its original owner
• A collection of maps to places that may or may not exist yet
• And a rather insistent cheese wheel that whispers stock market advice

While fascinating, these curiosities alone won’t sustain a proper business. This is where you come in, my enterprising friends. I require individuals of particular talent and discretion who can help me acquire inventory of a more… specialized nature. The Merchant’s Quarter is experiencing unprecedented growth, and the nobility’s appetite for the exotic and arcane has never been greater.

I offer generous commission rates, access to my network of collectors, and the protection of my various licenses and permits (most of which are even legitimate). More importantly, I offer adventure—the chance to seek out the extraordinary and bring it back to eager customers who possess more gold than common sense.

If interested, please present yourself at the shop’s rear entrance tomorrow at sunset. Knock thrice, wait for the door to finish its riddle (the answer is always “teapot,” regardless of the question), and enter prepared for a discussion of terms. Do mind the umbrella stand—it’s not actually an umbrella stand, and we’re still not entirely sure what it is.

With Anticipation,
Thaddeus Marlowe
Proprietor, Procurer, & Occasional Problem-Solver

P.S. If you happen to encounter a sock hopping down Guild Street, do be a dear and catch it. Its original owner has been quite persistent about a reunion.

—

Local rumors whispered in taverns and alleyways:

“That Marlowe fellow? Odd sort, but honest enough. Saw him talk down an angry ghost with nothing but a tea service and some compliments about its hat.”

“The shop’s got a reputation. Old Blackhaven was collecting things that shouldn’t exist. Some say the whole building’s like a puzzle box, with rooms that only appear on certain days of the week.”

“My cousin’s friend swears she saw Marlowe haggling with a dragon over the price of its shed scales. Used a pie chart and everything. The dragon apparently found his accounting methods quite persuasive.”

The strange note is received by the five of us. We are:

• Celestiah Elunthiel, a High Elf Wizard
• Korgrath, an Ork Fighter
• Felric Ashfur, a Catfolk Scholar
• Maximillian Lupin, a Human Thief
• Gordon, a Dwarvish Healer

After receiving our cryptic invitations, which were addressed to each of us personally, we all gather at the appointed time at Marlowe’s shop.

This is the city of Vale’s End. It is a huge city, and we are in the bustling merchant’s corner, on Silversmith Row. There is a rich artifact trade here. It is twilight and the lanterns are glowing. There are strong scents of ozone, coffee and embers.

In the past there were 3 magical disasters here, so magic is restricted. The most recent one was the Brass Plague, which nearly destroyed the infrastructure of the city.

The future party members pleasantly exchange names. Most are just here for a job, but Celestiah and Felric seem to be here for arcane knowledge of some kind. Maximillian says that he wishes to employ his “particular skills” with this job. We are left to guess what that may mean.

Marlowe’s building is made of wood and stone, and the windows are in odd places. Felric notices that they shift when not observed. There is a humming sound within and frequent dlashes of light. There are enchantments and barriers throughout, which Celestiah senses keenly. We know nothing of the owner except what he related in his letter.

The door opens and a man with a false eye answers. The eye is mechanical and it quickly scans us all. He breaks into a friendly smile and welcomes us in.

There is tea set out for us. We sit down and partake, ready to hear what our potential employer has to say.