Akin's Throat 5

Malachite nods dismissively. The group begins to look around as Nolin chats with the goblin. "Hello there, Ploor. What is it you sell here?" The goblin's scraggly eyebrows go up.

"Why, preventatives against undead, of course!" The rest of the group perks up and pays attention as Ploor leans in confidentially towards Nolin. "You can't be too careful nowadays. Best to keep yourself safe, I say."

"I agree," says Velendo with satisfaction. "What do you have here?"

"All sorts of safeguards!" announces Ploor, rubbing his hands together as he scents a sale. "Holy water. Holy symbols from a multitude of religions. Wooden and petrified mushroom stakes. Charms of safety, relics and statuettes, and even anti-undead salve! Everything you might need." He smiles as if sure that Velendo might purchase his entire stock. "Have you run into the ghouls much?" he asks politely.

Everyone in the group stops for a second, amused. "A little," answers Nolin.

"Then you know how important this is! Why, holy water can force back the rotting demons and give you enough time to escape. For a fee," he confides, "I'll give you a primer on fighting undead that I wrote after facing a skeleton."

"No, that's okay," says Nolin with a straight face. "I think we're okay. Are you the only person in Akin's Throat who sells this sort of thing?"

Ploor spits. "Just that bastard Mirjik next door. His wares are worse than mine, though, which is why they're less expensive." Ploor puffs his chest out. "Buy from me, not him. He's not to be trusted."

"Huh." Nolin rubs his chin. "We'll remember that."

"What's this?" asks Mara with amusement in her voice. She's on the other side of the tent, looking at something on a shelf.

Ploor trots over. "Oh," he says proudly, "that's a religious icon from the surface world! A saint of remarkable power, definitely effective in driving away the undead. One of a kind. Expensive, but worth it." He glances at the shelf, frowns, looks over at Velendo, looks back at the shelf, and stares up at Mara. "That's odd," he remarks with confusion in his voice. "This looks remarkably like your friend over there. They even have the same sort of shield."

"What?" Velendo rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me that... Oh, for crying out loud!" His voice rises. "How'd one of these get down here, huh? What's this doing here?" Sitting on the shelf in front of Mara is a small and precise statuette of the elderly cleric, his spitting image carved into soapstone by a master craftsman. Only the small gems that once adorned it are missing. "Someone tell me why there is a statue of me a couple of miles down underground?!?"

"Well," hazards Nolin, "clearly someone came through here who had also gone through Eversink. Hard to say who."

Ploor's head keeps snapping back and forth. "Wait, it IS you? Really?" His eyes grow greedy. "Will you bless it for me?"

Velendo ignores his question. "Where'd you get this?" Ploor gulps.

"From Kithlin. He runs a..."

"Where's he get it from?"

"I'm sure I don't know. He probably..."

"Well, fine. Fine. I'm not buying it, that's all I know."

"You don't have to." Ploor still looks confused. "Wait, are you some sort of saint?"

"No!" Velendo growls.

"Yes!" Nolin and Tao answer simultaneously, louder than Velendo. They grin at each other michievously.

"Well," says Ploor, "if you're a saint will you bless it?" his eyes brighten again. "And bless these other things? And make me holy water?" He looks eager. "You'll be helping everyone who has to fight the undead!"

Velendo looks at him dubiously. "You'll just keep the profits." Ploor stares at him, confused as to why that would be a bad thing. "Tell you what. You use the profits to buy back slaves from over by the arena, and I'll bless your objects for you."

Ploor stares at him, chewing his rubbery lip. "I don't need slaves."

Velendo gestures in mid-air, as if choking someone. "No! You use the money to buy slaves, then you free them." Ploor scratches his head.

"Why?"

"Because if you don't promise to do that, I won't help you. Think of it this way; they'll tell everyone how kind you are, they'll spread word of your shop's quality, and maybe they'll even help you around here." Within a few minutes, the two have hammered out a bargain, and Velendo casts bless and makes some holy water to show his good intentions. Eventually the group leaves after having purchased a few vials of holy water, once again followed by two dozen hangers-on who trail behind them to see if Malachite is going to kill anyone.

"That could get annoying," comments Malachite as the group walks up to the wooden door of Mirjik's Eccentricities. The shop is set aside from the main cavern in a smaller walled-off cave.

"Eh," shrugs Nolin. "You get used to it."

They walk into Mirjik's to see a well-lit room filled with low display cases. An extremely tall, blue-skinned humanoid in robes has his back to them as they enter. "What is it this time?" he asks in a tired voice as they come through the door. "What sort of abomination do you wish to purchase? Mephit fat? An angel's heart? Poison from a demon's fang? You're aware that such objects are reprehensible, and will condemn your soul to perdition. And yet you buy them anyways. And I sell them to you." His narrow shoulders rise and fall in a dejected sigh.

"You sell those things?" Malachite's voice is dangerously quiet. The tall humanoid spins around, his bluish face mottling with emotion even as his sour mouth breaks into a wide smile.

"You.. you're not necromancers! Or kobolds!" He claps his hands, and every single display case swivels and turns, revealing new objects to the casual browser. "Delight! You're not here to buy a serrated dagger or chokeblossom powder! And you're not from the underdark, and you're certainly not here to buy a piece of an angel's heart." His smile stretches fully across his face, and the six fingers of each hand drum against one another in unalloyed excitement. "Ah, what a pleasant change. Mirjik, at your service, owner and operator of Mirjik's Eccentricities." He bows. "I am your humble servant. How may I help you?"