Something catches your eye as you wander down the narrow but well-cobbled lane; a soft glow from the window of a store. You approach to peer inside but the glass is fogged, and you get only the vague impression of flickering candlelight. Intrigued you push open the heavy oaken door, and step inside.
Wax candles cast their gentle glow about the dim space and the air smells faintly of incense and pine. Under your boot a thin but unbroken sprinkle of salt crosses the entryway, nestled against the lip of the doorframe. A bell jingles behind you as the door eases shut, the sound clear and bright in the quiet. Solid wooden beams arch high above your head, and beneath your feet an intricately woven rug spreads out across the pristinely polished floorboards.
The space inside seems larger than it should be, and far more opulent than the faded façade would suggest. Bookshelves and cupboards hug the walls and jut out into the centre of the room, creating walls and corners in otherwise open space. A myriad of items clutter every surface: old tomes, glass boxes, wooden bowls, vials, crystals, animal bones, herbs, scrolls tied with twine and sealed in wax. A small potted plant perched on a shelf twists and shivers in a breeze you can’t feel.
Faint sounds reach your ears as you move further into the store: a distant bird call, the crackle and hiss of wood in a fireplace, the rhythmic ticking of a pocket watch, the gurgle of a stream…and the soft murmur of voices. You feel drawn forward, around the end of a bookshelf and into an area partially enclosed by a folding screen. Upon its surface a dragon is depicted descending on a crumbling building and the stoic figure of a lone monk. A small pile of books is stacked against the screen, beside which leans a wooden staff that appears to be sprouting live leaves.
Tapestries and paintings adorn the walls of the small space, below which sit several pedestals bearing the bust of an elf, an ox skull, and a large beetle. You move around the screen toward an arched doorway, past a staircase that curves upward and disappears onto a second floor. Your hand brushes the twisting gilt handrail as you pass, and you find it pleasantly warm.
The archway leads to a smaller room with a low ceiling. A long counter spans the width of the space, and behind it rests an enormous window. The paned glass frames the breath-taking view of mountain forest, split down the middle by a bubbling stream – a view that isn’t possible from this town. Dried herbs and flowers of every description hang in bunches from the rafters, tied with string or ribbon, and fill the room with an earthy scent. They rustle against one another like the sighs of a breeze.
You turn to the far end of the long counter, from where – until a moment ago – the soft voices had originated. Standing there, apparently discussing a small colourful orb, are a Dark Elf and a Yuan-ti. The latter raises a hand and says-
“Welcome to the Feather and Fang, how can we help you?”
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