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    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,606, Level: 8
    Level completed: 29%, EXP required for next Level: 6,394
    Level completed: 29%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,394

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    Fennik Glenwey
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Frost Fae
    More or less male.

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    Fenn Goes Purse Shopping

    The lightness at Fenn’s side was… unnerving.

    The darkened corners of Radasanth’s black market sprawled and twisted before the boy. The gloom of the brick corridors and mossy, crumbling walls suited the small Fae just fine. Clutching his baggy, newly-emptied bag to his chest, Fenn skittered across the streets with anxious, sure-footed purpose. A couple ruffians leered at him from a splintered doorway; the boy returned their intimidating stares with a sharp snap of his teeth and scampered on his way. He kind of wished he’d thought to bring along Daugi. Nothing discouraged shady folk quite like the baying of a blood-eyed direwolf.

    Yes, the lightness of his bag was really, really bothering Fenn. It was best if he concluded this business quickly.

    Normally, he came here to sell things. Today all he brought was a pouchful of gleaming coin and his bag. His sad, hollow, empty bag. Earlier, he had stashed his valuables -- his memory-laden trinkets, his whistle, his books, his picklocking “tools”. They were hidden in the hollow of a tree just outside town. Theoretically, they were safe. But they didn’t feel safe if they weren’t by his side. Fancy that! A thief afraid of thievery!

    Green eyes flitted this way and that.

    There, across the street, was the little shop he had been looking for. Fenn touched the doorknob only to snatch his hand back from the sizzle of iron. Yowch! There was a now a slightly blistered red-grey patch on his palm; he grimaced, puffing his cheeks out in bitten-down anger. Human dwellings were so inconsiderate in their building materials! Hissing indignantly, he wrapped his sleeve around his hand and forced the stubborn door open with what small sliver of strength he had.

    Inside, the shop was gloomy. Seriously gloomy. A few small braziers lit the room, while at the same time filling the space with drifting smoke. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of mysterious ingredients, and ugly cloth dolls. Fenn didn’t particularly like how they grinned down at him. Their smiles seemed… pained.

    Aside from the dolls, there was only one other person in the shop, sitting behind the counter. She was a toothy old hag. Her skin drooped, yellowed with time, and her silver hair had been pulled back in in a bushy bottlebrush. More or less, she matched the descriptions he had heard. There were a few names that Fenn had heard around the block, but the most striking one had to be “Elder Creature”. Rumor had it that the witch lived somewhere deep within the Coronian woods — yet here she appeared in Radasanth every full moon to barter spells for coin.

    The witch cracked open the wizened folds of an eye and glanced knowingly down to Fenn’s singed palm as he stomped up to the counter. “Did my door cause you trouble, frost sprite?”

    Fenn nearly jumped out of his skin. His rumor-fueled suspicions that this lady was not someone to trifle seemed to be on the right track; not many came to the conclusion of “fae” when looking at him. Not when his ears were pointed, which apparently said “elf” to most unaware humans. He gave the witch an uneasy nod and plunked his bag down on the counter between them. A note was procured from the folds of his cloak; NEED INSIDE TO BE BIGGER THAN OUTSIDE. MUCH BIGGER. TOO HEAVY ON SHOULDERS, CAN’T HOLD ALL STUFF I CARRY. PLEASE FIX. HAVE MUCH MONEY COLLECTED TO PAY IF YOU CAN DO THIS.

    Requesting an enchantment for Fenn’s bag. Specification; a “bottomless” enchantment. He can fit anything inside the bag so long as he can squeeze it in through the foot-and-a-fourth wide opening. The bag's inside now has roughly the capacity of a large barrel.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 10-12-2017 at 03:37 PM.

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