Xankarvo blinks. His evil overlord instincts sense an opportunity.
"So would you theoretically obey orders from a lifeborn?"
The creature smiles a bit.
"We would be delighted to offer you any services we can, and to make your stay enjoyable, but within reason. We honor your birthright as Lifeborn, but our loyalty is to the edicts of our forefathers. We are their legacy, after all."
Either myself or Irony: Accidentally hit self in nuts for comedic retribution against meta reasons
Whoops my bad
[4]
Golgon, for some reason no one can fathom, punches himself pretty hard in the nads. He collapses to the ground, groaning and muttering.
Get to the Hannity's, check out their stock without asking for anything.
Hannity's is an older shop even then the general store, the only shop around here made of the same wood as the Forefather's graves. It has just one, relatively small display window, on which the name of the shop is painted:
"HANNITY'S EMPORIUM AND CURIOSITIES"
The inside of the shop is simultaneously cozy and a bit spooky; It's almost completely unlit, save for the light from the front window, and the wooden shelves and tables, all darkened with age, sit in hard shadows, with the only other light coming from a burning, green glass oil lantern on the proprietor's desk. The building is stacked and packed full of all manner of utterly random and odd things; small statues and busts, ivory tusks and scrimshaws, desiccated body parts, heaping stacks of silverware, keys, thimbles, knitting needles, wires, mirrors, compasses, bangles and metal dodads. Framed pictures coat the walls, while mechanical parts, lengths of cloth, anatomical models, lanterns, strings of beads, and dried bunches of herbs hang from the roof. There stacks of books in every corner, glass display counters filled with knives, swords, axes, fire arms and even a few weapons you have no name for. The Proprietor's desk is hollowed out to form another display cabinet, this one stuffed with the more valuable things, such as jewlery, coins, and odd artifacts that give off a strange feeling of tingling power, even from a distance. It all smells overwhelmingly of dust and mildew. A phonograph, or something like it, is playing
music in a back room, and it's coming through muffled and soft.
The proprietor looks up from his desk when you walk in. She, you believe it is a she by how she's dressed, but it could be anything really, stares at you in interest, but not with the same amazement and awe that the other shopkeeper did.