“The shop occupies a cellar lit by phosphorescent fungi and lanterns filled with pale, cold oil. Bones in tidy piles serve as both shelves and ledger markers. Kharzun speaks in clipped, gravelly tones, polishing flasks with a rag smeared with soot and silver dust. He dislikes loud conversation about 'heroes' and will quietly refuse to sell certain items to anyone who reeks of overt holy fervor. He offers a secret loyalty discount to customers who leave a scrap of their hair (for identification) and favors duergar-making barter—metalwork and rare ores can be accepted at reduced coin prices. Occasionally a faint whispering echoes when a new bottle is uncorked; Kharzun claims it's the products settling accounts with the dead.”