Thalra's Black Brine Fishworks
Est. 2026 • Human Rogue
Thalra's Black Brine Fishworks
The shop sits squeezed between two rusting factories on the Khromarium Factory Quarter docks. A single grease-streaked lantern hangs from a bent iron arm above ...
Shopkeeper
Thalra Voss, a Human Rogue (Lvl 4)
Keeper's Species
Human
Shop Inventory
(16)A small glass vial of red liquid, corked and wrapped in oilcloth. Warm to the touch.
A waxed pack of smoked Khromarian herring. Dense and oily, keeps a hungry crew alive.
A patched waterskin bound with salted twine and stamped with the factory guild mark.
A simple collection of hooks and braided line good for pond, river, or dock fishing.
A soot-smudged hooded lantern that throws a narrow, steadier light than an open torch.
Thick hemp rope, brine-treated so it will not mildew easily. Useful for mooring and climbing.
A vial of thick, blackened brine. The sort of thing used to cure shipboard larders.
A five pound sack of coarse harbor salt stamped with the Factory Quarter emblem.
A flacon of viscous black oil that steams faintly. Cures and curses cling to it.
A strip of rubbery lamprey jerky, dark as tar and spiced with ash and bitter root.
Ten feet of finely woven netting, useful for repairs or crafting small snares.
A tarnished brass bell whose tone the owner assures will call the fish closer.
A knotted lure of feathers, scales, and a dab of shell fungus paste.
A heavy net reclaimed from the hulks of cargo barges. Salt- stiff and lined with tiny lead weights.
A dagger made from polished fishbone, wrapped in tarred twine at the hilt.
A patched gutcoat patched with cured scale and tarred leather. Smells faintly of brine.
Thalra Voss
Shop Atmosphere
“The shop sits squeezed between two rusting factories on the Khromarium Factory Quarter docks. A single grease-streaked lantern hangs from a bent iron arm above the door, and steam from the factories mixes with the stink of brine and smoked fish. The counters are low, scarred planks bolted together with bits of ship scrap. Cages of salted fish bob in shallow, steaming vats behind a slatted window. Chains and pulleys creak. The owner answers to the name Thalra Voss, a human who looks older than she is. She wears a barnacled leather apron stitched with factory insignia and bears a mechanical hook of brass and rivets where her left hand once was. Her voice is dry like cured skin. She favors hushed deals and accepts coin or favours for dried and salted goods, and she has a soft spot for castoff sailors and starving apprentices. She hums a melancholy dock chant as she works and will sometimes trade information about the Factory Quarter in lieu of full payment.”
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