The Last Lantern — Sundries & Salvage
Est. 2025 • Human Rogue
The Last Lantern — Sundries & Salvage
The Last Lantern sits in a narrow alley where the fog clings low and lantern light rarely reaches. Garruk greets customers with a crooked smile and a knuckle-ta...
Shopkeeper
Garruk 'Knuckles' Voss, a Human Rogue (Lvl 1)
Keeper's Species
Human
Shop Inventory
(18)A salt-bleached cutlass with a nicked blade. Still holds an edge if you don't expect perfection.
A common dagger with file marks and a chip near the tip. Concealable, reliable.
A shortbow with several reinforcing bindings and a few frayed strings. Functional with care.
A crudely sharpened shard of metal wrapped to a stick. Bargain-bin weapon for desperate hands.
A cheap padded armor, patched in a hurry. Bulky but better than nothing.
Scuffed leather armor salvaged from a drowned courier. Still flexible.
A round wooden shield rimmed with rusted iron; a few slashes cross its face.
A cloudy red potion in a scratched vial. Heals like a normal potion, though patrons whisper about impurities.
A bitter vial guaranteed to blunt common poisons (may be diluted).
A set of pick, tension wrench, files and a few bobby pins in a grease-stained pouch.
A bulging cloth sack of mismatched baubles, keys, a tarnished locket and a curious coin. Some items might fetch more from a fence.
Coarse rope, salt-stained but strong enough for climbing or tying cargo.
A three-pronged hook with a short chain. Holds modest weight if hammered in.
A cheap tallow candle. Smoky, not long-lasting.
A battered flint and a rusted steel striker. Works when struck savagely.
A small vial of lamp oil. Smells faintly of fish.
Cheap rum favored by lowlifes. Burns when swallowed but dulls the senses.
A half-sheet of a map that hints at a safehouse, a smugglers' cove or a wealthy mark. Mostly illegible.
Garruk 'Knuckles' Voss
Shop Atmosphere
“The Last Lantern sits in a narrow alley where the fog clings low and lantern light rarely reaches. Garruk greets customers with a crooked smile and a knuckle-tap to the counter; he keeps one hand perpetually gloved and watches exits more than faces. He'll haggle, but not for anything marked 'hot' — he prefers to move that off the books to known fences. The shop's back room is dim, smells of brine and oil, and a locked cellar door resonates with muffled, irregular boots and whispered deals. If you ask too many questions, Garruk's smile goes thin and he points to the street: 'Best leave curious business to curious folk.'”
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