“Deep Roots occupies a basement carved around the old oak's gnarled roots. The great oak died long ago, but Fiddin treated and stabilized the timber with alchemical brine and a little wardwork; its columns look like living wood though close inspection reveals varnish and faint glyphs. Shelves curve with the roots, jars of dried herbs hang from nails, and a low, humid scent of moss and citrus hangs in the air. Fiddin Nackle, a forest gnome with soil-stained fingers, runs the shop. He wears a stain-speckled apron, a leather band of plant-presses, and a pair of spectacles perpetually slipping down his nose. He knows where every odd plant grows within a long day's walk and keeps a tiny roofed garden for common herbs out front. Rarer reagents come from his expeditions west into the wilds or via river merchants. Fiddin keeps the Temple of Galbadois' stamped certificate framed above the counter and a record copy in the archives; he is careful to present his goods as legitimate medicine and mundane alchemy. He will make volatile or Ilẹti'awọn-derived work only to trusted buyers and insists on a half-upfront deposit for bespoke or experimental brews. The shop is a meeting point for druids, boatwrights, and furtive adventurers—Fiddin is warm to druids and uneasy with zealous Temple agents. He hums when he works and will barter recipes for favours, rare seeds, or trustworthy introductions to elven traders—though his attempts to open trade with the Elven Court of Ivaendor have stalled. Watch the stem-windows and the carved rune by the back door; if a small clay fox is set on the sill it means Fiddin is away gathering herbs and won’t return until dusk.”