Marya's Mourning Herbarium
Est. 2025 • Human Druid (Circle of Spores)
Marya's Mourning Herbarium
Marya speaks to her plants as if to neighbors and brews tea to coax memories from the bereaved. The shop is dim, with strips of waxed paper filtering the perpet...
Shopkeeper
Marya Ivanova, a Human Druid (Circle of Spores) (Lvl 7)
Keeper's Species
Human
Shop Inventory
(19)A leather roll of bandages, salves, scissors and basic remedies for stabilizing and tending wounds.
Pestle, mortar, tongs and jars used to prepare salves, poultices and basic potions.
A small cloth set for wrapping wounds, stopping bleeding and basic care.
A set of ten small glass vials for storing salves, tinctures and captured essences.
A damp compress made from Barovia's damp moss and soothing herbs. Slightly cool and clammy.
A thick, bitter-smelling ointment reputed to ward off disease.
A blackened sprig gathered from a hillock where something was once buried.
A sealed vial containing a black, shimmering fluid said to be preserved vampire ichor. Kept under glass and salt.
A packet of aromatic resins and dried rue wrapped with ashen ribbon; sweet smoke with a sharp undertone.
A bitter, smoky brew Marya makes herself. Tastes of ash and old sorrow.
A small leather pouch of dark, cold earth taken from an old burial site.
A pungent alcohol-based extract; poisonous if ingested but prized for combating lycanthropy.
A sealed jar whose glass fogs from a chill inside. When uncorked, a breath of Barovia escapes.
Black ribbons embroidered with a single silver stitch; commonly tied to grave markers and coffins.
A common red-tinted potion in a stoppered vial.
A deeper crimson potion, thicker and warm to the touch.
A small bottle of bitter, greenish liquid formulated to blunt poisons.
A viscous, dark-red draught pressed from night-blooming berries. Sweet and metallic on the tongue.
A clear, golden tonic that sharpens the mind to matters of herbcraft and the humors of the body.
Marya Ivanova
Shop Atmosphere
“Marya speaks to her plants as if to neighbors and brews tea to coax memories from the bereaved. The shop is dim, with strips of waxed paper filtering the perpetual Barovian fog; funeral parlors rent her incense on slow nights. She refuses to sell certain items to those who appear bloodthirsty or too eager for power — and she'll sometimes give a cup of mourning tea free to those who won't speak of what they lost. A carved wooden raven hangs over the doorway and caws on the hour; customers say it listens.”
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