Tucked away in an unassuming corner of the Night Market is a small, quaint building with a sign that simply says, "Mepho's Trinkets & Curiosities". The moon is hanging low in the night sky, and the streets are mostly abandoned save the odd vagrant or two. Even still, there is business to be had, retribution to be attained. An evil presence slithers down the street, shying away from lanterns as this black mass makes its way to the humble shop.
The shop bell chimes - a soft, deliberate sound, though the door barely opens wide at all, only enough to permit the evil to slide its way inside. The shopkeeper doesn't bother to glance up from his ledger, adjusting his spectacles with a bored sigh. His dark, tousled wavy hair is parted to either side, with pointed ears poking out from beneath the barely shoulder length style. His face is thin and gaunt, deceptively young if not for his stern, wise eyes. Eyes that carry a faint red glow, as if to suggest their is something far more to this humble shopkeeper than you might notice at first glance. His attire is humble, his attitude modest, but his presence dominates a room.
“Busy day,” he murmurs to himself, dipping his quill into an inkwell. “Very busy indeed.”
He has barely finished the thought when the candles flicker, their flames bending violently towards an unseen force. The shadows in the corners of the shop stretch unnaturally, pooling together like ink spilled across the floor. The air shifts, thickening, the scent of something ancient, something wrong curling through the room like an acrid smoke and a vile fog.
The shopkeeper frowns slightly at the flickering candle, before finally turning his head to acknowledge this new presence. "Oh," he says, bemused. "You're back."
The voices begin - twisting, unevenly layered, cascading and speaking over one another in tones both pleading and enraged. The darkness violently churns, rising like a living storm, with numerous eyes blooming within its depths, their yellow glow searing against the dim candlelight. One would be forgiven for not being able to tell if the eyes were consumed in fury or mired in an infinite sadness as they rapidly shift about the shadowy cloud's center mass.
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The shopkeeper does not flinch at this vocal tirade. He merely exhales through his nose, fighting back a smirk as he straightens the papers, casually ignoring the entity looming over him. He has seen worse, heard worse, and dealt with worse over his many, many years on the Night Market.
He thumbs through the papers before him, before producing a very specific contract for an item sold earlier that day. A long, ink-stained finger scrolls past the item's listing, The Amulet of Infinite Shadow, and taps against the fine print of a parchment.
“All sales are final,” he says, voice calm, almost amused. “No refunds. No exchanges. And certainly no sympathy. You were warned. These are the side effects. Your untalented self wanted black magic. Congratulations, you are black magic. You're welcome.”
The entity writhes, its many mouths curling in fury as the eyes all focus intently on the humble shopkeeper, but the contract remains unbroken. Whatever it once was, whatever it has now become—none of that is the shopkeeper's concern.
“I said - You. Were. Warned.” The shopkeeper's tone suddenly shifts, echoing with an ancient power, commanding and absolute. He waves a hand dismissively, the flickering candle's around the shop suddenly stabilizing as if they had been commanded to stay lit. “I'm only going to ask you once, now. Begone, or I will personally remove you.”
The shopkeeper sets his ink quill down delicately and turns his gaze to the creature. His eyes are that of a predator's, his look destroying the creature's false bravado with a simple stare. They see through the rage and fury, the raw emotion and swirling power - they see a weak man that could not manage the power he had previously been willing to pay any price for. The shadow recoils, its howls muffled as it shrinks in size. The candlelight finally fully settles around the shop. The air clears, no longer tainted by the shadowy creature's presence and return . The eyes look back and forth, eventually resigning to their new reality.
The shopkeeper sighs, rubbing his temples. He casts a glance at the door, watching the defeated cluster of shadows slink away from the shop.
“Yes,” he mutters, dipping his quill again. “A very busy day.”
