The weightless oak door of the Necromonger's shop creaked as Bastopher Bellunder pushed it open. First, he paused, cursing under his tense breath.
A strong, ugly smell came from within the shop; aged wood, herbs, magic refuse, smoke, and something metallic, like blood that had long since dried. Bastopher scowled at the smell and sight of it.
The shop was cramped, the shelves that were on its walls were sagging under the weight of heavy old tomes, skulls, preserved body parts of creatures, and jars filled with strange, glowing liquids.
Bastopher shifted his gaze to the corners, there, twisted branches of blackened wood held trinkets and talismans with unfamiliar and unsettling designs.
Small, glowing runes sucked into the walls flickered faintly with a sickly green light that barely illuminated the room, leaving most of it steeped in shadow.
