claustrophobia is one way to describe the catch-all adventure store. It was crammed with so many potions, armorers, trinkets, weapons, and tchotchke ( junk) that the small walkable paths in the store were just there to appease the fire department
Obviously not used by its furry staff of enchanted raccoons who parkoured and favored the mountains of items, rarely digging for something specific more out of mindless behavior
They are all kelptos. This was echoed by a raccoon reaching for Alvis' service weapon only for it to be snatched up by its arms by the elf glaring at it
"Barron, you know why i am here." Alvis's tone was already exhausted as he pitched the raccoon into a pile of armor
"Visit your favorite entrepreneur, of course! You are ready to learn the ropes, cousin. May i call you brother?" Barron asked, guiding Alvis through the store and patting his stomach
" no to all that, Barron. You, you little scavenger, have been spotted along with your goons stealing Cimmerian artifacts from the training dungeon and the land around it."
"Cimmerian?!" Barron sounded offended, along with every raccoon in the store spitting on the ground at the mention of it
" uh huh, all of you know standard laws just like at the door. If it weren't for Marshal law, you all would be reading me the nonmagical items act!" Alvis scolded them while pointing around the shop at the staff
" Alvis, may i call you Alvis, brother? Some things are above gold, like gods and country!" Barron said firmly while placing a fist over his heart. His staff clapped at him
" bullsh-" the elf started to grumble, only to stop when he saw it. A piece of a statue peaking under a very tall and off-putting mountain of unrolled rugs right of the shop counter Barron was leading him to
Alvis recognized it even by the peak, a particular interest he and Solomon shared. The idea of seeing it again rushed the elf to take a wide step over the tanuki and do a wide stroll to the rug mountain
None of them were curious about his actions. They all knew where he was heading, which led them to parkour over to the mountain, piling on top of it to keep Alvis from undressing the statue
" Cousin! Officer! It's all very fragile in here. Be careful," the tanuki chittered while adjusting any piles Alvis bumped on his way to the statue
The combined weight of the rugs and raccoons would make it impossible for an elf to yank anything off to reveal the actual contraband underneath
But most elves did not have his left arm besides a replacement arm from the new gods. It also came locked and loaded with spell slabs the size of a cracker cocked under his forearm
Defending the new gods from the old earned him many boons across the new mythology and one particular spell that would help him here a boon from the traitor Titan Kratos, the personification of strength
To activate it, he only needs to think of the boons of his life. This brings up a spell wheel of powers slotted in his arm, ready to use. Looking at the wheel in his mind, he selects the spell, in this case a symbol of chains
Once selected, Alvis felt the slab shuffle in his arm, taking Kratos's boon to his wrist most needed an incantation, but not Kratos, who believed begging is pitiful. Once the slab touched the elf's wrist, he felt the strength spike through him
A stark contrast from when he wielded the sun, he felt the frightening power then, but here, with the proper arm, the power felt like it was his from birth
Gripping the bottom rug with both hands firmly, he heaved for show while pulling the ornate rub with such force it sent the mountain of rugs and raccoons flying while kicking a thick cloud of dust
Waving the dust away with one hand and coughing, Alvis was suddenly overcome with anxiety, fear, and flight. Trying to make sense of his sudden bile of emotions was overtaken by the piercing pain of a sword stabbing into his stomach
FATE
The pain was excruciating from what Alvis knew of being stabbed. This pain would be conjured up by someone who had never fought before; he adjusted his eyes and senses to in front of him to his attacker
That was when it hit him: he was not in the shop anymore, not even Yggdrasil. He was not even sure if he was in his body. He was in the instantly familiar golden desert of Cimmeria
The sounds of brutal combat erupted around him. He was locked in close combat with a Cimmerian, a centurion at that commander of a legion, and its sword was now or felt dug into his stomach. Foreign instinct took over; he clutched the Centurion's hand wrapped around, locking it to his weapon
The arm wasn't his but dark red and muscular like the nomad orcs that inhabited the desert. A cough escaped Alvis. Blood ran down his neck from his mouth, slimy and warm
He knew Death was near. Despite being terrified, Alvis felt who he was at this moment and did not want to face the other side a complete coward raising his own weapon, a war club
alvis felt the height difference he did not before and swung the club down by passing the scutum shield to smash the elf's head in … only to be stopped by a spear from a soldier behind the Centurion punching through his throat out the back
The final thoughts or echoes rolled into Alvis. Was that soldier always behind the elf? Did he miss it? Am i dying with some respect? …. will the others reach the goal?
The dying eyes laid vision upon a dark tower protected by the blood elf legion. Alvis knew it was Solomons tower, and as the light faded from his host's eyes and he returned to the shop in his own body, he knew what happen
Rubbing his throat, he stared at the statue, ignoring the stiff as a board scavengers in the room; he only had one question for them, and he rasply let out
" Who! gave you the sand salt?"