It was the second day of Highpine’s Tall Leaf festival, a joyous occasion where citizens and visitors alike delighted in the celebration of Diphaelen’s grace to the Gemlands. Tekrem Bowheart swept the space in front of his tiny shop, preparing for another day of business during the busy holiday. His neighbors also prepared for the day: Mr. and Mrs. Willow watering and arranging the flowers in their front display, Miss Grim plucking tiny herbs to use for her potions and the smell of her concoctions already penetrating the air, the Agrell twins bringing in sacks of flour and sugar for their bakery.

“Good morning, Mr. Bowheart,” one of the twins said to Tekrem with a wave. Tekrem believed it was Eli, because of his left handed wave, but they’d been coming up with different ways to hide who was actually speaking. It was harmless fun, but Tekrem couldn’t help but be annoyed.

“Good morning,” Tekrem said after a long stare. He went back to sweeping. 

“Oh, come on, Mr. Bowheart. It’s me, Eli! Tall Leaf already got you too stressed out for a little fun?” Eli said, adjusting the sack of flour over his shoulder.

“The same joke for three years is a horse beaten, stripped of its meat and bones, revived, beaten, stripped again, and left to rot,” Tekrem said. Eli gave him an uncomfortable smile, clearly searching for something to respond with. But before he could, Tekrem continued, “But what else is there to do but learn to love the smell of decay?” Tekrem said with a smile.

“We still on for Diphaelen’s dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Willow tonight?” Eli asked, spirits clearly uplifted. 

“The second I’m able to shoo the last scavenger off, you and Malachi come on by,” Tekrem said as he pushed the swept dust to the middle of the cobblestone road. 

“We’ll bring our absolute finest bread, then,” Eli said with a devious smile on his face.

“And I’ll provide the wateriest soup to make bread edible,” Tekrem said, walking into his storefront, now organizing his own displays of weaponry. Swords, mauls, spears, knives, armor plates, gauntlets, greaves, he took them all for a good price. He knew that they would sell, despite a majority of them coming from dead adventurers. After all, it wasn’t the fault of the equipment. It was more the error of the users. Training to be a smith and leatherworker had taught him that only a small amount of equipment made was good enough to actually cover the difference of skill in the user, despite popular belief. In short, the equipment that he had for sale was just as good as anything the local smithys were hammering up. 

As he polished the steel on a pair of gauntlets, he heard the entrance bell ring. He looked over, eager to see what was being brought in. Instead, he saw Miss Grim with a handful of weeds in her hand.

“Tekrem, I need a sharp blade to cut these damn weeds,” she said.
“What happened to the knife you bought from Krisch’s armory?” Tekrem said, already knowing the answer.

“The damn thing dulled after just a day of cutting. I’m going back to get a refund from the damn man, but I need something now - the potion I’m brewing is time sensitive, so if you could hurry, please,” Miss Grim said. Tekrem nodded and walked over to the rack full of blades and perused through them until he found an exact kind that she needed. The handle was short, but the blade long enough to add weight to every swing. When he presented it to her, she snatched it out of his hands, and ran out of the door.

“I need that back when you’re done!” He shouted out at her. He went over and shut the door before returning to polishing the gauntlets. It wasn’t long until the bell rang again and Mr. Willow stood at the door, giving Tekrem a sheepish smile.

“Hey, Tekrem…” Mr. Willow said nervously.

“What do you need, Mr. Willow?” Tekrem asked shortly.

“Do you happen to have two pairs of leather gloves that we could use? We’d be willing to buy them, of course. Or rent them, whatever is more convenient for you. One large and one small pair, if possible,” Mr. Willow said. He was terrified of Tekrem, knowing the rumors that had been spreading about his oracle-like powers. To Tekrem’s credit, he downplayed these rumors as much as he could, being the subject of exaggeration.

“I know that you support Jafrin’s practice of hiring leatherworkers new to the trade, but you’re eventually going to have to start investing money into your own shop, rather than the uplifting of others,” Tekrem said as he sifted through pairs of tied up gloves. Mr. Willow stood by the door, silent, but his face clearly showing discomfort of being in the store of someone who supposedly charmed anyone who dared to brave his wares.

Used to the fear, Tekrem continued his search for gloves in silence. He wondered if there was anything that he could do that he hadn’t already done to alleviate their anxieties about him. He’d treated them with more favors than his fellow shop owners, outright giving them equipment for their flower shop. When that didn’t work, he treated them the same as he did the others by simply lending them equipment and asking for it back in a timely manner. He’d even tried advertising to the adventurers who came in with the goods from their fallen brothers and sisters and needed flowers for death rites. 

“Tell them Tekrem sent you,” he would say. He only found out the blunder of it when a returning adventurer told him that the Willows had given them an excess that his party had no idea what to do with. Tekrem had given up after the attempt. If he didn’t have the power to sway their belief in a rumor spread by people who had no idea about him, then there was nothing he could do to convince them otherwise. 

Finally, he found a pair that he believed would be perfect for the Willows - a pair from a newly wed husband and wife who had perished not too long after their attempts at uncovering treasure from a nearby cave. They appeared to be of similar build to the flower shop owners, possibly even related, now that Tekrem really looked at their faces in his visions.

“These should do. If they feel right by the end of the week, come back with five gold. If not, just return them, no charge,” Tekrem said, spreading the fingers of each glove to display that nothing was damaged. Mr. Willow watched, nodding his head, clearly impressed with the products. He took them with caution. 

“I’ll have them back to you in no time” Mr. Willow said in a squeaky voice. Tekrem shrugged, then continued with his preparations for the busy day as the entry bell went off and Mr. Willow disappeared from the shop.