His ‘friends’ having gone off without him, Vogir takes the time to study the items he’d bought the previous morning.
A pair of magical boots.
A pair of magical gloves.
A magical fireplace in a box.
A magical Longbow…
Vogir pulls the linen string taught and strokes the smooth wood.
‘A Longbow of enhanced range’ was how the trader described it.
It’s a fine bow.
Finer than his Grandfather’s.
Vogir remembered coveting that bow but, despite his Grandfather loving it, it had gone the way of everything else.
Sold to pay off the Dragon’s tax collectors of Redford.
It’s funny how things have changed.
Greater than his Grandfather’s, had been ridiculously cheap.
His Grandfather had found just one magical bow in all his years adventuring and here, Vogir had found a superior one, in the market place of a Dwarven town no less.
A Dwarven town!
A place where every inhabitant was too short to even use it!
The ‘change’ had happened before he was born though. The rift that the Dragon had opened to allow her armies into Fissa, also let in the magical energies from the other realms. Demonic, Fairy and untold others.
Magic was more apparent, yet now somehow less… magical.