Lead: Currently looking for a lead, click HERE to apply!
About the Crone's Eye
The Crone's Eye is the Magic Shop in Mysts of Eyr, in a hidden location you must seek out and find! The business not only serves as a place for purchasing magical items but also getting service performed or scheduled, as well as at times serving as a point to help in adventures or tasks.
Patrons may purchase goods through coin or through bartering of goods or services. However, non-basic items will often involve the customer needing to go on mini-quests to pick up items or collect information; more powerful items can also take multiple days of work to properly create. Many visitors will also experience the ‘service with a scowl’-- including, but not limited to, having their aptitude to handle magic questioned, receiving lewd remarks, gaining an odd nickname, and being spoken to in cryptic manners. All is part-and-parcel when visiting this magical little hovel.
By providing characters with mini-quests, taking time on producing requests, and not providing direct or the ‘best’ customer service, the Magic Shoppe generates fulfilling and unique roleplay. Those sent out to collect ingredients can encounter other races or see areas they may not have had the opportunity to before; those waiting for an artifact to be made can plot how best to use it and collect more coin if they need to pay for it; and those that deal with a gruff grump can get a good laugh while proving they know how to safely wield a wand. The business does not provide immediate or perfect solutions (known as deus ex machina), as this breaks roleplay and limits fun opportunities.
Special Note: The Crone's Eye assumes no responsibility for patrons injured or harmed by the following: alligators, giant spiders, leeches, vipers, carnivorous plants and other deadly wildlife.
The Story of the Crone's Eye
Fetid mist snaked and slithered in coils through the air but departed in tatters as the Crone stumped her way home through the swamp. One glare at the ancient crocodile and it impersonated a log. Not even Henry the Ate tackled the Crone when she was in a mood. She had once 'visited' his mind leaving an embarrassing desire for the occasional ingestion of a particular swamp weed that left him for hours with an open mouthed grin. Some of the more foolish birds played a daring hide and seek game in his jaws till the weed wore off. The swamp was down a few birds and Henry sneezed feathers the rest of the day.
He never snapped at Grainie again after that.
Mistress Mudbolt (Grainie as she was known to a chosen few), like most witches knew the hour of her death, and though prepared for it, she felt the timing could have been better organised. Death would get the razor edge of her tongue before he swung his scythe. They'd had words before.
Grumbling and muttering her way into the spotless mud covered hut, Grainie did what any sensible witch does when awaiting Death. She made tea. While the kettle was on the hob, she checked every surface, nook and cranny. Dust and mold tended to find other places to settle rather than be subjected to Grainie's vicious scouring.
Mice were tolerated once they learned that droppings were not acceptable and litter nests were to be built elsewhere, besides they were clownish acrobats that could raise a smile. Sometimes it was Grainie's. Rats were far more acceptable. They learned fast and Grainie's magic so permeated the house, they soon became valuable helpers. Besides their minds were quick and cunning and easy to borrow.
A witch's house takes on something of its owner's personality. In Grainie's case, her essence had been hammered into the house so firmly visitors sometimes felt the rooms closing in. For the terminally thick-skinned the fireplace had a habit of billowing choking black smoke when they didn't leave soon enough to suit Grainie.
Grainie's nose told her no one had visited, the scent was the same as always - black tea, lineament, and steamed clothing - and this was confirmed by the assorted animals allowed to visit and sometimes stay. Her door was always open, gifts or payments left, but nothing ever taken. Graine's presence had a way of filling the place even when she was elsewhere. Never more so than now.
There was a subtle shift in the air as Grainie placed food in the appropriate place for each species then sat with her first cup of tea. A rat couple stopped by to share a biscuit and some last thoughts. The first cup finished, Grainie walked around touching the walls and muttering witchy things under her breath. All her personal things were packed and labelled ready to surprise, shock or disappoint the named recipients.
"You're here then." There was no one visible, but acute hearing could pick up a sigh from somewhere over her shoulder.
"And you can just put that away. I ain't goin nowheres till I've 'ad me tea and left me ... inher'tence. And I'd 'preciate it if you made it quick when I'm done." She glared into the darkened corner where dark took on a shape. "You owe me that much."
The tea was laced with a certain something to help Grainie deliver her dying ... gift! If Death had eyes he would have rolled them, except Grainie's was glaring at him as he left with a docile Grainie. Perhaps mildly co-operative might best describe.... or maybe marginally pleasant. Not quite her usual self anyway.
She'd done a good job. The eye had been fixed in place just above the door. Now feeling no pain, Grainie walked beside Death and actually smiled as Henry rolled over on his back playing dead.
The smile wasn't a nice one.
The eye remains.
The natives are convinced, so did Grainie. Oh the body was there waiting for the appropriate rites, but there was that eye and that strange window. Not even her fellow witches were willing to sleep the night - bar one - Grainie’s arch rival. She left through 'Grainie's Soul' as the locals called the face shaped window, when she woke to find Henry the Ate staring at her from the foot of the bed, mouth full of razors, grinning at her, and ever after insisted that Grainie was looking out of those eyes at her.
The jungle rumour is that the gaping mouth sometimes screams - as Grainie must have when she removed both eyes. Both? Oh yes. The other one is .... well ask Grainie's rival who never sets foot in the swamp. Peeking through that window is said to give the voyeur nightmares that last through the next day, weeks if you're particularly unlucky.
Owner's and workers beware, Grainie's eye has a way of creeping inside one's head to see if you're doing the job 'prop'ly'. Or perhaps it's the animals. Unless the natives are right and the house is Grainie! In which case there is no escape.