The Fourth and Fifth Customer

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

Bartholmes Klingelvuoz was one of those people who was decidedly irritating, when it came to temptation. He was supremely prideful, self-confident, and annoyingly righteous. He had internalized the church’s doctrines on hard work and dedication, and so was steadfastly set on the idea of working for his fortune.

That said, he didn’t want to work too hard. It was threading that needle that was giving Ohog such trouble. What he needed was a curse that would ruin him, but slowly. He needed to become dependent on a cursed item so subtly that he didn’t realize he was using it as a crutch. He needed something that would drag him down just as he was cresting the hill of fame and fortune…

Ah! “Well, yes,” Ohog gently took the harp out of Bartholmes hands and lay it back on the floor, “beautiful music will certainly soothe the savage customer, but what every good merchant needs is quality. You need something that grabs your customer’s attention so powerfully, that they’ll never let it go! Something that they will keep coming back for, because no one sells as good a product as you!”

“Yes,” Bartholmes’s eyes were alight with the possibilities. “Yes, yes, that’s what I want! People will come for miles around to purchase Bartholmes Klingelvuoz’s marvelous chairs! Or cabinets! Or whatever it is I sell!”

“Have you considered,” Ohog slid his hand out towards a nearby counter, “selling to chefs?”

“Eh?” Bartholmes’s eyes snapped back to the present. “What do chefs have to do with anything?”

“Consider,” Ohog slowly unscrewed the lid of a thick glass jar, “everyone has to eat. Not everyone is in the market for chairs or cabinets, and they only are when their old one breaks. No, you want to sell to everyone, and everyone eats food. Constantly. They literally can’t get enough of it…” he waved the open jar under Bartholmes’s nose, and watched as the poor soul’s eyes dilated.

“What…what is that?” he gasped.

“A spice jar,” Ohog smiled, “full of the most delicious spice in the culinary world. It goes with anything, and I do mean anything. Sprinkle it on a rotten crab-apple and it will become delicious. Use it on simple pottage, and watch it become irresistible! Why, with this spice jar, you could become the sultan of spices, a master merchant selling the promise of the perfect meal to kings and queens across the world!”

“Yes,” Bartholmes grabbed at the jar, “Yes, yes I want that!”

“Careful,” Ohog pulled the jar back like a fisherman hooking his catch. “Don’t spill it, now.” he replaced the lid, “I can see you are decided, then. A steal at a mere five guilders?”

“Three,” Bartholmes said reflexively as he reached for the closed jar.

“Done at four,” Ohog nodded, accepting the four coins as Bartholmes fled the store, giggling all the while. Ohog grinned as they pulled the quill and ledger from the smoke of their oil-lamp. They hadn’t even needed to curse the jar, but they had anyway. The spice jar would run out just a little bit faster than it otherwise would have, and just when word had spread about the wonderful and miraculous spice-merchant. The cursed soul would scramble, beg, and lose money in the desperate attempt to regain something of his noted quality goods, and never would he achieve such greatness again. His legacy would be one of disappointment, both his own and his customers. There was no telling how many souls might turn away from Heaven when they learn they missed out on the meal of a lifetime…

The door-bell rang as another customer entered the shop. Ohog snapped the ledger shut, sending a cloud of smoke into the air as they hurredly hid the book and quill behind their back. “Oh! So sorry, you startled me. Ahem, welcome! Welcome to my humble shop. If there’s anything you —”

“You are the owner of this curiosity shop?” the woman asked, walking straight up to Ohog and folding her arms.

“Why, yes, yes I am,” Ohog took a few steps back, positioning himself in front of a candle so they could wave the quill and ledger back into the smoke. “A humble shopkeeper who seeks only to provide curios and knic-knacks to the people of Wittenberg for reasonable prices,” they cleared their throat. “How may I be of service?”

The woman was barely paying attention, captivated as she was by the numerous items that surrounded them. Ohog smiled as they studied their prey; her name was Mathilde Notisen, and she had such a simple desire. If things kept up like this, they’d have their quota well within three days. Hell, they could —"

“What is this?”

Ohog blinked. “That? Oh, that is a quill and ink-pot. It is said the ink is Apollo’s own blood, and the quill was plucked from the wings of Mercury’s feet. They say if you use the quill and ink, your words will be the most beautiful prose you have ever —”

“I’m not interested in tall tales,” Mathilde said, turning away. Ohog winced internally. No, of course not. She’s a farmer, desiring of a quiet life. She needs something more —

“And this?”

Ohog looked up. “Ah! This raven is a wonderful companion for anyone wishing a quiet and rustic life. He was sold to me by a wandering merchant who fed him on a diet of frog’s tongues from a copper spoon. He speaks with great wisdom, and will guide you towards any life you —”

“Raven’s don’t talk,” Mathilde snapped, turning away from the raven.

“Got nothin’ to say,” the Raven muttered under it’s breath, nestling under its wing. “Jerk.”

“No, for one such as you,” Ohog spoke quickly, moving past Mathilde and pulling two metal gloves from a nearby stand, “consider these. Supposedly made from the bones of the Nemian Lion itself, these gloves will give you great strength; perfect for those who wish to live by their own two hands, and not rely on the help of —”

“Now see here,” Mathilde interrupted, plucking the gloves from Ohog’s hands and tossing them on the counter. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re pulling, but we got a nice town here, right?”

“…Right,” Ohog said after a pause. “It’s why I chose to set up shop here. A fine town with fine people who can see the value in a quiet life of rural —”

“We don’t need no foreign devil coming here and trying to sell their witchcraft, yeah? So you just can just gather up your things and push off. We don’t want any of it.”

Ohog nearly choked on their tongue before they remembered ‘foreign devil’ was a turn of phrase. “I assure you, madam, there is no witchcraft here. Merely tall tales of a curious nature.”

“Yeah? What about that mask you tried to sell Helisäus? And that map to magical portals? Witchcraft. Look, we got enough troubles now without you trying to muddy things up. If you want to stick around, you get yourself a good godly profession, right?”

“I…well…” Ohog reached out for the gauntlets as Mathilde slammed her fist down on them. “Yes! Yes, I see what you mean. I will assure you, madam, that while it may seem like there are demonic forces at play here, it is all just…jokes. Tricks! Amusements, with no more weight than a theatrical performance.”

“Theatre,” Mathilde spat on the floor. “Even worse!”

Damn it, Ohog drew themselves up. “Madam, I appreciate you bringing your concerns to me, but I’m afraid it is time for me to close. Would you please leave my shop at once so I may lock the doors?”

“It’d do you good if you didn’t open up again,” she muttered before pausing at the door, then picking up a small leatherbound journal. “How much?”

“Not for sale!” Ohog sputtered, pushing the woman out. “Good day!” The bell rang out as the door slammed shut and Ohog threw their back against the door. They heaved a sigh, waving away their human disguise as they slumped to the floor.

“Well, that was a mess,” they muttered to no one in particular.

“If you want my advice…” the raven began.

“No I do not!” Ohog snapped, resting their head on their knees.

“Suit yourself,” the raven gave a yawn before adjusting his wings and nestling his beak at his other side. “Prick…”

Ohog stood up and walked to the counter, pulling the ledger out of a candle’s smoke as they passed. Only two sales, and already people were getting quite suspicious. He was behind on his quota, and if he pushed too much harder…maybe it was best that they close shop for the day. It was early, yes, but not that early…and a fresh start meant fresher customers, prime for temptation.

Besides, if they got lucky, they could easily catch up tomorrow. Just an extra sale or two, and they could even get ahead!

In spite of their optimistic hopes, they felt somewhat anxious as they blew out the candles and locked the doors. Being in business was hard; they didn’t get how humans did it so easily.