Story #1428
Prompt: Alvenhem is eager for the gnome to show him his inventions. He tries to figure out if any of them can be sold for good profits and produced and sold a lot of. Fickler is eager to show what he has made, but has problems remembering all the materials used to create each one and where to get the materials. Alvenheim sees opportunity in many of the contraptions and forgets all about quests, instead he suggests that they focus on selling the gnomes inventions on the market. The two venture out to visit a few vendors in the town to try and get them to sell the products on their behalf.
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π The Mountain Wizard
Alvenheim's pointed ears perked up the moment Fickler mentioned his workshop. The middle-aged elf had initially thought their partnership would involve the usual fareβescort missions, monster hunting, perhaps a treasure map or twoβbut the gleam in the old gnome's eyes suggested something far more interesting. As they approached the cluttered workshop behind Fickler's cottage, Alvenheim could already hear the whirring and clicking of mysterious mechanisms within. His greedy heart began to race with possibilities that had nothing to do with dangerous quests and everything to do with comfortable profits. Fickler fumbled with an enormous ring of keys, trying each one in the lock before finally finding the right one, muttering something about organizing them by color next time.
The workshop was a marvel of chaos. Contraptions of every shape and size filled every available surface, some spinning lazily on their own, others producing small puffs of colorful smoke at irregular intervals. Fickler beamed with pride as he gestured around the room, launching into enthusiastic explanations of each invention. There was a self-stirring teapot that never spilled a drop, a pair of boots that cleaned themselves with every step, and a remarkable device that could peel potatoes in three different artistic patterns. Alvenheim's eyes grew wider with each demonstration, his mind already calculating profit margins and market demand. However, his enthusiasm dimmed slightly when he asked about production costs and Fickler scratched his white beard thoughtfully, admitting he couldn't quite remember if the self-stirring mechanism required copper springs or silver ones, or was it bronze?
As they examined invention after invention, a pattern emerged that both delighted and frustrated Alvenheim. Each contraption was genuinely useful and impressively crafted, but Fickler's explanations became increasingly vague when it came to the specifics. The gnome would hold up a magnificent automatic page-turner for books and describe its function perfectly, then pause mid-sentence when asked about the materials, wondering aloud whether he'd purchased the gears from the blacksmith in town or from that traveling merchant last spring, or had he perhaps found them in his cousin's old trunk? Alvenheim, despite his growing exasperation, couldn't help but laugh at his new partner's endearing forgetfulness. More importantly, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were sitting on a goldmineβthey just needed to figure out how to actually mine it.
By the time they'd examined the twentieth inventionβa truly ingenious device that could fold laundry into perfect squaresβAlvenheim had completely forgotten about their original plan to form a questing company. His sly mind had already pivoted to a far more lucrative and significantly less dangerous venture. He grabbed Fickler by the shoulders, his eyes sparkling with entrepreneurial fervor, and declared that they should forget about chasing dragons and delving into dungeons. Why risk life and limb when they could sell these marvelous inventions and make a fortune? Fickler's face lit up at the prospect of his creations being appreciated by the masses, though he did wonder aloud if they should write down the materials list first, or was it recipes, no, formulas, or perhaps blueprints?
The next morning, Alvenheim and Fickler set out into town with a carefully selected array of inventions packed into a large cart. Their first stop was Gertrude's General Goods, where the shrewd shopkeeper eyed them suspiciously until Fickler demonstrated the self-cleaning boots. Her skepticism melted into amazement, and soon they were making their way from vendor to vendor, leaving a trail of impressed merchants in their wake. At the hardware store, the blacksmith's jaw dropped at the automatic hammer that could tap nails at three different strengths. The bookshop owner nearly wept with joy over the page-turner. By afternoon, they had secured agreements with five different vendors to sell their products on commission. As they walked back toward Fickler's workshop to begin production, Alvenheim was already counting coins in his head, while Fickler cheerfully tried to remember whether they'd need to visit the timber yard or the fabric merchant firstβor was it the glassblower?
The workshop was a marvel of chaos. Contraptions of every shape and size filled every available surface, some spinning lazily on their own, others producing small puffs of colorful smoke at irregular intervals. Fickler beamed with pride as he gestured around the room, launching into enthusiastic explanations of each invention. There was a self-stirring teapot that never spilled a drop, a pair of boots that cleaned themselves with every step, and a remarkable device that could peel potatoes in three different artistic patterns. Alvenheim's eyes grew wider with each demonstration, his mind already calculating profit margins and market demand. However, his enthusiasm dimmed slightly when he asked about production costs and Fickler scratched his white beard thoughtfully, admitting he couldn't quite remember if the self-stirring mechanism required copper springs or silver ones, or was it bronze?
As they examined invention after invention, a pattern emerged that both delighted and frustrated Alvenheim. Each contraption was genuinely useful and impressively crafted, but Fickler's explanations became increasingly vague when it came to the specifics. The gnome would hold up a magnificent automatic page-turner for books and describe its function perfectly, then pause mid-sentence when asked about the materials, wondering aloud whether he'd purchased the gears from the blacksmith in town or from that traveling merchant last spring, or had he perhaps found them in his cousin's old trunk? Alvenheim, despite his growing exasperation, couldn't help but laugh at his new partner's endearing forgetfulness. More importantly, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were sitting on a goldmineβthey just needed to figure out how to actually mine it.
By the time they'd examined the twentieth inventionβa truly ingenious device that could fold laundry into perfect squaresβAlvenheim had completely forgotten about their original plan to form a questing company. His sly mind had already pivoted to a far more lucrative and significantly less dangerous venture. He grabbed Fickler by the shoulders, his eyes sparkling with entrepreneurial fervor, and declared that they should forget about chasing dragons and delving into dungeons. Why risk life and limb when they could sell these marvelous inventions and make a fortune? Fickler's face lit up at the prospect of his creations being appreciated by the masses, though he did wonder aloud if they should write down the materials list first, or was it recipes, no, formulas, or perhaps blueprints?
The next morning, Alvenheim and Fickler set out into town with a carefully selected array of inventions packed into a large cart. Their first stop was Gertrude's General Goods, where the shrewd shopkeeper eyed them suspiciously until Fickler demonstrated the self-cleaning boots. Her skepticism melted into amazement, and soon they were making their way from vendor to vendor, leaving a trail of impressed merchants in their wake. At the hardware store, the blacksmith's jaw dropped at the automatic hammer that could tap nails at three different strengths. The bookshop owner nearly wept with joy over the page-turner. By afternoon, they had secured agreements with five different vendors to sell their products on commission. As they walked back toward Fickler's workshop to begin production, Alvenheim was already counting coins in his head, while Fickler cheerfully tried to remember whether they'd need to visit the timber yard or the fabric merchant firstβor was it the glassblower?
