Introduction.
Where do old, exhausted or damned artifacts go? In the shop of supported artifacts, of course! Owners: Steve and Forlie will not only buy them, but will also lift the curse or find a new use for them. True masters of the business - they will find a way out of any situation!
Part 1. Iphrite.
- How much longer? — knocking his teeth out of the cold, Steve asked.
He was standing in the middle of the room, holding a dark book on his outstretched arms. Despite the summer outside the window, Steve was dressed as if winter would come any minute now. His brother Forlie was standing in the corner with a magic detector reminiscent of a dream catcher. The detector was spinning and spinning like a hurricane, saying in every possible way that the magic in the room was too much and it was time to leave.
- Almost there! - Forlie, unlike Steve, as if he hadn't noticed either the cold or the riot of magic - all his attention was focused on the book.
She sparkled and poured out waves of hellish cold.
- Hold it tight! According to my calculations, a couple more minutes and... - tried to cheer up Brother Forlie.
But he wasn't listening anymore, his hands, despite two pairs of good fur gloves with lining, felt like two pieces of ice. And the cold wasn't going to stop there - he was slowly sneaking through Steve's body, shackling it like a spider was his victim. Realizing that there was still a bit more, and no healer would help him anymore, he shook his hands slightly - enough for the book to fall out of them, and that he had the strength to bounce back. They were enough to fall half a meter from the folio.
The riot of magic and cold had subsided. The book was lying quite ordinary upside down and shimmering with frost. Forlie leaned against the frozen detector and, with his tongue, approached his brother. Steve didn't look good, but he was breathing.
- A stone! - He pierced his teeth.
Forlie took out a small pebble from his pocket, hardly more wine cork and put it on his only bare skin - his forehead. The artifact shone green, and Steve began to return to life.
This pebble had been lying in the spring of eternal youth for centuries, absorbing magic. Eternal youth and immortality were not in his teeth, but he healed well, allowing him to save on drugs.
While Steve was enjoying the opportunity to move his arms again, his brother approached the book and touched it carefully, but immediately pulled his hand. The Foliant Once upon a time, the book belonged to the wrong magician or sorcerer and served as a diary for him. Fearing for his priceless knowledge, the wizard protected her with cold as he could. It was a strange choice, more often than not, that the magicians preferred it to be simpler - Golems or, in case of emergency, a strong chest. Then he lived long enough until one early morning he slipped on the stairs, slipping his neck.
The book eventually ended up with Steve and Forlie, who were immediately looking for a way to remove the protective spell. As is often the case, over time the protective magic has not only not weakened, but also learned new tricks. Thus, according to the records of eyewitnesses, half a century ago, the book just bound itself with ice, not letting you read its priceless content. It was not clear what was written in it, however, that the brothers' fervor had not cooled down at all.
Having tormented themselves with all sorts of complex rituals, which effectively ended in nothing, they decided to take the artifact of frostbite. Forlie estimated that the book uses all its magical potential if it is taken by an unknown person. According to his calculations, she should have had enough magic for ten to fifteen minutes.
It was smooth on paper, but in fact the book did not slow down an inch for the previous three approaches. Today, taking into account past mistakes, the brothers (or rather, Steve) lasted almost twenty minutes, but the defense withstood. Neither fires, nor warm rooms, nor warm clothes helped.
- Buying a fire, increasing the fire with a pair of runes, warming the ointment and a pair of gloves,” Forlie began to pretend.” - I think we can hold on for thirty minutes, maybe forty. I don't think she has that much magic.
Steve and the wheezing sat down, and it was twice as hard to do so because her clothes were frozen. He was sitting right in the ashes from the fire - an ordinary fire stood for two minutes before it faded out.
- And s-sleep the hell out of the store. We'd already tried the fire variant - the book doesn't care much," he said, still stuttering a little.
- Well, the fire will definitely warm you up.
- I'm not taking this thing anymore, it's obviously in the taste and tries to kill me. Two weeks later, we'll sell some villager on the glacier. Maybe at least a dozen gold pieces will be taken away.
The book, like other damned artifacts, was worth a penny, in contrast to the many ingredients they bought in an attempt to remove protection.
Steve and Forlie held a second-hand artifact shop in their own name. Things didn't go smoothly, but were acceptable - they bought old, often cursed artifacts, researched them, and sold them as much as possible. Most often the negative effects could not be completely removed, so they were looking for a way to weaken them.
Does a pen write in scribbles? It is not a problem - we combine it with an endless diary, in which you can write only negative and sell it to the city hall as a book of complaints. A customizable self-portrait depicting you hanged? - looks great in the interrogation room of the guard. Does a self-seeking tablecloth prepare poisoned products? - The guild of murderers paid for it, as for three normal ones.
Their personal pride was the Hero's Armor. Their previous owner not only died in them, leaving a corresponding smell, but also his spirit. The ghost was characterized by bad temper and irrepressible profanity, and he tried in every way to kill anyone who, in his opinion, was not worthy of his armor. Judging by the long list of previous customers, the ghost considered only himself worthy.