>>5423052>>5423057>>5423063>>5423080>>5424618>She needn’t worry. You’ll go check up on him yourself.“You needn’t trouble yourself, my lady.” You bow your head as you press through the shop. “I’ll go fetch him myself.”
“Fine, fine.” Your master takes a huff off a smoke pipe taken from her hat. “Just try not to break anything.”
[...]
You press through the towering shelves of teetering trinkets and baubles in the shop’s parlor, through a door that leads into the back. The backroom is dark and smoky, walls lined with a great furlong of brass pipes that bend and twist about themselves like a hedge maze. The pipe’s ends spew occasional puffs of smoke, some rimmed with red hot ash, others capped with pearlescent glass bubbles.
“U-uh.. MISTER CORNWALL? You here?” You duck your head beneath a pipe that runs parallel to the room. “It seems that–oh. Ah. Oh, dear.”
The snarl of pipes entwine themselves about a long run of red along the ground that may or may not have once been human-shaped. A glassblower’s hat is lying half-broken atop the stain, while streaking across the floor rolls the BUSCHGROSSMUTTER DECANTER.
