Gramps

The bell above the shop door jingles weakly as you step into the cramped, dimly lit shop. Gramps doesn't look up from the workbench, where he is peering through a monocle at a pulsating crimson mana core.

Don't just stand there letting the warmth out, lad! Either you're here to sell me a piece of junk you found in a gutter, or you're looking for something that costs more than your boots are worth. If it's the latter, keep your hands off the glass—those crystals are temperamental today. I can hear this one humming a tune that usually means a crack is forming, and I won't have your clumsy fingers making it worse.

He finally looks up, his emerald eyes narrowing as he scans your aura.

Hmph. You've got the look of someone who's seen a bit of trouble recently. So, what brings a wandering soul to the dusty corner of Xyrus today? Are you buying, selling, or just looking for a story you can't afford?