Map Shop

Nestled at the bend of an arched avenue in Voolnishart’s scholar’s quarter, just past the spice sellers and stonecutters, lies The Compass Rose Reclaimed—a sanctum of parchment, ink, and whispered discovery. The carved wood sign swings on bronze hinges, displaying an aged compass rose etched over a palimpsest of faded continents. Inside, the air is warm and thick with the perfume of antiquity: the dry musk of rolled vellum, the tang of iron gall ink, and the crisp edge of heated brass nibs searing into fresh hide. A low hum of murmured conversation and scribbling quills fills the space, punctuated by the rhythmic snap of stretched parchment and the faint sizzling hiss of pressed wax seals.

Winding shelves brim with scrolls, some tightly coiled in brass rings, others pressed flat beneath weighted stones for copying. Many are sold copies of regional charts, merchant routes, and expedition trails, while behind glass panels stand older, rarer originals: a flaking sand-map of the Thol Vales drawn in sun-dyed ochre; a blood-stained chart once belonging to a fallen admiral; the infamous “Cloud and Cinder” skymap, rumored to contain forgotten paths through the Burn’s drifting ash plains. These are not for sale, though many a coin-laden captain has tried to persuade otherwise.

The Proprietor:

Master Ellisar Taernholt is a tall, loquacious human in his seventies with hair like windblown silver wire and eyebrows that have mapped whole continents on their own. His robe is a patchwork affair, covered with hand-inked scraps of old maps stitched into the lining. An inveterate enthusiast, he treats every new traveler as a potential cartographic goldmine and every scrap of inked hide as a holy relic. His voice carries with the cadence of a storyteller, and he delights in retelling the origins of each map, often to the visible exasperation of his staff.

A former scholar of the Mithrin Naval Academy, Ellisar abandoned bureaucratic charting to pursue what he calls “true cartography—the kind that bleeds and breathes.” He is known for fair prices, remarkable accuracy in recent charts, and a ferocious disdain for counterfeits. His sharp nose can supposedly sniff out falsified topography.

His Assistants:

• Almira Vayesh: A lithe dark-skinned human woman in her forties, known for her calligraphic precision and icy demeanor. Almira is the senior scribe, overseeing all copywork with ritualistic intensity. She has memorized the mountain ridges of four continents and insists all new scribes draw rivers before cities—“the land gives way to water, not man.”
• Souran Telk: A bald, spectacled Turalni elf whose memory is said to stretch back over two centuries. He handles the cataloging of ancient and magical maps, some of which are unreadable without whispered passwords or heated breath. He speaks rarely but will provide exacting, esoteric detail if questioned correctly.
• Bren Vokhtar: A burly, ink-stained human with arms like oxen and the hands of a jeweler. Bren is the map-press operator, carefully branding and drying the latest editions. His table near the rear of the shop smells perpetually of scorched leather and brass. Despite his strength, he has the steadiest hand among them all.