Simon

Simon is Sunton’s Master Mystic Shaper and a member of the town council, where he is also named as a master tailor. His shop stands between Compass Rose Trading and the rest of the city’s trade, and unlike Govannon’s open forge it is shut tight: no windows at all on its first four floors, and lit throughout by big beeswax candles.

Inside are thumb-sized skulls, jars of wings that might be dragonfly or might be pixie, bottles of liquid ranging from something drinkable to something considerably worse, and racks of cloaks, robes, trousers, shoes, skull caps, and enormous wide-brimmed hats. A door at the back leads to the workshop, where a heavy workbench glows and cycles slowly through every colour of the rainbow.

He is spindly, with a longish nose that puts one in mind of a human mosquito, and hair that has thinned rather than gone honestly bald. He speaks in a wheeze and coughs every minute or so — twenty years of it now, from a mishap while making something. He is dryly amused that anyone would worry about catching it.

Terms

He sells nothing in the shop for less than two thousand gold, and is scornful of anyone wanting cheap:

“If you want cheap, go down to the tailors down the street. I don’t do cheap here. I do magical and amazing.”

He is bitter that trade goes to Govannon since the smith came to town, and certain he could make Grandmaster himself if he could only lay hands on legendary ingredients. He is out of love potions, and blames the arrival of Tanwen and her daughter for the run on them.

He does not teach for free. The usual price is a large fee, or living and working alongside him gathering ingredients, which he does not pretend is pleasant. He took Niðrerir as an apprentice in session 4 anyway, on the promise of ingredients brought back from Tyre, and with a clear view of the odds:

“If you don’t come back — which I suspect, high chance — you know, surviving in there once is a miracle. Survive twice? I don’t think that can happen. But if you do, then all it cost me is an hour of my time right now.”

Niðrerir’s first attempt under his eye — a cloak, to carry a non-damaging cantrip three times a day and a +1 to one save — failed on a roll of nine. The ingredients survived; one point higher and they would not have. Simon’s response was to tell him to keep working at it when he comes back, and to hand him the same harvesting kit Govannon gives his own apprentices.

“Now get out of here so I can go take my nap.”

See Relic Forge for the craft itself.