03/25/2026: Pangborn’s Arcane Emporium

The next day, the group decides they need to do a little more shopping before they leave for the Caves of Lost Things. Avoiding the Infernal Mall, they wander through the central district of the icy city of Tantlin. The streets here are quieter than the Mall's busy corridors—narrower, older, and colder. Ice crusts the doorways of the buildings, and the oil lamps behind the shop windows throw long amber rectangles across the frozen ground.

They come across a shop called Pangborn's Arcane Emporium. In the window, items of uncertain purpose are arranged on velvet cushions, each lit from above by a single flickering lamp. The door opens before anyone knocks.

Pangborn, a purple-skinned devil with one gold tooth and an eye patch that—on closer inspection—has a small hole bored through it, smiles ingratiatingly at the group.

“How may I be of service?”

Murlack, face alight with anticipation, tells the devil that he would like some sort of magic item that will increase his strength. Pangborn turns without a word, rummaging through cupboards, chests, and drawers, muttering to himself, before finally extracting a very large and gaudy belt. A massive, glittering clear crystal is set into the buckle. The oiled leather looks supple; the bands of steel and rivets gleam.

With a flourish, the devil presents it before Murlack, whose eyes grow wide.

“This,” Pangborn announces in a plummy, ingratiating voice, “is a Belt of Frost Giant Strength. Wearing it will enhance your physical power, no matter who you are, and it will change size to fit you perfectly! Anyone would want such an item—but you, sir, in particular—it will go with your piercing eyes.” He smiles a little too widely as he passes the belt to Murlack, who is genuinely awed to hold such an object.

“How much?” Murlack’s eyes do not leave the belt.

“You are fortunate, sir,” trills Pangborn. “This incredibly rare object happens to be on sale this week. I can let you have it for 35,000 scrip.”

The showroom, which moments before had been filled with the excited whispers of the group, grows silent.

Recognizing that the number he has just quoted has landed poorly, Pangborn recalibrates. “Although that is the sale price, I can allow for an additional discount, as you are new to Stygia. I am authorized to come down as far as 34,500 scrip—but no further. At that price, the business would be taking a loss.” Pangborn smiles, showing a great many very sharp-looking teeth.

Murlack turns to his friends and, under his breath, whispers, “Maybe one of you can distract him. I’ll try to steal it.”

Lynx rolls his eyes and whispers back, “I can’t believe you’re going to steal. We only just got here!”

“We’re already in Hell,” responds Krasnyy. “Does it really matter?”

Newt looks hard at the salesdevil and demands, “Seriously—can you make my friend a deal?”

Pangborn shakes his head sadly. “No, I’m afraid not. That offer is at cost. I can drop the price no farther.”

Stepping out of Pangborn’s line of sight, Murlack casts a Charm spell on the shopkeeper. His hope is to enchant the devil into dropping the price further—or possibly even gifting him the belt outright.

Pangborn easily repels the arcane energy. He glares at the warlock—but before he can say a word, Freda steps forward.

“Sir! Sir!” she demands brightly. “I’m interested in the next most expensive thing in your shop.”

Newt nods vigorously. “Yes—what is the second most expensive thing you have?”

Distracted by the prospect of another sale, Pangborn sets the Belt of Frost Giant Strength down on the table. “That would be the Cloak of Billowing.” With a broad smile, he begins to rummage again through the crowded shelves and beneath the counter.

Every eye in the room—except Pangborn’s—is on the Belt, resting by itself on the table. But before anyone can act, Pangborn pulls a leather bag from one of the drawers. Plunging a hand into its depths, he draws out a golden cloak that ripples slightly in his grasp despite the stillness of the air. He unfurls it with a snap, and indeed the cloak waves impressively, as though caught in some stiff but private breeze. No air moves within the shop, yet the fabric billows.

“This,” gushes Pangborn, “will look so well with the color of your hair!” The devil holds the cloak against Newt, who marvels at how the fabric undulates out behind him.

As Pangborn fusses with how the cloak hangs from Newt’s shoulders, extolling its finer qualities, Tick casually sidles up to the table where the Belt of Frost Giant Strength rests. They pick it up, roll it into a ball, and hide it beneath their coat.

Across the room, Newt is admiring himself; the golden cloak flows out behind him in a very impressive, flapping manner.

“How much?” asks the dazzled fighter.

Pangborn’s face is neutral. “For this finely made item—impressive as it is—a mere 20,000 scrip is quite the bargain.”

The room again grows silent. “What else does the Cloak of Billowing do?” someone finally thinks to ask.

Pangborn goes rigid. He yanks the cape from Newt’s shoulders and makes a show of folding it reverently before replacing it back in the leather bag. When he rounds on the group, his voice has risen considerably.

“A garment like this—look at the workmanship! It helps the wearer look marvelous, sirs! Most impressive! And THAT is worth the price all by itself! If you are not serious about making a substantial purchase in my shop, you will have to leave. Good day!!”

During Pangborn’s snarky recitation and dismissal, Tick tosses the balled-up Belt of Frost Giant Strength to Newt, who slips it into his backpack. Newt snaps, “That’s waaaay too expensive!” and swings around out of Pangborn’s line of vision, furiously stuffing the belt the rest of the way in. He walks out of the shop.

Tall Glumbo, apparently deciding the situation calls for escalation, pulls his vial of holy water from his pack.

“No!” Krasnyy gasps, lunging toward him. Freda is half a step behind her.

By now, Pangborn is screeching at the top of his voice: “Get out! Vandals! Thugs!” He leaps atop his counter, shrinking as far from Glumbo as he can get, clawed hands pressed against the rear wall.

With Freda’s help, Krasnyy tries to wrestle the holy water from Glumbo’s grip. In what seems like slow motion, the vial is knocked from Tall Glumbo’s hand. It tumbles end over end, the cut crystal catching the flickering light of the oil lamp.

The vial shatters on the floor.

Holy water sprays across the wooden floor.

Which immediately ignites.

Pangborn’s screams of rage change to wails of fear. His clawed hand finds the fire alarm on the rear wall and wrenches it hard. The clamor of a klaxon howls from somewhere overhead.

In the distance, outside, sirens begin to wail as the Infernal Fire Brigade rushes toward Pangborn’s shop.

Newt, purloined belt safely stowed in his backpack, slips into an alley, followed quickly by Krasnyy. They swap clothing, and Krasnyy helps Newt shave off his hair. Newt vanishes into the dark, off to find the Tantlin Night Market—and someone there who deals in contraband.

In the bedlam of the still-burning shop, Nequo casually casts Create Water, dousing the fire.

The disappointed fire fighters arrive to find the crisis resolved. As a reward for saving his shop, Pangborn presents Nequo with a pair of fine green, fireproof trousers. Nequo pulls them on directly over his existing pants.

Glumbo stands dejected, sad, and more than a little cranky at Krasnyy. He is now out a bottle of holy water.

Krasnyy has slipped back into the shop, now dressed in Newt’s clothing. She overhears Pangborn describing the thief—the one who stole the Belt of Frost Giant Strength—in careful detail to two City Watch devils. “He wore a red cape—a red jacket—a red hat. A beard and long hair. I believe this to be the same person responsible for the fire and the damage to my store!”

The two City Watch devils and Pangborn stare at Krasnyy, who has her back to them.

“Where is my item, sir!” Pangborn demands, as he reaches out to turn Krasnyy toward him.

Pangborn blinks for several seconds.

“Oh—madam. My apologies. I—confused you with someone.”

Krasnyy smiles, saying nothing, and leaves with the others as Pangborn, recovering his composure, declares that he is offering a reward of 500 scrip for the return of the Belt. “It is the most valuable item in my inventory! I must have it returned!”

Later, Newt meets up with the group, and they head toward the sketchiest part of Tantlin to see if they can sell the Belt of Frost Giant Strength. As they descend into a gray and dangerous-looking neighborhood, glowing eyes peer out from between the buildings. Abandoned-looking structures and stalls shielded by black cloth are staffed by heavily hooded figures lurking in the shadows.

What stands out to the group are the hundreds of wanted posters plastered across every surface—each bearing a hand-drawn image that looks quite like Newt did, when he had hair and a beard.

Realizing he will not be able to sell the Belt here, Newt returns to Pangborn’s shop and gives the it back to the grateful shopkeeper. Pangborn is overjoyed and, true to his word, produces the 500 scrip reward. He does not recognize Newt.

Newt discovers that this is just enough to pay the entire debt—to clear every obligation the group has to Stygia—with three scrip left over for himself.

The group celebrates. 

On the way back to their dormitory, Newt sees a street magician. He watches the ball placed under one of three cups, trying to keep his eye upon the cup the ball has been hidden under. The devil magician moves the cups rapidly, and asks in an ingratiating way, “Where is it?”

Naturally, Newt chooses the incorrect cup, and now has lost 5 scrip. Newt’s short time owing nothing in Hell is finished.

He and the others in the group are, of course, still trapped in Hell. Their debt will grow again. They know it. And they will still need a dog sled to reach the Caves of Lost Things to complete their mission for the Proctor. But tonight, for a few minutes at least, the ledger read zero for everyone.