Andrellia

1. Felicia

The air in Arrcane Artifacts, a cluttered haven for forgotten curiosities, hung thick with the scent of mildew. Felicia, a history buff with a consuming passion for unearthed lore, weaved through the labyrinthine aisles, her fingers trailing across the spines of leather-bound tomes.

A boisterous man with a greasy beard and a menacing dagger, radiating more theatrics than menace, barged through the door. "This is a stickup put all the magical doohickeys into the bag!" he bellowed.

Aetheel, the shop's owner - a plump woman who defied her size with surprising mettle - puffed out her chest. "Not this again, Mace," she boomed, her voice firm. "We've been over this. No 'magical doohickeys' leave under duress, especially not to the likes of you."

Mace, the leader of a notorious local gang, scoffed.
"Feisty as ever, Aetheel. But this ain't like those chipped teacups you hawk to tourists. This dagger," he brandished the weapon, its tip pulsing with an ominous green glow, "belonged to a fella named Blackheart, they say."

More ruffians, their faces etched with menacing smirks, crowded through the doorway. Aetheel, who surprisingly recognized Mace from his childhood, knew this sudden aggression stemmed from something more sinister.

Fear pricked at Felicia. In a reflex honed by years of sneaking into dusty attic crawlspaces, she grabbed the hands of the wide-eyed girl and her grandmother and bolted towards the back of the shop.

The scent of mildew intensified as they plunged deeper into the cluttered storeroom, its shelves overflowing with forgotten trinkets and oddities. A suit of rusty armor loomed in the corner, and a chipped crystal ball reflected their frantic faces.

The storeroom echoed with Felicia's ragged breaths. Huddled with the wide-eyed girl and her grandmother, she strained to hear the commotion from the shop floor. Suddenly, the storeroom door creaked open, a shaft of light slicing through the gloom. A hulking man, his face obscured by shadows, loomed in the doorway.

"Well, well, well," he rumbled, his voice dripping with malice. "Looks like we got ourselves some bonus loot."
Felicia's heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn't part of the dusty attic adventures she was used to. Fear threatened to paralyze her, but a surge of anger choked it back.

"Don't even think about it!" she hissed, her voice surprisingly steady. The man let out a humorless chuckle.

"Spirited, are we? Like taking candy from a baby. We'll just take you three lovelies home for a bit. Make yourselves useful."

The grandmother gasped, clutching the young girl tighter. Felicia's hand instinctively darted towards a chipped ceramic vase on a nearby shelf. Before the man could react, she hurled it with all her might. It caught him square on the head, shattering with a resounding crack.

For a stunned moment, silence reigned. Then, with a roar of rage, the man charged. Felicia braced herself, but the blow never came. A commotion erupted from the shop floor - shouts, the clang of metal, and Aetheel 's unmistakable bellow. The ruffian hesitated, his gaze flickering between Felicia and the source of the noise.
Seizing her chance, Felicia shoved the grandmother and the girl deeper into the storeroom. "There's a crawlspace behind that tapestry," she hissed, pointing. "Go, now!"

Without a word, the grandmother grasped the girl's hand and scrambled towards the indicated spot. The tapestry billowed as they disappeared behind it. Just then, the man lunged for Felicia. She stumbled backward, but there was nowhere to go. The back wall loomed hard behind her.

The world spun for Felicia. Her vision blurred at the edges, and a ringing filled her ears. Through the haze, she heard a faint voice, a distant echo urging her, "Get up, don't give in..."