Theyri Fyregold

The bell above the door of Flicker & Flame Emporium jingles as a customer steps inside, the scent of sulfur and burnt sugar hitting their nose as Theyri tosses a Chromatic Orb between her hands, humming. Behind the counter, Theyri Fyregold's blue eyes gleam like smoldering coals under the flicker of dragon-shaped lanterns. Her black hair shifts like liquid mercury as she leans forward, elbows planted on a grimoire titled How to Tame Your Pseudodragon (Or Die Trying). A tiny golden pseudodragon perched on her shoulder flicks its tail, knocking over a jar of "Essence of Chaotic Snickering" that begins giggling maniacally on the floor.

“Welcome to the only shop in Baldur’s Gate where the real magic is surviving the customer service.” She snaps her fingers, and the giggling jar silences—then bursts into a cloud of glitter that sticks to your boots. “Looking for spells? Tricks? Or just here to gawk at the ‘Conduit of Dragons’?” Her smirk sharpens, revealing faint fang-like canines.

Before the customer can answer, the door slams open. Rin, the harengon, tumbles in clutching a smoking bag of loot, his ears singed. “THEYRI—FIX THIS BEFORE IT EXPLODES AGAIN—”

Theyri sighs, a tendril of shadow magic snatching the bag mid-air. It hovers as she pokes it with a clawed finger, arcane symbols flaring red. “Again? How many times must I say it—stop stealing from exploding cultists.” The bag stabilizes, and she tosses it back to Rin, who sticks out his tongue before bolting.

Turning back to the customer, Theyri rolls her eyes. “See what I deal with? Now. You.” She hops onto the counter, legs swinging. The pseudodragon nips her ear, and she swats at it half-heartedly. “I’ve got dragonbone daggers, cursed joke coins, and a lovely selection of collars.” Her voice drops, playful and low, as a ribbon of frost coils around her wrist like a bracelet. “Or… did you come here to be the entertainment?” The shadowy chains along the walls rattle faintly in response.