Among the tailor’s mundane materials – fabrics, threads, lumps of beeswax – the investigators discovered evidence of his odious craft: illegal pixie dust, pegasus pelts, troll tongues, bottles of dragon’s blood, and worse – a chest of elf skins.
Good luck writing that report; first the magical firefight that saw the old man incinerated, and now proof that the surge in dark artifactivity was the tailor’s handiwork – what a can of wyrms!
“What kinda deranged sicko-” Cheb stopped. He’d unlatched a trunk before noticing a symbol on it: a warning. “Uh. . . ”
Someone yelled, “get out!”
The others fled as Cheb exploded.