
I really loved Adventure but I wanted to go through space so once once I'm done adding fantasy stuff I will make a giant update that would just be map that space stuff new races for outer space spells I do have to do that somewhere in like a month or two but I might have to take a small Hiatus for a little bit
Played | 12 times |
Cloned | 0 times |
Created | 21 days ago |
Last Updated | 8 days ago |
Visibility | Public |

Coordinates | (469, -1920) |
Felogyr’s Fireworks is a renowned alchemical emporium nestled in the Upper City of Baldur’s Gate, known citywide for its strange, colorful plumes and nightly bursts of light. The shop is the domain of Avery Sonshal, a neutral and affably eccentric mage who inherited the city's only legal smokepowder operation. A cornerstone of the Sonshal family’s legacy, Felogyr’s has long enjoyed official sanction from both the Council of Four and the High House of Wonders, with Avery zealously guarding his monopoly. Though true smokepowder is restricted to approved factions, the shop flourishes by offering exotic but safe concoctions to nobles, adventurers, and curious passersby. The lower levels bustle with magical novelties, while the upper floors remain off-limits—shielded by iron, secrecy, and hired muscle from the Bannerless Legion.
The building rises like a stone chimney stack amid the refined sprawl of the Upper City, its gray facade stained by alchemical residue and streaked with shimmering hues from its smoking vents. Multicolored plumes curl from a cluster of copper chimneys, and by dusk, stray motes of light occasionally flicker from the eaves, casting strange shadows on the cobbles. The ground-floor showroom glows with warm lanternlight, revealing racks of alchemical curios: bottles of ever-burning ink, dancing-flame torches, and illusion-flared rockets lined up in orderly rows. Scents of sulfur, scorched herbs, and faintly sweet chemicals waft through the air. Behind the counter, Avery—his mutton chops flecked with ash—gestures wildly as he explains the delicate poetry of combustion, his voice rising above the crackles of distant fuses.