The Lost Satchel — Slightly Better than Perfect

The Curious and Mildly Confounding Tale
of a Satchel That Refused to Stay Lost

Long before the sign was carved or the roof was raised, there was only the satchel. Frayed at the seams, heavy with unspoken stories, it appeared one morning by the moongate, as though it had always been there. No one saw who placed it. Some swear it fell through the gate; others say it just showed up like that one friend who never leaves.

At first, travelers passed it by. Then one took a bottle of curious blue liquid, labeled simply “Thursday” and left behind a bundle of bandages. Later that day, a soot-covered alchemist was seen wrapping his swollen hands with them. More folk encountered the peculiar satchel, and each time they returned, they found something else inside. Something they didn’t know they needed.

Word spread. A tradition formed. “Take one, leave one”, they’d say, half in jest, but none dared violate the unspoken pact. No one quite understood how the satchel worked. Some thought it was guided by fate, others claimed it was run by a broke wizard in hopes to obtain reagents.

Over time, the satchel’s contents grew stranger. Self-locking strongboxes. Neatly folded maps of places that didn’t exist — until they did. Books for miners in dire need of step-by-step instructions on surviving an attack of hungry cooks. One adventurer left an entire set of enchanted armor in exchange for a bag of carrots. When asked, he shrugged and said, “Carrots are important too, just don’t try to wear them.”

The satchel did not sell; it shared.

Fixbee Cogglepot’s Supplies
for the Lost, the Bold, and the Bewildered

And then one day, Fixbee Cogglepot found it, or rather it found him — with the force of a small explosion, and a puff of lavender smoke. When the dust settled and his eyebrows stopped twitching, he did the only sensible thing: he set up a bench and started sorting the contents. Over the next few weeks, he returned every day and built around it. Not a shop, but a shrine to useful oddities. A shrine with great customer service, mind you. A sanctuary for the curious, the unprepared, and the temporarily dead.

Master Cogglepot — known to a few as “The Stitch” — is rarely seen without a smudge of soot on his face and a peculiar tool in hand. The workshop, a cozy clutter of curious contraptions, is filled with bottles of suspicious liquids, boxes of cogs and screws, and the occasional invention that might just save your hide.

While on an eternal quest to forge the perfect iron ingot — a pursuit no one quite understands but him — Fixbee always finds time to prepare kits for those in need. Whether you’ve lost your pants to a PK or need a potion to make it back to your corpse in one piece, he’s got you covered.

Nowadays, the shop is buzzing with apprentices who trade stories and unexpected merchandise with anyone who dares to enter. Travelers wander in, wide-eyed and mystified by the organized chaos.
The townsfolk? They gave up asking questions long ago.

And still, beneath the counter, in a place of quiet reverence, the satchel remains.
Slightly better than perfect.

Terms and Conditions