You, the reader, like so many of us innocent CannaTown citizens, may have stumbled by the great DabberHasher Museum that sits atop Bongcaster Hill, wondering who was behind the town's first Finery. Or maybe you've purchased gifts from the online webstore, forgetting in your haste to bat even an eye at the rich history.

Most people don’t know this used to be an even grander emporium,” says tour guide Ruth Gillis the Third, as she leads people around The DabberHasher, the museum and renovated workshop now turned into a tourist destination. Five times a day, Gillis, a distant relative of the man whose stead once stood in this location, gives a tour of the grounds. Here, amidst a sea of bangers and nails, spread across recreated scenes and exhibits, visitors laud the work and impact of one Theodore Quill McGill, first known DabberHasher in CannaTown proper. 
   McGill, better known as “Quill” to the townsfolk of the time (“the man who could roast wax with a beggar’s nail”), toiled in obscurity at his mysterious shop, Quill's Finery, in the neighborhood of Spliffington Falls. It was tucked away on a narrow street, barely noticeable among the hustle and bustle of the quaint town. Most never even spoke to the man except to procure dabworks for special occasions such as weddings and circular symposiums.
   In those days--roughly 150 years ago--people used knifies, pieces of fruit, hollowed out quill pens (essentially feathers) and other crude methods to smake their satchels and oils. Other than Royals and some extremely high business folks, many of Quill’s wares were considered too special for common use -- a perception of all dabberhashers in that day. According to journals found after his death, the whole thing bothered him: “These bowls hold a whole week’s smakings,” he wrote. 
   One evening, a letter sealed by sticky, dank wax insignia, found its way to Quill’s workshop. It bore an invitation to the Grand DabberHashery Gala, a prestigious event that promised to showcase the pinnacle of hash-smakery. A hushed excitement settled in, and the Cannatown Register printed a full page ad openly inquiring whether the mysterious local icon would represent the town with an ornate reeferspiece.
   Quill never spoke of the Gala, but his demeanor became increasingly tense. The villagers, usually accustomed to an amiable presence, noticed a shadow in his eyes. The air in Quill's Finery crackled with an unspoken anxiety as the artisan meticulously selected materials for his creations, getting even more cross-eyed and unhinged as he came and went from the workshed, ever searching for door-knobs and light-switches. His neighbors heard crashes and curses.
   It was clear he was nervous, and also, indubiously high.
   On the night of departure, a thick fog enveloped the hillside. Quill left his shop without a word. The townspeople, watching from behind curtains, couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous accompanied him on his journey, even more than the three-foot long club sandwich forged in the ovens of Penzacotti’s Grinder’s.
   The Grand DabberHashery Gala itself was a spectacle of opulence and extravagance. Towering buildings adorned with glittering lights loomed over the venue. The competition was fierce, with other dabberhashers showcasing the most ornate and dazzling of bongs and 5-foot steamrollers, nearly all out of reach of the commoner’s pocket and need. Each piece was beyond comparison.
    Then came Quill. A palpable tension gripped the room. Rumors of his craftsmanship had preceded him and now the crowd expected a piece to rival even the most ostentatious creations. Why else would he have brought such a huge gigantic satchel with him? Everyone leaned forward, in wild anticipation of what lay under the curtain, hoping it wasn’t the rest of his sandwich.
   Without much ado, Quill revealed a voluminous collection of glass for the common person. The cost, he announced, was the same as other Gala entries, yet, his selection of pieces from small to large was plentiful and varied enough to supply the whole town. Although durable, the sacrifice, he said, was that each item was simple in appearance. “Good enough, and enough for all,” he hazily explained to the crowd as he chewed.
   As the suspense reached its zenith, the judges announced their decision. The room fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the pounding of his heart and bubble of his Sherlock. Then, a single name echoed through the grand hall — Theodore Quill. The hall erupted into a mix of applause and gasps. Shocked, he could barely stand to accept his reward of riches, a half bag of taffy, and the Governor’s Fare of live rosin sugar. 
   However, the revelry would be short lived, for Quill would barely make it home alive. Caught on the high road between Resinville and Spliffington, he was cornered by his rivals, who sought not only the cart of dabware in his possession but the riches as well. With pitchforks and daggers he was approached but Quill would survive by outsmarting them: he tossed the rosin sugar in the middle of the small mob and made his escape as they fought to the death over it. Miraculously he returned, not unscathed, but with riches, taffy and dabware, intact.
   Returning to Spliffington Falls as the crowned champion, Quill’s shop transformed into a beacon of mystery and allure. The townspeople learned of the epic journey that had unfolded in the grand city, and celebrated him yearly for the award-winning dabware that he handed out freely to citizens. The Finery also began offering Sprecher’s floats in the basement along with basic pubfare and DJs on weekends.

Of Love and War

After triumph at the Gala, a newfound sense of wanderlust ignited within Quill. The enchantment of the Highlands, and the mysteries it held whispered promises of untold adventures. While his counterparts were still focused on glass and quartz, Quill was at the forefront of metals, starting from the rudimentary tin foil applications of the time and working toward a better solution. One night after smaking an entire handful of pure caviar he resolved to embark on a journey beyond the foothills to find it.
   In the Highlands he happened upon fanciful villages with vibrant marketplaces, teeming with bizarre smaking contraptions, stained glass baubles and bowls, and exotic delicacies of extreme potency. Quill wandered through ancient cities, absorbing the rich tapestry of cultures and cross-eyed bong-rips unfolding before him. Everywhere he went, he sought out fellow artisans whose skills were as diverse as the lands they hailed from, matching bowls and exchanging tales, techniques and rice krispy bars.
   One day, in a bustling bazaar nestled in the heart of a desert city, Quill encountered a young woman named Isabella Mirage. She was already an expert extractor and wise for her years, known for creating hashes and shatter that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, reflecting the heat and mirages of the landscape. Intrigued by her dedication, Quill struck up a conversation as they roasted her fine hash on his rig--and a bond formed.
   United by a common love for their craft and smake, Theodore and Isabella returned to his home, with plans to collaborate on a collection to “rule them all.” But in the heart of neighboring Lambsbread, a new dabberhasher named Victor Thorne emerged. Thorne was a charismatic creator whose flamboyant zig zag designs and bold multi-chamber innovations captivated all. Everyone forgot of Quill’s generosity and innovative simplicity in his affordable wares. 
   Grappling with self-doubt, Quill retreated into the dimly lit confines of his workshop. No one knew what he was working upon, and he was unseen for a fortnight. When finally he emerged, he showcased a selection beyond compare, demonstrating what would become the first titanium nailware.
   Thorne responded by showcasing a collection of dab rigs in sparkling glass, somehow pre-filled with hashes and reefer. No one knew where the smakery came from, but couldn’t help but embrace pre-loaded cheefry. However, it wasn’t long after people began finding things in their hash like lint and fuzz, Thorne’s boogers and hair from his cat, that his wares went unsold and his business fell eventually into ruin.
   Quill now took Thorne's customers and, with Isabella at his side, expanded Quill's Finery hillside, now slinging the butters and waxes of his spouse. Already recognized county-wide, the new shop became a destination de force and its attraction of constant patrons help revitalize the local ecannomy.

Myth Begets Myth

In the midst of a picturesque summer one year, a peculiar traveler arrived in town, bearing an ancient map rumored to lead to the legendary Vapo Grove, far on the other side of the Highlands. Legend told of an old mystic who used experimental magic similar to a Tesla coil, to vaporize the smake. 
   Gathering a small group of fellow adventurers, Quill set off into the dense wilderness. The journey proved treacherous: wild beasts, challenging terrains, and mysterious enchantments shifted the very fabric of reality. This was also, because they were smaking caviar-covered blunts the entire traverse.
   The travelers stumbled upon an ethereal clearing bathed in the glow of moonlight. Quill was “ripped as a shorn macaque” as he stood, listening in the silence. For a few minutes the group whispered madly of megafauna coursing just beyond them in the shadows where they’d be surely trampled to death. After a while it was determined the coursing sound was instead a rushing brook.
   All of a sudden, a guardian floated above them in the midst, "aglow in heavenly wonder." It was then that Quill and his posse realized they were not in the middle of a thick fog, but rather, the dank billowing updrafts from deep, giant volcanic chambers. In another light--and after they’d acquiesced to the sweet disorientation--they could see the keeper of knowledge was standing on a stool and wrapped in Christmas lights.
   Quill would go on to bring the magic of electricity to the world of smakery, and the rest is history. You can see it for yourself now, and all stages of his life, at the museum that stands today where the Grand Finery once did.