Davis and Martin walked down one of
the high streets of the city of Lock. Davis had the broken blade wrapped and
slung around his back. His new sword, now tied down to his gun belt, swayed
slightly as they walked. All of the people the pair passed went out of their
way to avoid eye contact with Davis. But after they had passed all then looked
at him carefully. Especially the new revolver that now sat in his holster. New
firearms were a very rare sight indeed. David could feel the eyes on him as he
passed. He ignored them. He had no more business in this city and was planning
on leaving this very afternoon. As soon as he found a way to contact the Wizard
that was.
He wanted to be rid of the wrapped weapon now slung on his
back. Davis hated the thing and not because it had almost killed him. Or rather
it had been used to try to kill him. And to rather great effect. The broken
sword had some great power. A curse was upon in. Some deep and commanding magic
that could give certain individuals great power. It could be very dangerous if
it fell into the wrong hands. The Wizard was smart to want it.
But there was something else. There
was a feeling that came off the blade somehow. He could sense it. The way your
hand can sense the heat coming of a hot surface before touching it. It was also
a feeling that Davis was not unfamiliar with. The feeling that came off the
blade was like battle fever. But that was not quite right. Close, but not
right. The feeling was deeper than that. It was simple blood lust. It felt as
though the blade itself wanted war. It wanted conflict and strife. Davis could
also sense these feeling slowly leaking into him. Filling him with a dull,
constant rage. This disquieted him. The object on his back was an instrument of
war. An instrument of death. And although it did not seem to grant all that
wielded it its unnatural power, it yearned for the feel of blood all the same.
Davis took in a deep breath and
followed Martin around a corner. This street was lined with peddlers and small
shops. Most of these seemed to sell textiles and leather works. This street
offered shade and was much cooler. It was also rather more diverse than the
area they had come from. Many more of the green folken could be seen here. Some
shopping, but most just passing the time it seemed. They stood in front of shops
talking and laughing in their own tongue, most of which Davis understood. They worked
a little further on. A few minutes later they stopped in front of a largish two
story building.
“Here we are!” Martin said waving
his hand at the building. Sweat now stood out on his flushed face and his shoes
were rather more dusty than when they had set out.
Davis looked up at the rather run
down looking building. The windows were old and a little dirty with dark shades
drawn closed. There was no large sign as there had been at the mercantile, and
there was no need for on either. The front door was painted a bright and rather
offensive shade of green. The green door had ever been a sign of a potions
shop.
Despite the look of the place it was
far from deserted, as Davis could see. Every few seconds a patron would enter
the shop or exit it holding various objects wrapped in brown paper. They must
do a fair amount of business, being this busy.
“Finest potion shop in this fair
city!” Martin exclaimed, looking at Davis.
“Ever busy, with the hustle and
bustle of the town folk. All of them needing this or that.” Martin said with a
touch of pride. He produces a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face.
“Now then, good sir, let us go and
meet the Lord!” Martin led Davis into the shop.
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