The store bustled with activity for the rest of the day, the same familiar faces popping in and out. Mostly some low level Players needing potions for the raids into the Mist. Varis kept to himself, assisting Esme with her daily tasks while trying to avoid the gases of contempt he would recieve from time to time.
As the day wore on, over by an old worn desk, Esme was engrossed in her work, her skilled hands moving gracefully, each gesture precise and practiced. By her side, Varis matched her finesse, they work with choreographed ease brought by familiarity. Together, they got through the orders for the day, their tasks unfolding amidst bubbling elixirs, exotic ingredients, and under the ethereal glow of enchanted crystals.
Now and again Varis would steal a glance over to Esme. Honestly her body would put even the most noble lady to shame. It kept drawing his eye even after all the years working side by side. Catching himself perhaps staring a little too long at her, especially at her large but almost magically perky breasts, Varis felt his blood heat and a he destracted himself by throwing himself back into the work. It would lead to hellish levels of teasing if she caught him looking at her...again.
As they neared the end of their day, Esme finally looked up, allowing herself a playful glance toward Varis. Wearing a sly smile that hinted at mischief.
"Varis," she purred, her voice taking on a teasing undertone, "I must admit, you're becoming quite the alchemical prodigy, aren't you? With your looks plus those skilled hands you must be a terror "
Varis couldn't help but feel a warm flush spread across his cheeks, stirred by her words and the playful tone in her voice.
"Well," he coughed, his gaze not quite able to meet hers, "they do say that practice makes perfect. And having such a skilled teacher certainly helps."
Esme's laughter rang through the air, a melodic sound that in turn made Varis' blush worsen. He couldn't help but think how captivating she looked when she laughed, how her eyes sparkled with an inner light.
As Esme continued to tease him, Varis's thoughts strayed to a more personal realm. He couldn't deny that he found her attractive, not just because of her looks and alchemical prowess, but also the grace with which she carried herself. It wasn't just her silver hair, her radiant smile, her enchanting presence or the fact that she had a body that most noble ladies would kill for—though all of those certainly played their part. Especailly the last.
It was the mystery that surrounded her, the fact that he didn't even know how old she truly was. She possessed an otherworldly allure, as if she were a timeless being inhabiting the world of mortals. In his boyish fantasies, he wondered if she had been practicing alchemy for centuries, accumulating wisdom and secrets beyond imagination.
But then, a shadow of doubt crept into his mind. What chance did he, a street urchin who had been kicked out of his family and barely scraped together enough coin to survive, have with someone like her? Esme was refined, educated, and undoubtedly had her pick of companions. She had never shown any romantic interest in him beyond their playful banter, and he was well aware of his own failings and inadequacies.
Varis sighed inwardly, banishing such thoughts to the recesses of his mind. He had a life to live and a purpose to chase beyond the confines of his heart. Their flirtatious exchanges were just that—playful banter meant to lighten the atmosphere.
As Esme's laughter faded into the air, she returned to their alchemical tasks, and Varis followed suit. The hum of enchantments and the swirling scents of herbs and potions once again enveloped them. In the intimate cocoon of their shared craft, Varis focused on his work, savoring the fleeting moments of connection with a woman he found not only attractive but also inspiring.
As the day came to a close and with his modest reward in hand—a handful of weak medical herbs and a few coins—Varis left the shop with a quick goodbye and embarked on his journey back to his ramshackle dwelling.
The path took him back through the maze-like alleys of the city, the familiar shadows and filth passing him by.
Arriving at his meager abode, Varis wasted no time tending to his injuries. Though a bit better than this morning, he still felt like one big walking bruise. The weak herbs from Esme provided some relief as he applied them to the myriad cuts and aches that bore testament to his confrontations with Malachai.
Sitting on the edge of his threadbare bed, Varis's thoughts turned to the earlier overheard conversation between Esme and Lady Elenor, the beautiful noblewoman who frequented the shop. Their discussion had centered around a glowing herb rumored to possess extraordinary healing properties. The mere mention of it had ignited a spark of hope within him—a chance to escape the squalor of the slums, maybe earn some coin and perhaps enough that he could even gain entry to the prestigious Player Academy, a dream he had long dismissed as unattainable.
The weight of this decision pressed upon Varis. If he could locate the fabled herb before Lady Elenor had a chance to assemble a Player party for the search, he might wield it as leverage to secure some favour. The tantalizing prospect of a brighter future now beckoned him with renewed allure. Hope is something that scared him but the idea of living the rest of his days like this frightended him more. So, even if he had to risk going into the Mist without a Soul Rune, even if he ended up dying, Varis knew that this might be his last chance. He needed power. He needed to prove that he was more than what he had been labled. Not just to his family or Malachi but to prove it to himself.
With these thoughts he laid back on his bed, drifting to sleep. If anyone could see him now they would have glimpsed a beautiful soft smile on his lips.
Waking up with more energy than usual thanks to his newfound determination, Varis set out to prepare for the risky journey he was willing to embrace. He gathered the modest adventure gear he had meticulously assembled over the years: pilfered pouches, a well-worn map, a dented canteen, and a meager supply of rations. Every item bore the scars of countless hardships endured in the unforgiving city. Yet, despite the makeshift nature of his preparations, one vital component was still missing—a weapon that could aid him in the perilous Mistwood Forest.
After finally getting his provisions together, Varis clutched the few coins he had scraped together since his childhood on the streets. He needed a weapon, something more formidable than the makeshift tools that had sustained him thus far. With a determined glint in his eye, he made his way to the Crafting District.
After almost an hour of walking he reached his destination. The rows of shops stretched before him, their signs bearing symbols and names he couldn't decipher. He hesitated, unsure of which shop to enter. His unkempt appearance and low funds added to his uncertainty. Arcanum's blacksmiths' skills were renowned, and their services often came at a steep price.
After looking around for awhile and being chased out of a few more shop due to his ragged appearance. Varis spied one shop that stood at the outer edge of the crafting district, standing alone in the hustle of the streets. Uncertainty gnawed at him; his unkempt appearance and modest funds had made it almost impossible to find anything so far, even getting the chance to speak to the disgruntled shopkeepers had been hard. Filled with anxiety he decided that one last try wouldn't hurt. He needed a weapon or this journey would almost certainly end with him dead.
After a moment's contemplation, Varis settled on a shop that seemed more inviting than the others. Its sign bore an intricately detailed hammer and anvil, and the muffled clang of metalwork emanating from within. As he pushed open the creaking door, he was greeted by the warmth of the forge's radiant heat and the rhythmic cadence of hammers striking anvils.
The shop was simple but still impressive, with embers smoldering like fading stars and dwarven smiths, their faces weathered and their hands calloused, working tirelessly at their anvils. At the counter stood an eldery bald dwarf, his sturdy frame garbed in a leather apron and his magnificent beard framed a face that exuded wisdom and resilience. He watched Varis's arrival with keen eyes, a glimmer of curiosity dancing within them.
"Welcome, lad. What can I do for you?" the dwarf inquired, his voice a harmonious blend of gruffness and warmth.
Varis cleared his throat, his voice tinged with nervousness.
"I'm in need of a weapon."
The dwarf's hearty laughter filled the air, loud and filled with mirth.
"Ah, a good blade can make all the difference. What do you have to trade for one?"
Varis hesitated, the weight of his meager coin purse feeling painfully inadequate.
"I... don't have much, but I'm willing to pay whatever I can."
The dwarf leaned forward, studying Varis with a discerning eye. A surprisingly kind smile on his face. Making Varis think of an old grandfather smiling to his grandkids.
"It's okay lad. No need to be nervous. While i say that you probably cant afford our normal prices we should be able to find you something. Tell you what, have a look in the discount bin. There might be something there that suits you."
Gratitude welled up within Varis, and he nodded appreciatively. He ventured to the bin that the elderly dwarf pointed out. It was an old barrel containing a collection of obviously discarded or faulty weapons—broken and battered remnants of battles long past or failures that the apprentices had been unable to sell.
As he sifted through the remnants, his fingers brushed against something cold and unyielding. Retrieving it from the bin, he revealed a black katana. Its blade was concealed beneath layers of grime, dulled and rusted. Yet, despite its humble exterior, the weapon exuded an inexplicable allure that drew Varis in.
The dwarf approached, his gaze focused on Varis.
"Found something, did you?"
Varis held the katana, his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the weight and length of the blade seemed perfect to him. An uncanny connection with the blade.
"This...this one. It may not be much but it seems perfect for me for some reason."
The dwarf regarded Varis with a raised eyebrow. A strange look, a mixture of surprise and approval?
"Sometimes, lad, the weapons choose their owners. Take it, then. It's been in that bin for ages, and no one else has shown any interest."
Varis accepted the weapon with a profound sense of gratitude and determination.
"Thank you. As you pointed out I don't have much but maybe I can afford it?"
The dwarf scoffed at him. "That old thing has been here for years, just take it. Doing me a favour lad. Been needing to clear out this old pile of trash."
Varis looked at him. He could tell the dwarf was doing him a favour, no idea as to why but not wanting to voice much protest. After all he needed a blade and alost literal beggers can't be choosers.
"I'll rember this Senior. Can I ask the name of the one I will repay one day?"
The dwarf looked at him, the same grandfathery smile on his face.
"It's Durin, lad. A repay me by coming back from whatever crazy thing your going to do."
Varis was about to protest but Durin chimed in,"No need to say anything lad, ive seen that look you have in your eye before but its not my place to stop you. Giving you a fighting chance even with that old thing, that is something I can do. Now get out of here, can't have you driving off the rest of the customers can I."
With a loud laugh he began ushering Varis out of the shop. With a quick nod of apprecation to the dwarf he went on his way.
Leaving Durin's shop with the naked blade strapped to his pack, hidden from sight by an old blanket. Varis felt a renewed sense of purpose. He had aquired a weapon and felt that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot at this.
The mysterious depths of the Mistwood Forest awaited him—a realm of danger, wonder, and enigma. Armed with the katana and fueled by his burning determination, he was ready to confront the challenges that lay ahead.
As the city's lights began to twinkle in the growing dusk, Varis drew a deep breath. He was prepared to step beyond the safety of the city's runed walls and venture into the veiled unknown of the mist-covered forest. His 'quest' for the legendary glowing herb beckoned him onward, and he was willing to stake everything on the chance for a better future.
Meanwhile, within the depths of the blacksmith's thoughts, Durin, once known as a Master blacksmith, pondered the significance of Varis's choice. That ancient bade, once abandoned in the discount bin, had now chosen a new master. Something he had long since given up on seeing in his lifetime.
Durin's brow furrowed, and he mused to himself, "Either that boy will meet his end or ,if fate wills it, the world will once again bear witness to one of the seven sins. Both humanity and the Mistborn are in for some fun hahahaha"
A wry, knowing smile tugged at Durin's lips as he returned to his work, the ring of his hammer against the anvil resuming its rhythmic cadence.
"Good luck, lad," he muttered, the words carried away by the symphony of the forge.
"You're going to need it."