The cold night air clung to the city streets like a heavy shroud. In a narrow, dimly lit alley, Arin stood motionless, his expression devoid of emotion. His hand gripped a revolver tightly, smoke still curling from the barrel. Before him lay a lifeless body, face obscured by the shadowy haze of the industrial fog that lingered around them.
Arin's gaze shifted upward, catching sight of the crimson moon hanging ominously in the sky. He allowed himself a brief moment of stillness, his thoughts as cold and sharp as the air around him. With the same stoic demeanor, he slid the revolver into his coat, turned on his heel, and left the alley without a glance back.
Emerging onto the main street, the city of Greenbrook stretched out before him, its iron towers looming over streets lined with cobblestones. The sound of distant machinery filled the air, a constant hum that echoed through the fog.
As he walked, his eyes caught sight of a peculiar cart stationed on the side of the road. A faded wooden sign, lit by a flickering lantern, bore the words:
"The Bizarre Trifles."
"What a strange name," Arin muttered to himself, slowing his steps. He had heard of the new merchant in town, a peculiar figure who supposedly dealt in all manners of oddities. His arm ached faintly beneath the makeshift bandages wrapped around his left forearm. The thought of infection gnawed at the back of his mind, and he decided to approach.
Arin pushed open the creaking door of the cart. The interior was dimly lit, shadows dancing across shelves lined with strange artifacts: jars of glowing liquids, ornate trinkets, and items that seemed to defy reason. A voice called out from within, smooth and measured:
"Please, close the door behind you. I do not enjoy the chill of the night air."
Arin obeyed, shutting the door quietly before stepping further inside. His boots echoed faintly against the wooden floor.
"Welcome, sir," the merchant said with a warm smile. He sat at a small desk in the shadows, polishing a small statue covered in infernal symbols. His attire was immaculate: a black Victorian-style suit that seemed untouched by the grime of the city. His dark hair was neatly combed, glistening under the faint light.
The merchant's eyes glimmered as he leaned forward slightly, his voice rich with an almost theatrical charm.
"And which potion do you seek for your arm?"
Arin stiffened. "How did you know I was looking for something for my arm?"
The merchant chuckled softly as he set the statue aside. "Let's just say... I felt it."
the merchant thought to himself calmly: A man walks into a shop selling magical items, his arm wrapped in makeshift bandages—what else could he be looking for?
Arin narrowed his eyes, his instincts warning him to proceed with caution. He glanced around the room, taking in the strange tools and jars surrounding him, before his gaze settled on the small statue the merchant had been polishing. It was a grotesque piece, adorned with ancient, cryptic symbols.
In his mind, Arin wondered: What kind of merchant deals in things like these? Could he be some ancient demon? And... what's with that strange aura around him?
The merchant's voice broke his thoughts, his smile fixed. "Anti-rot potion are particularly costly these days, wouldn't you agree?"
The merchant pulled out the green vial and held it up in front of Arin.
"This is what you need to slow the rot in your arm."
Arin looked closely at the green liquid in the vial, then raised his gaze to the merchant, speaking cautiously:
"But the dose I usually used is red."
The merchant smiled softly, but the smile held a trace of mystery.
Of course it would be red, the merchant thought to himself. The red dose is more conventional, but this green one is merely an immunity booster.
He straightened and looked at Arin with confidence, his voice calm as he spoke:
"My green dose will stop the rot for a long time. It will also strengthen your arm. A man like you will need two strong arms, am I right?"
Arin pursed his lips, his eyes still fixed on the vial.
"And how much will this cost me?"
The merchant smiled a mysterious smile, his voice full of assurance:
"People don't usually pay much to get what they want, but... they'll pay more for what they truly need than they think."