Once the knight is standing across the counter from me, I can already sense the wisdom he brings with him.
I'm sitting on the edge of my seat with anticipation for what business he attends.
"Three acid wolf fangs," he murmurs, standing side-on from the counter, almost seeming embarrassed or coy about the common nature of his wares. "What can I get for this?" he adds.
"Well, these aren't exactly rare items, but I'll give you a silver a piece each for them if you're willing to give them to me," I say quickly, as my excitement slowly drains from my demeanour.
"A silver a piece? That's insane! Why would you make an offer like that?" the man bellows in shock, his eyes widening as his posture loses composure, placing both hands on the counter and leaning over.
"I'm sorry. I'm just not sure I can do any better for this," I respond.
"What? I don't expect a better price it's just that offer is well above market value! So I'll gladly take it. In fact, if you're willing to pay such a price for the fangs, how about you take a look at this blade I found? I didn't intend on selling it, because it seems to be full of cracks, but it's unusually solid and well-made, with a gorgeous dark wood handle," he explains, pulling a dagger from his leather satchel and placing it alongside the fangs.
The blade is gorgeous, just as he said the cracks almost seem intentional in nature.
I'm definitely intrigued by the potential for interest it offers.
"I'll take it. Will doubling your payment to six silvers suffice, with the condition you pick one item from my store to serve as additional payment?" I exclaim, quick to respond.
I wonder what the cracks are for? Are they made by an insect or creature, engraved into the blade? Perhaps some strange damaging substance has taken its toll. Either way, I have to have this dagger.
The knight nods understandingly. He seems genuinely pleased by this outcome.
Wandering around the shop, his eyes tickle each item placed on the shelves. A choice made difficult by the variety and strange nature that lay before him perhaps a fine helmet, or a fancy pouch for his newly acquired silvers. The greying knight's eyes fall on a finely crafted wooden comb, perhaps a choice made out of reciprocation for the generous nature of our interaction.
Nothing seems unusual about the comb, besides its unassuming look in a sea of otherwise curious items.
"May I take this one?" the knight bellows quite honourably.
I nod approvingly, sliding his silvers into his callused hand, even going so far as to neatly wrap up his comb for him.
As the man begins to wander towards the door, he stops and turns.
"Thank you. Could I ask your name, as to pass on word of good repute?" he says, smiling softly.
"The name is Ding Springo, pal," I reply, surprised at his thoughtfulness, before reciprocating his question.
"I'm Charles Mattiano. It's been a pleasure," he nods, continuing through the door.
Till an hour before closing, for the rest of the day, I had no customers enter.
In my head, I ponder my earlier conversation with Charles, regretting I hadn't asked any questions of his likely storied life. But refocusing, I begin endeavouring to explore the design of the blade my small fingers endeavouring endlessly over the surface, until finally-
Click.
A compartment within the handle opens, shining a light of curiosity that washes over my face.
Within the compartment lies a slot, perfect size for a standard vial. Strangely, I decide to place inside a vial I'd made up of the acid I'd extracted from the wolf fangs acquired earlier.
For my first experimentation with the blade, I'm using a dangerous and potent substance a gamble that pays off promptly.
Once the compartment is clipped shut, the once dormant crevices within the blade fill seamlessly with the acid, sitting smoothly within the blade without dripping out.
Now for my favourite part: the physical test. Using a scrap piece of leather, I cut cleanly without putting in an ounce of pressure, the blade glides plainly through with ease.
I jot it into my notebook with the descriptive title of 'acid wolf Damascus' before placing it in the drawer below my desk.
But before the drawer has even closed in its entirety, a young man bursts in wearing the same armour as the knight Charles. His hair thick and brown, shock floods his face.
"The comb! The comb has reverted my age at least ten years! At first it was just my hair once I used it in the mirror, but after a short period its effects have spread throughout my body. How is this possible?" he exclaims, rushing up to the counter.
"It's a one-time-use magic item," I explain. "It came from the state of Belanaim."
The comb's past was fascinating. The legend given of the comb's origin was that their king had ruled, dictating his lands for a hundred years. In his final years, he grew mad, burning down any town rumoured to conspire against him.
The king yearned to rule for longer and for the clarity of his youth. Knowing his time left living was limited, he grew desperate for an answer to his problem, requesting aid from all that would hear it.
Eventually, a lone mage told him of a mythical tree, deep in the underground forests, known to have properties of immortality.
Straight away, the king ordered adventurers to find the tree. He grew obsessed with this objective, spending all his time studying maps speaking of the tree's whereabouts.
Eventually, his endeavour bore fruits in the form of a single branch from the mythical tree. Immediately, the king ordered the branch to be made into three items that it was written could grant the life he demanded: a fork, a ring, and a comb, made only by the finest craftsmen.
Little did the king know, the mage conspired against his rule, setting the king to this task to distract his attention from inciting the suffering he was inflicting, while the mage knew the tree's power was prophesied to only be utilised by the strongest adventurers, with only the truest of hearts.
The king was outraged to find none of these items bore his desired effects. But alas, due to the king growing weary with age, his anger could never be realised.
The king had passed away and faded to obscurity. His possessions slipped from hand to hand, spreading far and wide across the land eventually, the comb landed right here in the shop.
"All I can tell you, Charles, is that I know of your strength, the purity of your heart and hope this has granted you the opportunity to take all the more time to gift that to the world."