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Description
She sat alone in the sweltering heat of her tent, waiting for the afternoon to end. On days like this she wished that she could have an open-air stall, but too many of her products would be ruined by the sun. Besides, the tent gave her shop an air of mystery that seemed to attract some of her regular customers. Many of them were quite eccentric, but she didn’t mind. They usually bought whatever she had in stock that day, which usually consisted of simple potions and the occasional magic book. Where she came from, these things were commonplace, but here, they were viewed as a rarity by some, and as crazy by others.
She went all day without a single sale, and was packing things up, when someone walked into the tent. “Sorry,” she murmured, “I’m closed.”
“That’s too bad, Anemonae.”
She looked up at him, surprised. She hadn’t heard that name in years. The person who had just walked in was a tall man in a long, hooded, featureless cloak, which masked his face. “Who are you?” she asked warily.
“Simply a pilgrim,” the man responded in a soothing voice. “All I’ve come for is to see the scythe.” He shrugged. “But, if you’re closed, I suppose I could come back another time.” He turned around, about to leave.
Anemonae couldn’t believe it. This person knew her name, as well as the existence of the Scythe of Life… For some reason, she felt like she could trust him. She stopped him before he left the tent. “Wait, don’t go, it’s no trouble. Just a minute.” She looked around, and found a large, unmarked chest. She opened it, and produced the Scythe of Life.
It wasn’t a scythe in the traditional sense, but there was no other name for this unique sort of weapon. It was a blade with a curved end, giving it a scythe-like shape. It was a pure white color, with a few simple decorations adorning the hilt, and it seemed to glow with a white light. Almost in a trance, Anemonae held it to the hooded man, who took it from her.
“Thank you, old friend,” he said, putting it in his cloak. Anemonae just stood there, smiling, as the man turned and walked out of the tent. After a moment, she realized what had just happned. She bolted out into the street.
“Hey!” she cried, “Come back here!” She pushed her way through the bustling market crowd, but saw no trace of the man who had just stolen the only possession she truly valued.
After an hour of fruitless searching, she sat down on a bench and cursed herself for her own stupidity. Why did I trust him? He was a complete stranger! No… no, I recognized him… But that’s impossible. He wasn’t one of my customers, so who could he be? A moment passed, and she calmed down, got up, and walked away. She wasn’t angry, that wasn’t like her. No, she was just determined to get the Scythe back. In fact, she didn’t regard the situation as an entirely bad thing. It had been many years since she had done anything except sit in that tent and sell potions to creepy old men, and she had been getting restless. Perhaps, she wondered, this’ll be a nice change of pace. She walked away from the tent, smiling.

Description
She sat alone in the sweltering heat of her tent, waiting for the afternoon to end. On days like this she wished that she could have an open-air stall, but too many of her products would be ruined by the sun. Besides, the tent gave her shop an air of mystery that seemed to attract some of her regular customers. Many of them were quite eccentric, but she didn’t mind. They usually bought whatever she had in stock that day, which usually consisted of simple potions and the occasional magic book. Where she came from, these things were commonplace, but here, they were viewed as a rarity by some, and as crazy by others.
She went all day without a single sale, and was packing things up, when someone walked into the tent. “Sorry,” she murmured, “I’m closed.”
“That’s too bad, Anemonae.”
She looked up at him, surprised. She hadn’t heard that name in years. The person who had just walked in was a tall man in a long, hooded, featureless cloak, which masked his face. “Who are you?” she asked warily.
“Simply a pilgrim,” the man responded in a soothing voice. “All I’ve come for is to see the scythe.” He shrugged. “But, if you’re closed, I suppose I could come back another time.” He turned around, about to leave.
Anemonae couldn’t believe it. This person knew her name, as well as the existence of the Scythe of Life… For some reason, she felt like she could trust him. She stopped him before he left the tent. “Wait, don’t go, it’s no trouble. Just a minute.” She looked around, and found a large, unmarked chest. She opened it, and produced the Scythe of Life.
It wasn’t a scythe in the traditional sense, but there was no other name for this unique sort of weapon. It was a blade with a curved end, giving it a scythe-like shape. It was a pure white color, with a few simple decorations adorning the hilt, and it seemed to glow with a white light. Almost in a trance, Anemonae held it to the hooded man, who took it from her.
“Thank you, old friend,” he said, putting it in his cloak. Anemonae just stood there, smiling, as the man turned and walked out of the tent. After a moment, she realized what had just happned. She bolted out into the street.
“Hey!” she cried, “Come back here!” She pushed her way through the bustling market crowd, but saw no trace of the man who had just stolen the only possession she truly valued.
After an hour of fruitless searching, she sat down on a bench and cursed herself for her own stupidity. Why did I trust him? He was a complete stranger! No… no, I recognized him… But that’s impossible. He wasn’t one of my customers, so who could he be? A moment passed, and she calmed down, got up, and walked away. She wasn’t angry, that wasn’t like her. No, she was just determined to get the Scythe back. In fact, she didn’t regard the situation as an entirely bad thing. It had been many years since she had done anything except sit in that tent and sell potions to creepy old men, and she had been getting restless. Perhaps, she wondered, this’ll be a nice change of pace. She walked away from the tent, smiling.