"Welcome to my sacred space! Come, sit under my roof, eat of the feast, drink of my wine! I am called Kelvoriss, Lord of the Evening!"
Lokenth searched for a proper response. Several came to mind. What roof? What feast? What wine? Lord of the what, now? The old man before him was clothed in rags, and his eyes couldn't seem to stop moving about, as if he were surrounded by dazzling flying insects. Magic powers, indeed. He suspected the man was drunk on ikrif.
"I am called Lokenth," he said slowly. "I have heard you can repair this weapon. It belongs to the King of Arcaea-"
"Yes! Yes! You have no doubt heard many tales of my magic powers. This sword of yours. The Bone Sabre of Blood, of infamy and mystery, yes?"
"Right," Lokenth said. It was he who had given it the name, so it was unlikely the man had heard of it's infamy or mystery in some arcane tome or anything. Yet it was slightly impressive that the so-called sage could identify it quickly, anyway. "Your magic powers. What will it cost?"
"Let me see, my child. Ah, yes. Bone hilt, leather, steel blade. A prestigious weapon. An auspicious weapon, and the blade of a king, yes! I can improve it for you at small cost."
"What cost?" Lokenth repeated patiently.
"Fool's gold! Moonstone! The skull of a monster! And twenty-four gold coins... and four silvers, too, yes. Then it shall brighten the night, and darken the day!"
He sighed. "I don't need it to brighten the night or darken the day. It's worn out, is all. A repair. How much for that?"
"You may not need it to brighten, to darken! But this king of yours, he might, no?"
"I doubt it." What did that even mean? The man was clearly mad. "Besides, I have none of those things."
"Oh." Kelvoriss sounded truly saddened. "A simple repair, then. The blade is nicked, and rusting. This I can do... though with more, I could do more!"
"I'm sure you can," said the adventurer, who wasn't sure at all. "A repair is all I am charged with." Thank the gods. Fool's gold and true gold... I'd have to be a great fool to give him either. "The cost?"
The sage waved his dirty hands in an overly dramatic dismissive gesture. Or perhaps he was waving at the invisible insects. "No cost. Such a trifle you ask of the Lord of the Evening. Any blacksmith could do the same."
If only they would, he thought with irritation. "It would be ... an honor for you to do this. My lord," he added, feeling quite ridiculous. The man was living in a hovel in the woods of a rogue region. If he was the lord of the evening, the evening clearly wasn't a very profitable estate.
"Yes, an honor. Yes. Fine, I shall do this. Give this to me and I shall have it done by the evening. Although I will require one thing to do this right."
By now Lokenth knew better than to assume it would be a hammer or tongs. "What thing?"
"Incense," Kelvoriss declared. "A small amount of incense. Burning it will give a a good-smelling smoke. It is critical for this repair."
"How can incense be-"
"Do not ask such things, my child!" the man cried out in a booming voice that might have been intimidating, if it didn't crack. "Give me the blade and some incense, and this thing will be done."
"...I don't happen to have any incense with me..."
"Oh," Kelvoriss said, sounding disappointed again.
"...but I can get some for you. Surely. Somewhere. Your lordship."
Kelvoriss handed the blade back to him, and again made the elaborate hand gestures. "Yes, yes. I shall be waiting. Return here, in the evening, and the Lord of the Evening will perform this minor feat. Go! And come not back without incense!"
"Right. I will. My lord." Lokenth put the blade carefully back in a scabbard, and, feeling silly indeed, bowed his head as he departed the hovel.
Incense, he thought exasperatedly. Of all the mad bloody damn things.
