"You There." - (D)

“You there, young man,” a bony finger lifted from a dark corner. Attached to the finger was a man who looked as ancient as some of the trees of the Northern Wood. He pointed at the young boy and wheezed through lungs that sounded as though they were on the brink of failing. Dameon stopped and looked up from his beer, dark eyes fixed on the man, “come here, and bring that sword too.” Puzzled, Dameon looked down at his well-hidden weapon, pushing back the light leather trench coat. Eyeing the old man suspiciously, he got up slowly and in one fluid motion, was seated across from him. The young Hunter took in every small detail, from the dusty cobwebs on his beard to the sunken, dark-gray old eyes that bore deeply into Dameon’s heart.

“What,” Dameon said, more of a statement than a question. The old crone coughed for an extended period of time, making Dameon wonder of he was going to expire in front of the entire bar crowd. Finally, the coughing subsided and he spoke,

“I’ve lived a long time,” he started, his eyes never leaving the Hunter’s dark gaze, “and with living a long time, ya begin to see things. That weapon, I’ve seen once, when I was a very young boy.”

“Go on,” Dameon grumbled while pondering the ways he could get away from this old coot. Before he was interesting, now he was boring and irrelevant.

“They said the blade of the weapon was crafted from Olidite, a rare metal in the now destroyed Telgrash Mountains, and that it was forged in the fires of the First Layer of Hell. The weapon itself is said to be sentient, with a will guiding it’s wielder to some unforeseen destiny.” Dameon stood suddnely, having enough with the old man and his crazy stories. A draft from the open door was on them both, pushing his coat and revealing the small velvet rope with a ring attached on the bottom of the hilt of the weapon.

“Though I did not see that so long ago,” the old man looked at the ring curiously. His eyes widened, however, and he began another coughing fit as Dameon walked away, the young Hunter’s last words still fresh in his mind,

“It was my mothers’.”