The cloaked bounty hunter stepped though the narrow, crooked door and into the dim, cramped shop. There was little external indication as to what--or who--was inside. If you knew, you knew.
Immediately, an overwhelming smell washed over her--a sickly sweet, smoky smell, almost like burnt maple syrup. Under her mask, her nose wrinkled. Disgusting. It made her head feel fuzzy.
She wove her way through the dusty, narrow, crowded isles, cluttered with what must be thousands of books, scrolls, and artifacts, stacked so dense and chaotic that even her light step and scrawny legs struggled to navigate without knocking anything over. Beneath her tinted lenses, her eyes darted back and forth. Cautious, cautious.
Even as she moved, she knew she was being watched.
"Hello there," came a voice. She whipped around, her hand darting for her knife, quick as a viper's strike.
"Oh, come on now, there's no need for that." The man replied, a note of bemusement in his voice. He loomed, huge and ominous, behind his heavy, ancient wooden desk. He was massive, probably seven feet tall when standing, with lank white hair and a glimmering gold crucifix hanging from his neck. She had no idea how she hadn't noticed him earlier. There was no doubt that he was the one she was looking for--Sullivan's right hand man, the fallen priest.
"Now, I know why you're here and I know what you're thinking. But I'm not your enemy, you know. In fact, our goals align far more closely than you might think... I have an offer for you. Hear me out first, and you can decide whether you still want to slit my throat or not afterward..."
Another bit of Where the Sun Dies verse.
