“Ah, it's nothin’,” said Ollie, not really knowing what a pint was but knowing a compliment when he heard one. “The tap does all the work. I'm just the eye candy.”
The man's smirk intensified. “Indeed.”
He took a sip of the bitters and smiled as he swallowed. Dropping the glass, he revealed the telltale mustache of a man who enjoys his drink. As he wiped the foam away, he let out a deep breath, as if he'd ran many miles just for that one sip of stout. Ollie got a whiff of the smell as he did so. The first thing he noticed was how hot it was. The odor was one of beer and sulfur, like the kind of smell that wafted down the mountains above the many hot springs that littered the land around here.
The barman felt his uneasiness creep back into him. All at once he was reminded that this was no ordinary man.
“Excellent!” said the man, still smiling while raising the glass again. “Ya’ know, there are some tha’d call it 'eresy t’ use such devices.” He indicated the digital spigots.
Ollie raised his eyebrow in mock surprise. “Really? Well, let them lift a half-full keg six times a day and see how long they cling to their half-assed notions of God.”
The man put the glass down on the bar a little harder than Ollie would have liked and looked at him with those dark, flaming eyes. Ollie wondered if his witty banter had hit a nerve he had every intention of avoiding, but his face held the conviction he felt, even if his knees did not.
“Well put, sir.” The glass returned to his lips. “Half-assed notions indeed.”
Ollie didn't know how to react to this comment. Staying on caution’s side, he looked toward the coins on the bar for a change of topic.
“You wanted a bit of my time, stranger?” he asked, not at all sure he knew what was wanted of him.
The peaceful smile was out now in full force, and the man nodded as he put down the empty glass. “Yes, yes, o’course.”
He placed his hands on the bar to aid him up. Even the hair on the back of his hands seemed to have that burning shimmer.
Once upright, the man reached to his side and grasped the handle of his sword, slowly though, so as not to arouse suspicion. He pulled it out of the sheath with a soft whisper and held it sideways inches from Ollie's face.
Ollie saw a few of the patrons, who had been watching the scene unfold with the same curiosity as Ollie himself, reach for hidden weapons and defenses in case of an emergency. He knew it had nothing to do with saving the bartender as much as themselves if things went a little hairy. Ollie had few friends and fewer enemies, like a bartender should.
Truth be told, there was a veritable arsenal of weapons behind this bar. From knives to assorted guns and carefully arranged projectiles. An old rifle was just under the spot the man had chosen to sit, but going back to his first thought upon seeing this newcomer, he was sure that even his highest caliber firearm could not stop this power that sat before him.
“I'd like ya’ t’ take a good look at this sword,” he said, “and I want ye’ t’ focus not on 'ow it looks, but 'ow it makes ya’ feel. Does it conjure any thoughts, or create any deep emotions?”
Ollie was so confused by the words he looked away from the man and his sword and gazed around the room at the men (and occasional woman of the working variety). Many of them looked away, not wanting to get involved in this incident before it started. Others shrugged at him, as if to say they didn't know what he wanted either.
At the back, in a dark corner sitting alone, an old man simply stared. Ollie looked back, not at the sword, but at the man.
“Look, mister, I don't know what you're asking, really, but I...”
“Please, sir. Just a moment and nothin’ more. I'd just like ye’ t’ look and see wha' I mean. I promise, no 'arm is intended, I'm only lookin' fer’ information.”
Ollie relented, letting his eyes follow the blade from tip to tip. The handle was not much to speak of as far as detail and was wrapped in what looked to be some kind of reptile skin which Ollie had never seen before: dark and bumpy. The hilt and guard were unlike the standard style preferred by Riders and other military from the area. It was straight and slightly curved up at each end. It didn't wrap around but only jutted out at two sides, like a cross instead of a dome or full circle. The blade was very wide and flat with no bend. Ollie was sure he'd have a problem lifting it with two hands, but this man wielded it like a twig with one.
Near the base of the blade were etchings in a language so abstract it was almost like pictographs, but since none of the images were at all familiar, Ollie didn’t waste time with them.
Once he took the whole image of the sword in, it came to him.
“POWER,” he thought instantly. “HISTORY,” “BLOODSHED,” “PEACE.” The images and feelings came quickly to his head, like a collage of infinite beauty, and just as equal ugliness.
“GREATNESS,” “RESTLESSNESS,” “PAIN,” “BALANCE,” “LOVE“
“HORROR”
“HORROR”
“HORROR”
“DEATH”
Ollie ripped his eyes from it as the final feelings and images continued to repeat over and over. He felt sick to his stomach.
“Mister, I don't know what your definition of 'no harm' is, but I've never felt so violated in my life! How on earth did you get into my head like that?”
The smile slipped away and he became
