[[ Note: This place is a secret to all but those who need its services. You must have a medallion to enter. Please do not just enter without having the means to do so. ]] Hidden beneath an inconspicuous house, in a village marvelled by light and grace, was a place where dark people and even darker deeds were found. A token was required to enter, proof you were either one of them, or someone serious enough to do business. Should the village guard demand entry, they would find only a simple house, home to an ordinary person with modest things and a shrine to the village’s patron – Rauru. However, a cellar lay hidden below, which had grown in size over the years due to its popularity. Oh, the guard knew such a place existed, it was hard to tame rumors, but try as they might – they could never find it. Abraxas approached the oak door and tapped it three times. A man opened up, stocky in frame with flushed cheeks. It was an unwritten rule to question the motives of the man, for he had no business with the deeds that happened below his house. He was only given a tithe for his co-operation and his silence. “What can I do you for?” He asked. Abraxas reached into his pocket and pulled out a medallion. The coin was stamped with an image of a rat on one side and a ‘B’ ‘T’ on the other. The man nodded and moved aside from the threshold. Abraxas entered, ensuring he wasn’t seen doing so. The door shut behind him, a metal bar sliding across for added security. The owner moved over to a bookcase and pulled a book out partway. Mechanisms within clicked and whirled. The bookcase jutted forward then to the side, revealing a blank wall. It was all rather anticlimactic, but hidden passageways behind bookshelves was somewhat cliché. The difference with this, was in the bottom corner was an indentation, the size of the medallion used to identify themselves. Having done this before, the Sheikah pressed his medallion into the slot, and the wall broke apart down the middle. Quickly, he pulled out his medallion and entered the dark staircase which led to the cellar. ---------- Welcome, to the Black Tavern. It was like any other tavern, just with a little less natural light. Orbs glowed around the moist wall, magically imbued so that they’d glow eternally. It provided the tavern with a decent amount of light but the air of darkness could not be shaken off so easily. There were fewer regular patrons than other taverns had. The people here didn’t come to drink or gamble, they came for information, to trade or barter for wares that were either extremely rare, stolen or forbidden. Abraxas walked over to one door, to the side of the tavern and knocked hard. There was a few seconds of silence before a rough voice sounded within. “Enter.” The Sheikah pushed open the door, revealing a smaller room, with drapes and candles dotted about the place. It was mystical in design, with curios littering bookshelves. Jars of nocuous looking liquids joined them, glowing different colours of the spectrum. At the back of the room was a desk and a high chair, and in that chair was a man, puffing away on a thick cigar. His age was difficult to judge, his blue eyes seemed young and eager, while the greyness of his hair displayed years of toil. His skin had grown pale, perhaps by spending too much time hidden from the sun. He was a much wanted man; labeled a murderer, a thief and a curser. Abraxas didn’t know the man’s tale too well, nor did he care for it. All he knew was that he was a practitioner of dark magic, and therefore an expert in its relics. “Ah… Abraxas. It’s been a long time since you’ve come here.” He rasped. His long fingers knitted together, the thick rings chiming as they hit each other. The Sheikah approached slowly, viewing the contents of the room with greater detail. A large jar was behind him with purple smoke moving around within. “Cursed Fog. Difficult to get hold of. A dungeon crawler managed to scoop some of this stuff from one of the ancient temples. Tampers with the mind, messes with your senses. Exposed for too long and you can lose your mind completely.” He explained, almost reveling in its qualities. “And from what I understand, cured with use the smallest spark of light.” Abraxas held his hand before the jar, summing a small orb of light no bigger than a marble. The smoke recoiled within, being forced away from the radiant ball. “Yes well, there’s a loophole for everything. It’s more useful in potions anyway. You’re here for a reason, boy. I doubt it’s to test the limits of decorative features.” He said, somewhat irritated. Abraxas snuffed out the ball of light and approached the desk. “Salazar, have you lost any cursed trinkets lately? Maybe a pendant?” Abraxas asked, as he pulled a chair towards him. Salazar took a boney finger and stroked his bald chin, pondering. “Not that I know of. There’s still honor among thieves, I highly doubt someone would have stolen something from in here, especially from me.” He said. “Why do you ask?” Abraxas reached inside his pocket and pulled out the pendant that he had taken from the possessed child in Kasuto. “I pulled a Poe from a boy yesterday. Its soul was bound to this…” the pendant hung from his fist as he held it up to Salazar. “His father had come across it out in the world and gifted it to his son, without realizing what evil was within it.” He tossed the trinket onto the desk. Dark energy still poured from it. Salazar reached over to it, but did not touch it. Instead he waved his hand over it, a creepy smile curling on his lips while his eyes rolled backward in delight. It almost looked like he was enjoying the taste of it. “Mmmm… Look…” He used magic to turn the pendant over, a symbol was etched into it. Abraxas didn’t know what it was, it looked badly eroded. “This belonged to one of Ganondorf’s generals. Perhaps one who contested for his mantel after his mysterious demise. No doubt he cursed the pendant with his soul so that he could live on after death.” He set the pendant back down. “How much do you want for it? Five hundred?” “Six hundred. And your word that this is not released into the general public. I don’t want to pull another general’s soul from an innocent boy again.” Salazar licked his thin lips. “You have an accord.” He reached into a draw and tossed Abraxas three golden rupees, worth two-hundred. He scooped them up and put them into his near empty purse. Their weight gave him a degree of comfort. “Stay for a drink, tell Bertrum its on me.” He said. Abraxas, apprehensive of the offer, agreed, if only to not disrespect the man before him. Though it was clear they were not friends, there were few in the world who would deal with highly dangerous artifacts for cash. The wild had its treasures, but there was no tree that spawned rupees.