It had felt like an age since Flint's last client had walked through his doors. With all the interesting things happening lately, he'd have not been surprised if an age had turned. The barber had taken a short hiatus from work, deciding that he needed a break from city life after his harrowing quest in the sorcerer's tomb. While the barber had always strove for the life of an adventurer, he'd found that he had a long way to come before he was ready to dive back into a hellish tomb without having his ass handed to him. Such a hiatus involved journeying into the hinterlands far beyond the city of Elbion. It meant jumping from inn to inn, and setting camps when there were no beds to find. It meant hunting down his own food, avoiding bandits and beasts. Most importantly, it provided a sense of escapism. Escape from the mundane everyday experience. Escape from fantasies of raiding tombs and hunting monsters. Escape from that vision he'd had a long time ago, and what it meant for him and the people of Elbion.
It was all over and done with now though, and the barber felt like a new man. His barber blade felt foreign in his hands at first, and the young man found himself playing around with the blade as he waited for new clients to arrive. Those remaining among his regulars had been informed of his return. Unfortunately, Old Jervis had just about lost his last few tufts of head-fur, so Flint was down at least one man more than he had been when he'd left. Benjamin Frisk had moved on from the city, and both of the Ironclad boys had died in battle. Still, he was known for his skill across the city, and Flint believed the setbacks that had been presented to him upon return wouldn't mean the death of his business.
The barber moved to his desk, ensuring his tools were in order one by one. During the process, the shop door opened, triggering the bell he'd installed just above the door-frame. A faint smile tugged at the man's lips, and he turned to face what he hoped was his first customer in months.
It was all over and done with now though, and the barber felt like a new man. His barber blade felt foreign in his hands at first, and the young man found himself playing around with the blade as he waited for new clients to arrive. Those remaining among his regulars had been informed of his return. Unfortunately, Old Jervis had just about lost his last few tufts of head-fur, so Flint was down at least one man more than he had been when he'd left. Benjamin Frisk had moved on from the city, and both of the Ironclad boys had died in battle. Still, he was known for his skill across the city, and Flint believed the setbacks that had been presented to him upon return wouldn't mean the death of his business.
The barber moved to his desk, ensuring his tools were in order one by one. During the process, the shop door opened, triggering the bell he'd installed just above the door-frame. A faint smile tugged at the man's lips, and he turned to face what he hoped was his first customer in months.