Artist (Player)

## The Artist (Player)

The artist is the playable character in Minimalist Art Club 1 and 2.

### Why does this page exist?

The twisting smoke filled the shop, the horrible smell with it. The rest of the bandits ran out screening to the rain, the thunder and wind mostly blocking out their screams.

The shopkeeper slowly made his way to the charred husk that was the bandits leader. His hand still clutching the cursed sword.

"Of all the damned relics you could have chose," mumbled the shopkeeper, prying the blade from the hands, "You picked the one that makes my shop smell terrible for a month."

A solid pull freed the blade, fingers still attached.

The shopkeeper' s gloves would protect him from any of the more aggressive effects, so returning the blade to it's stand was simple.

He spoke outloud to himself, "Should I remove the fingers? No, it's a good warning sign."

The Sheriff entered the store, strolling over to the mess. "Huh. Was he an idiot or was he shopliftin?"

The shopkeeper sighed, "He was a moron, him and his gang. Besides, shoplifters get kicked out, frying them would be bad for business."

The Sheriff looked at the charred bandit, and said, "Well, this one didn't exactly have a bounty, and this might be against company policy, but here." The Sheriff placed a pile of credits on the counter, "The locals have been being harassed by them for a while, without a boss they should scatter."

He also placed a modified rifle on the counter. "I don't suppose you know what this thing is, do ya? Pulled it out of one of the contraband crates, didn't know what to classify it as."

The shopkeeper pulled out his glasses, slowly examining the rifle. It appeared to be a cheaply made rifle, something easily made in an auto press, very common offworld. But it was retrofitted with a rather alien relic, two smooth discs that floated in places, wires connecting both disks.

"I'm unsure, can't be to sure unless someone fires it." He said, looking again.

The Sheriff asked, "Any guesses? I'm unsure if i want anyone firing that thing."

The shopkeeper said, "It could increase the power of the firearm, change how the round is fired, hell it could just melt you when the trigger is pulled." He motioned to the bandits corpse, "They are more common then you'd think."

The Sheriff nodded, "Well you can go ahead and take it then. Safer this way, anyhow."

The shopkeeper picked up his phone, dialing the number of a local cleaner, and thought outloud. "Everybody reads the sign, and thinks they hit the jackpot, cheap relics, they never take a moment to remember the other part, dangerous." The phone was busy, and beeped. He tossed it down, annoyed, "Then they walk in, thinking they are gonna get them some powerful weapon, or a shield or..."

The thunder and rain had stopped, the lights were slowly humming, dimming in and out, before blinking off. The door of the shop opened, a silhouette walked inside. The shopkeeper could see the figure moving towards them, but couldn't make out who it was.

The lights blinked on, the figure before him. It was what appeared to be a man wearing a large stained cloak, his face mostly covered, his eyes barely visible. His hands were on the counter, dried paint and dust covered his fingers.

"I'm here for the relic, I was sent by our impartial friend." Said the figure, his voice coarse and quiet.

The shopkeeper instantly knew what it was. He was approached months prior about getting a specific type of relic. The money was great, more then he'd make in a year. He sent a courier out to collect it, and bring it back. Three dead courier's later, it was on his doorstep, the third courier still clutching the wooden box. They hadn't even removed it from the box.

The shopkeeper lifted the counter gate and said, "Follow me, I kept it in the back."

Chills steadily creeped up on him as they approached it. He had seen it all, or so he thought. Relics that make people stonger, cursed items that kill the user, items that could turn a city to ash or it's people to stone. But this, was something else.

The figure approached the box, it was a rather plain looking wooden box, no markings or symbols.

The shopkeeper stopped him before he grabbed it, "I'd be extremely careful with this one. I know you are probably the middle man, but I lost three courier's to get this. Whatever it is, it's cursed."

The figure picked up the box, lifting the lid. Nothing happened. Inside was what appeared to be a old, but rather plain paintbrush.

The shopkeeper looked on quietly, part of him infinitely curious about what it did.

"Forget you saw this, your money has already been deposited." Said the figure, placing the paintbrush inside his cloak.

The backdoor flung open, one of the bandits from earlier, in his hands was a revolver.

"Boss was dumb to just start grabbin, but you could have warned him and you didn't," said the bandit, the gun pointed at the shopkeeper. "And your gonna pay for that!" He fired.

The gun jammed, dust slowly fell out of the lowered barrel.

The figure slowly made his way toward the door when the bandit went to fire at him. The gun jammed again.

"You could have left. The first jam gave you a perfect opportunity to run." Said the figure, slowly leaving the room.

The shopkeeper turned back to the bandit, who had slouched over, his face was slowly getting more hollow, drained. He turned to call out to the shopkeeper, but dust poured out of his mouth, with barely any air. The bandit slowly crumbled onto the floor, covered in dust.