Potion Salesman

thingiverse

The old man peddled his wares from a worn wooden cart, its paint chipped and faded from countless seasons of exposure to the elements. His weathered hands moved with practiced ease as he carefully measured out small quantities of dried herbs and precious powders into tiny glass vials. A sly glint danced in his eye as he watched customers approach, their faces a mix of curiosity and wariness. Each vial was painstakingly filled with the essence of some rare and mysterious plant, its properties touted to cure everything from the common cold to the most dreaded diseases known to man. The old man's voice was smooth as honey as he described the benefits of his potions, weaving a web of half-truths and outright lies that left even the most skeptical of customers convinced they needed what he was selling. A young woman with a look of desperation in her eyes approached the cart, her hand reaching out to grasp the vial containing what the old man claimed was a cure for her sister's debilitating illness. He smiled warmly, his voice dripping with sincerity as he assured her it would work wonders, and she handed over a few coins without hesitation. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the dusty street, the old man packed up his cart and headed home, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought about the many gullible souls who had fallen prey to his wares. He knew full well that his potions were nothing more than cheap tricks and placebos, but he also knew that people would always be willing to pay top dollar for a promise of hope in a world filled with suffering. The old man's business was simple: sell lies, make money, repeat. And as long as there were those who believed in the magic of his potions, he would continue to peddle his wares, laughing all the way to the bank.