Shu's Quest

[mr_e_s]

Shu

Hi, my name is Shu. I guess that's pretty obvious though. I mean, this is the first post of an RP called Shu's Quest (awesome name, by the way), and there's even a little header up there that says my name at the top of the post. I guess that means I actually get to be the main character for once. I've always wanted to be one. I'm usually that guy on the sidelines, making snarky comments and dying before the RP is over. Sometimes I'm a good guy, sometimes I'm a bad guy, but I'm never THE guy. That slot usually goes to someone much more boring selected by destiny or something.

So, you might be asking yourself, which of the guys in this scene am I? Oh wait, I haven't even described the scene yet. I'm usually in third person, you're gonna have to cut me a break. Anyways, here it is; it's a pub, or a tavern. You know, the kind of place this thing usually starts, and besides the bartender (spoilers: I'm not the bartender) there are five of us trying to enjoy this swill they call ale. None of us know each other, or at least, I don't know any of them, they're all sitting at different tables, so I figure none of them know each other.

There's this big brute with an axe strapped to his back, doesn't look like he could string two words together to save his life. He's dressed fancier than a barbarian should be though, like he's got something more going on underneath that unibrow then he's letting on at first. Or maybe he robbed a big and tall store. Hard to say these days, and ain't no one asking a guy that big with an axe that bloody where he shops for shirts.

Sitting at another table, almost back to back with the behemoth, this elf is practicing moving the salt and pepper shakers around. It's not the best magic in the world, but you can tell he's been practicing hard, and he wants to be the best some day. He's got a future, unless someone cuts him down first. Makes you wonder why he took his eyes off the giant with the battleaxe not three feet from him. I guess being good with magic doesn't automatically make you decent at any kind of common sense.

At a spot alone in the corner, watching the whole room, barely touching his brew, a guy juggling while sitting at his table, drinking his beer at the same time. It's obvious he's some kind of performer, or at least was. He's got some knives strapped to his chest, though. So maybe these days he's something else. I guess everybody's something else since the war though. Ain't too many people who're still what they used to be. Whatever he is, though, he don't seem to mind. He's got a big stupid grin on his face, the kind you want to smack off.

There's a man alone at the bar, he has a full head of dark red hair, almost crimson. He carries two sheathed katanas at his sides, and he looks calm but prepared. His eyes have been quietly absorbing the scene since he got in. He looked like he was waiting on someone. Clearly not someone to be messed with. When he took a sip with one hand, he had the other on his sword. He was clearly never to be caught off guard. Probably slept with one eye open, or upside down, or something. He'd clearly seen enough to know even your friends could be your enemies.

Then there was this young guy, not a lot more then a pup. He had that look of wide eyed wonder of a guy who'd just set foot in his first pub, before he realized they were pretty much all just dives. Stupid kid, really. He had some crappy sword on his back, probably all he could get out in whatever podunk village he came from. Another runt out here to turn the tides of battle, to reclaim what was lost, to fix the wrongs, and all that jazz. He had a big smile on his face. The look of a guy looking for companions, traveling mates. And he figured the pub would be the best place to go to do it.

So, figured out which one I am, yet? You probably worked out I'm not the bruiser. Oh well, if you ain't worked it out yet, I guess it could be more fun to keep trying to work it out on your own. So hey, keep reading.

So this kid, he walks up to the bar and orders some ale. He kinda drops his voice an octave to sound older (a rookie mistake), but the bartender doesn't seem to care lots, as long as the kid has money. This little pub has always been good about not asking questions, if it wasn't so dirty and depressing, there'd probably be a lot of kids in here, asking for drinks and thinking they were cool for getting their alcohol dependencies started before their other sad friends. Kids, always trying to rush forward and grow up. Until one day they realize they should have been holding on, running back even.

The swordsman takes quick measure of the rookie, of the rookie's blade, of his stance, all that, and measures him up as being no threat. A lot of assassin's try and pretend they're someone useless, get the drop on someone. This kid ain't one of them, though. Too young. Has his sword hanging from a hard to reach place. in any close quarters fight he'd be dead before he managed to pull it out on anyone of any skill. This was quickly confirmed when the kid broke into speech, almost falling over his own words fawning at the swordsman's blades.

I watched with more interest then I let on as the kid made a speech about how he needed someone like the swordsman to help fight for his cause, bring the world back, save his village and his girl. I guess I just spoiled it. I'm not the kid or the swordsman either. I only spared them a bit of attention before going back to what I was doing. The kid seemed unable to convince the swordsman of anything, and in fact got some laughs from both the swordsman and the brute. He looked almost ready to leave, not to give up on his journey, but to try somewhere else. He seemed to resolve himself after a while though. After some inner monologue filled motivation, no doubt, and he came to sit down at the table in the corner, to talk to the juggling man.

This surprised me, I figured he'd have tried the mage first. They looked to be about the same age, and his skills were decent but not over the top, yet improving. It was obvious he wasn't going to ask the brute. Besides joining in with the swordsman in laughing, the kid gave him a pretty wide berth on his way to the juggler. Turns out he at least had the common sense to avoid the scary looking guy. He seemed to deserve a little more credit than the amount I gave him when he walked into the pub. Not lots more, but still.

The juggler barely made any eye contact with the kid. Not because he was busy focusing on the juggling, in fact, that seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing. More because he seemed wholly uninterested in whatever offer was being laid out before him. In my defense, I'd heard this same story so many times before. Oh damnit, I let it slip early. Oh well, I'm the juggler. Well, y'know, people don't call me the Juggler. Some call me the Jester. But they're usually just the ones who don't know my name is Shu. Well,there's more to it then that, but I generally just go by Shu.

So this kid sits down at my table, and he starts telling me how he's going to right wrongs, fix injustices, save kittens from falling trees, the whole heroic nine yards. He's real enthusiastic about it all, like he's going on a camping trip. Like the road is going to be lined with gold bars and prostitutes. I'm not going to lie. I'm not finding this a particularly intriguing proposition. But still, I haven't had any work in a while... I figure I might give it a shot, until I ask what it pays, and he reveals he doesn't have very much money on him. I almost drop my juggling balls right then and there in pure anger. What is this kid trying to do? Is he trying to hire me with good intentions? Does he think I care if the country has been beaten down and bloodied? This kid is clueless, and I have half a mind to end his journey right then and there, but I already have enough people out there looking for me, relatives or friends of people I've killed. Not many, but you have to realize, even the most insignificant person out there has someone that cares about them. Not me, but I specifically made it that way.

Deciding I don't need any more enemies just yet, I put the juggling balls away and try and let the kid down easy.I go on about how I've got a job lined up already, how I'm not much of a traveling companion, and how he should probably ask that mage over there, cause he looked to be a handy guy to have around, whereas I'm not much of a fighter. I don't know why I was being so gentle. Maybe he reminded me of me when I was a kid. Maybe I just wished I ever had that spark.

The kid headed over to the mage and started talking animatedly about this same quest he'd tried to sell two others on in the last five minutes. This time he seemed to at least have the full attention of his target though, in fact, the mage had started to agree before Shu had noticed it. The two runts gave a uniform glance his way mid conversation, without breaking stride, or calling attention to him beyond that in any fashion. It was almost nothing, but Shu had seen too many almost nothings turn into something.

Too late, though, the blast knocks me into the back wall, and the table into me, which just puts that part of me further into the wall. All eyes are on me now. The bartender and the brute look outright flabbergasted, the swordsman walks over to the two at the table and congratulates them. This was just a big set up. Turns out, or at least, I'm pretty sure, I'm in no condition to actually ask right now. This noble that I stole from last night, he got my identity out of the guy that gave me the job in the first place, and decided to hunt me down using the swordsman. But the swordsman heard of me, and knew I'd put up a fight if he walked within 15 feet of me. So he used the kids. One to enchant the little magic bomb and set it off, one to get it to me without me going into defensive battle mode. The kid who left it for me really looked different right now. I guess it's true, ain't no one what they used to be any more. The world is a real different place. Maybe I should have gone on a quest to fix it all. maybe kids wouldn't grow up like that.

Then, there was the mage, at least he looked genuinely sad about me dying. Guess he just needed the cash really bad. I still wasn't going to be his bestest friend or anything. But really, I wouldn't have to worry about friends much longer...

Wait! This is supposed to be my RP! The name of the RP is Shu's Quest, damnit! How could I die in the first post? This is bullshit! What the fffuuuu...

---

As the blood loss forced Shu into unconsciousness, his last thoughts were of calling a lawyer and suing someone over this bs. The two halves of him, separated by the force of the table being blown into him were both limp now. He wasn't walking away from this in more ways then one.

Edited June 24, 2010 by mr_e_s

[mr_e_s]

Stark

It was a pretty gruesome sight. A swordsman and two boys, barely more than kids, carried some poor schlubb out of the Hog's Snout Tavern. Stark drank there every once in a while, but he'd probably stop now. Not the best idea to keep drinking at a place where people can carry out halves of other people unchecked. Stark was uncertain of what split the jester in half, but it didn't do it cleanly.

Shu... Stark was pretty sure his name had been Shu. They weren't exactly friends or anything, but you spend enough nights forgetting your problems for a nominal fee with a guy, you devellop at least some base affection for him. Shu tended to run his mouth off, especially when he hit the booze pretty hard, but he was always juggling, no matter how drunk he got. It was pretty cool. Stark used to like watching him at the end of the day. He didn't think he ever actually talked to the guy, though. Now he never would.

The world had changed a lot these last five years, especially here, in Arcya. Used to be the kind of place you'd let your kids play in the streets without having to keep an eye on 'em. Still the occassional monster and all, but for the most part, nice living all around. Funny thing, that in a world with monsters, sometimes the scariest things out there are people. Sure, the monsters grew really rapidly in number 5 years ago out of nowhere, and they're the ones that've been tearing up anything that dares move outside the cities. But rumour has it that it was some shady group of people that started all this, that made the world what it is. People, at the end of the day, that just wanted other people dead. Sad thing, really.

Stark scratched at his missing eye as he stopped taking in the scene of the swordsman carrying out the legs of the jester while the boys very awkwardly hauled out his top half, no doubt looking for some kind of bounty or other reward. No sense focusing on the dead. They weren't giving you a second thought after. Stark really hoped they weren't, anyways. Too many of them might think poorly of him. He put the patch back in place after he stopped scratching and let his hand fall back down to his hilt. He had to get out of this town...

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

Jeph pushed in the ramshackle door to his run-down cottage in the more impoverished region of Oakheim. It came off one of it's hinges, and Jeph swore about that. It was a long shift last night, especially with half a bottle of champagne drying in his armor. One of the nobles at the party he was guarding, or more accurately was a show piece at, bumped one of the servants which caused an open bottle to pour all over him, and Jeph swore about that.

He pushed the door closed and propped it up in it's frame, called a quick greeting to his sister, and began to slough off his armour, which would need to be cleaned before his shift tonight at the town gate. That meant walking down to the well, hauling back several buckets of water, filling the wash-tub, scrubbing each plate clean while being careful not to get the straps and padding damp, drying it, and re-donning his armor in a matter of a few hours, and Jeph swore about that.

"Grams died 3 years ago today" said his sister as she wistfully strode into the room, "I wonder what heaven is like for her."

"I have no idea" replied Jeph.

"I bet it's nice."

"Isn't that the whole point of heaven? To reward people who spend their lives sweating to support the upper echelons with an eternity of niceness?"

"...I hope she's happy."

"I'm sure she's fine."

Jeph went into the bedroom and changed into his other pair of clothes before grabbing the two empty buckets for water and leaving the two room shack once more. As he left, he instructed his sister to build a fire, to which she nodded and stated that they were out of dry wood, and Jeph swore about that. Before long, the wash-tub was full and heated, and his armour was on the drying line. With some time left over, he figured he'd use the remaining water to wash his clothes, which he did. There was a knock at the door, and it fell out of the frame again, to which Jeph swore. At the door stood a man dressed in fancy clothes.

"Tax collection, you're due for 12 Ducats."

"I'm employed by the town, I should be exempt" said Jeph as he rose to his feet.

"New legislation begs to differ, 12 Ducats."

With a grunt, Jeph went into the bedroom and retrieved the 12 coins from the pouch they kept their remaining funds. Only 3 were left in the pouch afterwards, and that made Jeph drop some particularly choice vulgarities.

"I'd better be getting a pay-raise" said Jeph as he handed over the gilded discs. For a second, he considered running the tax collector through and moving to a bigger city. He and his sister had to get out of this town.

Edited June 24, 2010 by lunarAegis

[Purg]

"Poor fool," Dom said, shaking his head as the dead jester was hauled out, first his legs, then his torso. He had a look of surprise, which wasn't at all a shock to the mercenary - he certainly wouldn't have expected to die today, but, then, there was rarely any warning, in his experience. He wondered what it felt like, for the life to leave your body, to lose all perception and feeling within seconds. He didn't believe in an afterlife, it would be too convenient for people who lived life with naivety and simplicity. Life wasn't meant to be simple, that's why people bonded together and disagreed and killed each other. He had trouble with the first, but was all too familiar with the latter two. Well, he didn't know too much about killing each other, but without disagreements, he wouldn't be as well off as he was, not that he had more than he could handle. It seemed the Hog's Snout wasn't going to be receiving his patronage today, though - he didn't feel right about drinking in a dead man's seat.

He turned and noticed another observer, with one less eye than the standard. He didn't recognize him - but, then again, Dom didn't have a good memory for faces, voices were his thing. He tossed a stiletto up into the air and caught it in his other hand, flipping it between the two idly, to pass time before he decided what to do. Conversation was a likely option, but then again, he didn't have much to say, just a lot to think about. He put the knife away and sighed, looking over Oakheim. A small town, with nothing of value around. He didn't mind staying here, it was enjoyable enough and the locals kept to themselves, but there was little to do in the way of work.

An odd feeling ran down his spine as he thought this, but he had to get out of this town. The longer he stayed here, the emptier his wallet would get, the more likely his skills would deteriorate, the more bored he would get. He sighed as he walked into the tavern anyways, sitting down at the bar - which was undamaged, which probably meant the jester didn't die here - and ordered a shot of whiskey, looking down at it for a few moments before downing it quickly.

I have to get out of this town, he thought again, ordering another shot.

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

Jeph strode down the streets towards the gate in his full guarding raiment. A group of men was walking down the street in the opposite direction carrying two halves of a man. Jeph stopped where he was and stared at them.

"Pardon me gentlemen, but do you have a permit to be hauling corpses?"

The group of men tossed Jeph a small bag of coins and continued on their way. Jeph nodded, and did the same. Gone were the glory days of shouting 'Stop, criminal scum!' and running people through with a gleaming manly longsword or throbbing spear. No, guards were accountable for their actions these days due to a few particularly questionable 'arrests'. Corruption was at an all time high, but it's better to pay off the guards than the morticians.

As he arrived at the gate, the attending guard handed him an envelope, which was then opened, and the letter it contained was read. The letter was mostly filler and niceties and unnecessary details, but the important sentence was as follows:

Dear Mr. Archer,

Due to extraneous budgeting circumstances, your employment with the Oakheim city guard has been terminated. Please come by city hall...

And from there it was mostly drivel. Jeph tossed his tabard at the attending guard, and left the gate behind. If there was a time to change careers, it's during unemployment with a pocket full of bribe money. But first, a toast to a brighter future. Jeph headed to the local tavern, the Hog's Snout, and enthusiastically opened the door with his armoured foot.

"Barkeep, the usual if you please. Make it a double, and put it on my tab."

[rn7]

"Now, now, guys. Let's be reasonable, yea? Look, Look!" Fargo wriggled around his pouch of coins like one would do to a kitten or small child. "You guys can HAVE it! Just don't hurt me! I'm unarmed! Just these two shields, nothing more! Just let me go!"

A posse of armed, intimidating men circled around Fargo like a pack of wolves. Armed with every weapon imaginable in the arsenal, and with clearly overkill for what was just one guy. Some of them were loan hounders, other bounty hunters, angry neighbors, concerned citizens. Some just wanted to paint the walkway a hue of red. None of the above was really acceptable to Fargo, but that was the associated risk of actually going outside and trying to buy himself some bread. Even at the best of his ability, he couldn't take on all these people at once. Heck, most people would be hard pressed to take on so many people by their lonesome.

Fargo wished he didn't have to deal with this type of situation all the time. Not only was it a huge hassle, it was a complete waste of time. His bread could get cold and soggy by the time he got back, and there's nothing worse than a cold and soggy bread for dinner when you could have easily had a completely fresh and warm one. No worming his way out of this one, as the angry mob didn't seem too content with his offering of change and baguette. He fastened on his bucklers a bit tighter, then crouched down low to the ground.

It was quite courteous of them to attack one by one. At least in this case it wouldn't be an absolute slugout, but rather someone more along the lines of an endurance test. A guy swinging a mace around came at Fargo first, though it seemed less like the man was swinging and more like the mace was carrying around the man. Fargo blew a gentle wind in the attacker's direction, and sure enough, the guy lost balance, smacking clean into the floor.

Easier than I though, Fargo thought smugly to himself. Now, the one thing you must do in this situation is not think smugly to yourself. You'll only get yourself whacked upside the face. Much like Fargo did. Sent flying by an incoming hammer bash, Fargo's facial expression warped from one of joy to one of wincing pain, an expression he was all too familiar with.

This isn't working, Fargo thought. It was good to state the obvious sometimes, even if it is just to stall for time. Unfortunately time was the thing Fargo had the very least of, as his bread was getting mighty cold. Though he loathed using the technique, Fargo's bread wasn't going to eat itself. He crouched onto his knees, channeling all his energy into his bucklers. Then with a swift swipe, his crashed both fists into the ground. A massive shockwave enveloped Fargo and exploded out, sending whatever was close enough into the skies. In the chaos and confusion, Fargo quickly slipped away to the relative safety of his home.

It was a small room, with a single oil lantern hanging in the middle, over a table. Fargo sat himself down and propped his legs onto the table, taking a long awaited bite of his bread. He leaned over in his chair and reached over to a small orb. It was an old snow globe, and Fargo shook it to make it go. Most people read a book or a newspaper while eating, but he couldn't afford such luxuries. He watched the little sparkles tinkle down while he consumed the rest of his bread, until no more food was left. With that done, he headed outside.

A notice was posted on the bulletin board. A terse, simple message.

ALL DEBTS ABSOLVED, SEE TAVERN FOR DETAILS

Who knew the answer to all of his problems was so easy? He loved this town!

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Stark only had one eye, so you'd think he'd know better then to let it wander. But it was following the Jester's body of it's own accord. He only realized it when the strain of looking too far to one side caused him to turn his head to follow. He didn't know why this particular death bugged him so much. He'd seen death before. He'd witnessed first hand the deaths of people much closer to him. He'd also seen even more gruesome corpses. By all means, it shouldn't have been too hard to just move on, find someone else to laugh at when he got drunk. Shu hadn't even been around recently. Come to think of it, this was the first time Stark had seen him in months. That had been depressing for a few reasons. The first being that he had been somewhat bored in his drinking until it really kicked in, the other being that he had been in this town long enough to notice someone's months long absence. He had always been a wanderer. What had changed?

Almost in answer, Stark's hand went up once again to scratch at his missing eye. He supposed he hadn't been as ready to venture out in the wild with all the monsers since he had been made a cyclops. Understandable for most, but not for him. He was miserable here. Was it fear keeping him tied down? It probably was, but even now, he was too stubborn to admit it to himself, and decided it was the steady paying gig of the town guard.

For some reason his eye still watched as the jester got further away. It was rather pointless, nothing came from the dead. Every rule needs an exception though, and this proved to be it. Well...probably. Kind of.

Something had fallen out of the Jester's pocket. One of the pockets of his lower half. It seemed pretty unimportant at first, a chunk of something or other. But Stark caught a gleam from it as it fell, and he thought it might be valuable. He nonchalantly strode over, glancing about here and there for anyone else that may have seen it. It looked like both the villagers, and the killers hadn't noticed, or hadn't cared. Stark wouldn't have either, if not for the gleam. He wasn't sure what had been gleaming though. It just seemed to be some kind of...cube. Not very big, maybe a few inches wide on each side, and black. When Strk picked it up, it was warm to the touch, though. He wasn't sure whether he'd prefer that to be from some mystical source or the residual body heat of the jester. Neither seemed very appealing. It might fetch a pretty penny though, so he'd hold onto it, for now at least.

He wouldn't sell it here, no way. Not only did the local pawn shop owner despise him,he was a chintzy bastard if ever there was one. Once tried to buy Stark's sword for 20 Ducats. Stark knew it was worth at least 500 though, and told him off about it. That's actually pretty much the whole story on why the shopowner despised Stark. Miserable bastard.

Stark continued his rounds, found nothing of intrest besides the body. It probably would have been the thing to do to ask for a bribe, but he really didn't want any more to do with it. Forgetting it ever happened would probably be for the best.

Heading back to the guard station to clock out, Stark saw Jeph handing in his tabard. Had he been fired? Was he roughing up the local kids for picking on his sister again? Stark can't say he was surprised, the guy didn't really have the temperment for the job. "Hey Kal! Jeph just get the boot?"

"Yeah, we're letting two guys go today." Kal was a good guy. Stark liked him, he always said what needed to be said and never held back on the details.

"Yeah, who else is getting the boot?"

"You, we figured we could lose the kid and the foreigner and be alright." Stark really hated Kal. That guy just never knew when to keep his mouth shut or say something gingerly.

"...Well, anything I need to do?"

"Take this envellope. It has your last pay and your layoff notice. Hand in that sword."

"I'll take the envellope, but this is my sword. I brought it with me. You're not taking it."

"Whatever, just don't show up tomorrow and don't expect a break on your taxes."

Stark left before it came to a physical confrontation. Kal wasn't the best fighter out there, but his flail wasn't very forgiving either. It only takes a lucky shot to lose it all, sometimes. Better to be in a position where they don't have the opportunity to get off a lucky shot.

Stark stopped walking away from the guard station after a while when he realized he wasn't walking to anywhere, just away from... Where did he even have to walk to any more?

[Purg]

He stopped after his second shot, simply waving away the bottle the bartender offered him. The man sitting a few seats away seemed to need it more anyways. Dom felt like asking him what made him look so depressed, but decided against it. It was probably a woman, or maybe a bet had turned bad. He didn't care, but, then again, maybe it was something more important. Either way, it was unlikely to be addressed as it stood right now, he wasn't a people person, the fact that he was considering talking to someone for no actual reason was surprising to him on several levels. He threw a few Ducats on the bar to pay for his drinks and stood, deciding to make his way out of town now. The dartboard on the wall, however, caught his eye - unused, yes, but it could certainly be entertaining enough.

Pushing a table away from the wall, he set a stiletto in the floor a good distance away from the board, facing it and using the dagger as a line to throw from. He pulled one of his throwing knives out, tossing it lightly in his hand before throwing it at the board. He was rewarded by a loud thunk, although it had been off-target. He pulled another out and tossed again, another thunk pleasing him, much closer to the center of the board. A sharp look from the bartender, though, made him decide it would be time to stop, as he gathered his knives up again.

Nothing else to do here, then. He nodded to the bartender and the other few patrons inside, before exiting out into the warm air. The village was still small and sleepy, with nothing in particular going on. The cyclopes swordsman was standing not too far away, Dom thought about talking to him too, before pushing the thought from his head. He settled on watching a farmer's cart roll by, bored by the lack of life in the small hamlet of Oakheim.

[rn7]

"Hello, hello! I'm here about the... oh no." Fargo's pupils shrunk into little beady dots and his heart sank to just about foot level, clattering on the ground like a fragile vase. The tax collectors were there, and Fargo hadn't paid his dues since... since... well, when wasn't really important. Neither was how much. As far as Fargo was concerned, two very bad men with very bad intentions were close by, and he really needed to get out of there. Seeing as he already used his Guardian Gale technique once today, Fargo couldn't rely on his wind magic to get him out of this situation. Which was cool, not as cool as he wanted it to be, but he could manage.

The first thing that went well was the fact that the money grubbers didn't quite notice him yet. Using the oh-so-valued ancient technique of sneaking around, Fargo stole himself away to a dark and shady alleyway. The alleyway wasn't quite like the ones he had been in before. In fact, it was eerily, immaculately clean. A thought he would have to keep for later, as the tax collectors had already sensed his presence. Years in the service had apparently given them the power to locate poor people and debtors within a certain radius. Some chalked it up to magic, Fargo just blamed a higher deity that really, really hated him. As if to say, "that's right, you punk", a lightning bolt struck from the skies, even though outside it was completely clear and sunny.

"STOP RIGHT THERE," started the tax collectors. The splendid thing about them is that they always gave a fair warning before they began to pursue you and whack the living guts out of you. Fargo padded his living guts with his dead guts to lessen the hurt. The other thing about the collectors was that their collection pouches were quite leaky. Not in the literal sense-- the tax collectors often took a cut for themselves, blaming the deficit on the citizens of the town. The collectors would then often gorge themselves on the unhealthiest foods possible, because surely that was a symbol of wealth. Fat collectors could always be outrun, even if they can't be outfought.

So Fargo ran like the wind, which was in reality, not all too fast today, considering the nice, calm weather. It really seemed like a calm before the storm, and he always hated the calm.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

He was about to give in and head in the pub when the door burst open, and an odd little man with two shields bolted out, clearly running from and not to. This was more commonplace then it had a right to be, Of course, in the last five years, most of the minor laws had faded away, for the most part. Martial law was essentially in effect everywhere but the big cities. You took care of your own problems, or you hired someone to do it for you. Stark often found himself being the guy that took care of other people's problems. That guy that guy that just ran into the alleyway, he seemed to have big problems. Taking care of them would mean big pay. And hey, he was out of a job. The time was ripe.

Stark came in at a brisk jog behind the large pursuers. At first they were running faster then Stark. Then they kept about the same pace. Then stark caught up and eventually surpassed them. Shameful, really. They still hadn't lost a lot of ground on the small guy with the shields, though. Stark made sure to almost catch up with the shield guy before stopping, turning around, and halting his pursuers. "Hey. What do you guys want with him?" Stark held out a hand, his other resting on the hilt of his sword. It was a two-handed blade, but he was alright enough at it with just one. Good enough for these chumps, anyways.

"That man owes our employers money! We've been sent here to collect it, or to collect him." The fattest of the group answered. He had an air of self-importance about him that Stark didn't like. He seemed to be the kind of guy that figured the job he had was super important, and everyone should be reverent of him. No humility. Too many people didn't have any humility. Just needed to be brought down a peg.

"Well, then we hav ea problem. Y'see, he can't pay you the money he owes you until he pays me the money he owes me. So you're gonna have to leave him be until I get my due." Stark pulled his sword from the hilt, leaving his other hand free for the moment. The fat man gripped his mace, his back-up did the same with their weapons. They clearly weren't intending to just walk away from this one. Stark eyed them up, they seemed weaker then him, at least, individually, but these type of guys didn't really believe in a fair fight. Stark would have to be quick about it.

Surprisingly, instead of swinging right away, the fat man asked Stark a question. "What is it that he is in debt to you for?" A good question, considering Stark had never met him before, though he had a vague idea of who he was at this point. Stark had heard tell of a guy called Fargo who had more debt than anyone else on the planet that had been roaming about here recently. "He owes me for keeping his bill collector's away, and unlike them, I'm actually going to collect."

Stark didn't waste any time waiting for them to strike first after that. It was plain it was going to be a fight. No sense in waiting to get hit to start swinging himself. He broguht the flat of the sword down square on the fat man's face. It didn't cut or anything, but the weight of it combined with the speed of the swing was easily enough to break his nose and knock him right out. That left the three back-ups and Stark. better odds. He figured fat man was probably the best fighter of the four of them, that's whhy he was in charge, and he had been right. They weren't anything special, and they were kind of sluggish, but they knew which ways to swing their weapons, and in a three on one fight, that's enough. Stark's downfall was that he hadn't been going of any killing blows. These guys were just doing their job, like him, after all. But as Stark was playing defensively, and they were too, it wasn't a quickly decided match, They spent three minutes trading blows that wouldn't open them up to attack, and if there had been a crowd, they'd have not been at the edge of their seats.

The turning point came when Stark grabbed the spear shaft of one of the back-ups and shoved it back into the man's gut. A quick side-swipe with the flat of his blade and the man was down long enough for a boot to the head in between blocks of the other two. It wasn't clean, and it wasn't honourable, but it kept him from getting back up. The fight was a lot easier with only two of them to deal with, He backed them up little by little, until they had nowhere to back up any more, and against the wall, swung with enough force that when they blocked it, they had their weapons pushed back into themselves. It hurt like hell, judging from the screams, but again, just doing what he had to do to win without killing them. Not that they'd appreciate it.

The two remaining weren't for very long, Stark gave them each solid punches to the face while they were pressed against the wall. One of them was still conscious, but he was too dazed to really do anything for a while. Stark let them fall to the ground, and turned back to their target in the first place.

"So hey, I'm Stark."

[rn7]

"Whoa-ho-oh! Nice to meet you and all Stark. Thanks for the assistance and all! Man, you're pretty good with that blade, like a super badass or something! Can you believe those guys though? Chasing after me, I don't even have a weapon!" Fargo blurted out real fast, then wiped the sweat off his forehead. Fargo extended his hand for a shake. "Fore I forget, the name's Fargo, nice to meetcha. Say, that deal about me owing you, and all that, that was just joking around, right? Haha!"

Fargo bust out in a fit of uncomfortable laughter until he realized it didn't really have any affect. "Ah... ha ha... you ol' kidder, you."

[mr_e_s]

Stark

"Heh, I don't know about super badass. Any competent swordsman could have taken out those bottom feeders. I imagine the next ones they send after you will be a lot tougher and less willing to reason." Stark accepted the handshake and somewhat regretted it, wiping his new friend's sweat off on his pant leg. Somehow the thought of other people's sweat disgusted him more then his own. Maybe it was cause he had been drenched in his own sweat so many times, he'd gotten used to it. Actually, he didn't think if he had gotten drenched in other people's sweat all the time, that he'd ever be used to it.

"You're...Fargo, right? I heard tell about you from some of the other guards around the city." He eyed Fargo up. Honestly, he didn't look like much at all. He carried two bucklers, which seemed altogether useless in a fight. he could see one shield, but two? Seemed dumb. Maybe there was more going on then meets the eye, though. "I'd appreciate some coin. I did just get fired and all, but hey, if you can't pay, that's cool, we'll call this one a freebie. Next time, though. I'll probably just watch." Stark shot a grin at Fargo. Even he wasn't sure if he was kidding or not.

[rn7]

"I've got nothing, Stark, why do you think those guys are chasing me? On the other hand, we can help ourselves to the gold they dropped. I mean, we beat 'em, fair and square and all that." Fargo took up one pouch full of gold pieces and jingled it next to his ear, like he was listening to a seashell. "Ahh, I haven't heard this sound in a while. Maybe he's got some jerky on 'im, probably eats on the job."

Fargo kicked one of the unconscious ones in the side, to make sure he wouldn't wake up any time soon. It didn't look like it. "Yea, I suppose I coulda taken 'em on, but I already wasted away all my juice, you see?"

Fargo stuck his hand out in the air and pushed an invisible object. Nothing happened, not even a rustling of leaves.

"It's much cooler when I actually use it, you'll see. Just give me a day or two." Fargo wriggled his hands in an attempt to get some magic working. It looked completely silly and did completely nothing.

[mr_e_s]

The Brute

He regained his composure quickly at the sight of the juggler split in twain. It was assuredly an uncommon occurrence, but not one that concerned him. He had been tasked with finding an object, and he was reasonably it wasn't in the pockets of the dead entertainer. It was supposed to be up at the manse estate, after all. He was just taking a small reprieve after a long travel here, giving in to his base desire to imbibe the local ambrosia. Though it could hardly be called that, after ingestion highly suggested it was little more then barley mixed with grain alcohol. These small towns didn't know a thing about refining and brewing, it seemed. Since most of the convoys had been incapacitated either by way of savagery or fear thereof. It was a shame how unlikely it would be to enjoy the taste on one's way to inebriation. Still, much like the locals, he assumed, the pathway there wasn't so terribly important, as long as the destination was the same.

All the same, however, the sight of the halving of that street performer not only made the reputation of the establishment even more questionable, it also would attract unwanted attention to him, and he already possessed the keen ability to stand out in a crowd, so he thought better of it then to stay and sample the peanuts to see if they added anything to that swill. Best to depart and finish his business here, lest he get caught in the crossfire of the others. They tended to be less civilized about things. The time to act was while the information was still new, still at only his disposal. So he headed over to the local manse.

The guard station was right at the gates. Very clearly the security of this community was provided for by their feudalistic leader. Or at least, the image of it was. From what he had seen so far. The protectorate had served only to collect money from any wrong-doers, and enforce the taxation of the hard working citizens. The "guard" was more of an offense to the people then a defense. It would have been an outrage, but it served his purpouses, and today, that was sufficient enough.

A quick thirty pieces of silver later, and Brady had walked directly past the guard station, he had even been saluted. An amusing thought, to be allowed access into such a heavily guarded place with such a small bribe, and for the rest of the security staff to just assume he was here legitimately or by means of bribery, and that either were perfectly acceptable. The world was in such a state that sticking out your neck had too high a likelihood of ending in decapitation, and no one felt like enjoying the summer breeze on their jugulars.

It should be somewhere here...

Stark

Stark watched as Fargo rifled through the pockets of the unconscious men, not even stopping far the one that was still somewhat awake, just dazed. Stark would have asked for some of the cash, but Fargo probably needed it a lot more than him. Alternatively, he could just beat the shit out of Fargo, take all the cash, and go get shitfaced. But nah, he just saved the guy, no sense beating the crap out of four people and taking their money. It might look like he was some extremely violent thief, and he'd rather be an extremely violent asshole any day.

"I'm sure you're something fierce until you need to be." Stark grinned at the failed attempts at wind manipulation. Not that he could do anything like that, just that it was always funny to watch people make idiots of themselves. It's why he went to the pub in the first place. Shit, he could use a drink... Well, he knew swearing off the pub wouldn't last long. "Come on, let's go have a drink on them, it's better then standing around here counting our pubes all day."

[rn7]

"Ooo, real alcohol! I haven't had that since I was a kid! I've been having that substitute stuff, and I tellya, it's better to take a hammer to your tongue!" Fargo sat down on a stool and ordered a cheap drink. He had lost taste for more expensive luxuries a long while ago, and besides, it always seemed to get him into trouble. He saw a dead jester on the way in, and thought it was somewhere between strange and familiar.

"So, Stark. Why do you suppose the governor's so uptight about these taxes? Oh, excuse me, what's he calling himself this month, the 'oh holy reigner descended from above'? I don't know why he calls himself that. He's just leader of this dinky town. And I've seen that place of his! Don't get me wrong and all, it's a nice place, but not that nice! Well, relatively speaking of course." Fargo quickly down a gulp to prevent himself from talking too much.

"Oh, that's right, now I remember. Dead jesters were quite the common sight with our last leader. Poor guys thought business was good when he was hiring by the boatload. Turns out he just wanted to learn the secrets behind the 'found a penny in your ear'. Greedy bastard wanted to harvest pennies from people's ears, like some kinda cow farm. He didn't believe any one when they told him it was just a trick. Then he started killing." Fargo took another drink.

"Nice every once in a while not to be the one people were chasin' after. Fun times those were."

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

Jeph stared intently at three objects on the bar. Down a short ways to the left of him, there was a formation of beer bottles. One was sitting on top of a knot in the wood of the bar, the second was balancing on top of that one, and the third was upside down beside them. Who the fuck would do that? Why bother? At any moment, the top bottle could fall over and break all three. Though I suppose that could be said about a lot of things, such as society. Nobility falls, and they take everyone down with them. Those that support them, and those that oppose them. They're not even doing anything for anyone up there. It's just sitting there precariously, leeching off the strength of the bottle below it. Plus there's that bottle just sitting there balancing on it's head. Trying so hard to be different, but in the end it's still a bottle.

Jeph heard the door opening and saw Stark and some other guy walk in, so he stood to greet his ex-co-worker. And then stumbled, and fell. He started laughing as blood started pouring from his (probably broken) nose. He rolled over on his back and looked up at Stark.

"Helloooooo! How've you been bud?"

Jeph then realised he had only really spoken to Stark in passing.

[Purg]

Nothing more. He had seen everything this village had to offer, and and saw no reason to stay any longer. He checked himself, to see that he had all of his things, and then made his way to the gate, the exit of this boring place. He was stopped, however, when it became apparent that something was wrong - his clue being that one of the guards had fled, and the other was screaming, something tall and gangly perched on his chest, trying to work it's claws through his armor. It stood up sensing Dom's presence, grinning with large, sharp, yellow teeth, more akin to fangs, really, than anything a human had. Delivering a swift chop that dented the steel and silenced the guard's cries for help, the creature stood up on long, mottled legs and cackled, it's keening voice troubling to Dom by more than a little bit. Slowly, teasingly, it stepped forward, first one step, then another, it's long strides quickly closing the distance between Dom and the goblin, it's long, narrow fingers twitching anxiously.

Dom would have none of it, though, as he pulled a knife out quickly and threw it at the beast - the practice at the dartboard had been good, as it slid into the beast's shoulder. The goblin, though, hardly seemed to notice, as it continued forward, even pulling the knife out, black blood spitting from the wound. Dom stepped back uncertainly, before jumping forward, launching a high kick that knocked it back against the ground. It chattered, some words in some gobbledygook language, before standing back up and spitting one of it's yellow teeth out, still grinning, even as the black ichorous fluid dripped from it's mouth. He shook his head and turned away, deciding to rely on his speed to escape this obviously resilient foe - but the goblin had decidedly different ideas of how this encounter would play out, leaping into the air and landing painfully on Dom's back feetfirst, cackling madly as it did so, stomping down twice. Dom couldn't breathe, couldn't think - he didn't know how to beat this threat, had no idea what he could do.

He lucked out, though, as the incapacitated guard moaned, reminding the goblin of it's canned food. It grudgingly stepped off of Dom, before leaping onto the knight and beating on his armor again, occasionally sniffing the blood mixing on the plates. Dom stood up and fled - to where, he didn't know, but something was about to happen, and he didn't want to be near the site of it if he could help it. He dove into the tavern and sat down, trying to calm himself as quietly as he could.

[Lemonman]

"Taxes or bribe, you're gonna need to give me one."

"We paid our taxes just last week!"

"Did you pay the bribe?"

"No, but I-"

At that point in Jim's sentece, he found himself suspended in the air. Although it was quite possibly because of the strong updraft and friction from the wall, Jim was quite suspicious of the guard holding him by the neck. There was just something about the way he was punching Jim in the stomach and face that gave off an aura of unpleasantness. Might've been his nose, though. It was one of those noses with a sharp change in angle about 3/8ths down the nose. The kind that looks like it's perpetually fractured but never quite broken. They're rather common on east-indian folk, from my personal experience; although I mean this in the sense that not that many east-indians I've met have them, but that all the one's I've encountered have been either on east-indian folk or were actually broken/fractured. Another word for a bend in the nose is a crook, and that's what tipped Jim off.

So, while Jim considered the possiblility of the guard harming him being a crook; Billy-bob-joe grabbed his trusty shovel and wanged the guard in the back of the helmet. The guard fell down, which also caused Jim to fall; the difference being the level of conciousness between the two. Jim was merely unconcious from the punches he had received, whereas the guard was quite posibly dead. Although if he was dead, he'd be a zombie, since he was getting up. Billy-bob-joe wanged him one more time for good measure, and then took Jim back to the house.

When Jim came to, "Jimmy boy! Why y'all goin' off to fight them guard fellas all the time?"

"No, ma! We was just talkin' is all and then he went off 'bout taxes and briberies and-"

"Briberies?! Don't y'all go talkin' 'bout none of that illegal stuff in this house!"

As Jim, Billy-bob-joe's older brother; and Jim's ma, Billy-bob-joe's mother, continued to discuss the events of the first two paragraphs of this post, Billy-bob-joe took the guard out back to give him a proper burial. But while Billy(-bob-joe) was digging a good deep trench, the guard started stirring. In both senses of the word, since it was a rainy day and by moving around he was stirring up mud. In a quick motion, the guard got up and drew his sword. Billy turned to look at the guard, who was already attacking. Acting on natural insticts, Billy backed up and brought up his arms to block. Now, since he didn't let go of the shovel (fear of zombies tends to make you grip things harder, you see) this had the effect of swinging the shovel into the back of the guard's knee and tripping him from behind.

From here, Billy kicked him in the side, which rolled the guard into the hole Billy had dug. He quickly threw shovel load of dirt after shovel load of dirt onto the guard in the hole, the mud making escape impossible. Within a few minutes, Billy had completely buried the zombie, which made killological sense from a religious point of view.

Billy went home and had nightmares about zombies.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

"...You're kind of an odd duck, Fargo, you know that?" Stark said, as he finally made it to his seat well after the kid. Not asking how he already had a drink in hand. Fargo hadn't been outside any longer then a second longer'n Fargo and...Oh well, maybe the kid really was magic. Fargo stepped over a fallen lusch mumbling something or other at him, and grabbed a seat with an empty glass already in front of it. It was someone else's seat, maybe the lusch's, maybe not. No one would pick a fight with the town guard over it though, and no one knew he wasn't the town guard any more. "Double of the house special, please." The barman just grunted and poured Stark some of the same crap he always poured. He certainly wasn't in business for the chance to mingle.

Stark was thinking about the days events, but that all halted. What...What were those? Those three bottles....how? He could see the one balancing on the knot of wood, sure, but there was another one balancing on top of that! And a third was upside down beside the first two! That was amazing! Stark had tried once before to balance a beer on that knot, but even sober he could get it done, and by the end of the night, he'd spilled about twice as much beer as he drank. Gone home half as drunk and more broke then usual. So how did these ones get here? They'd been there since Stark got in, which was amazing in and of itself, cause he figured any breeze would be able to knock down that precarious setup pretty handily. Stark turned to the barman, and almost started to ask when he was cut off by the answer.

"It was the jester. Shu. Did it before he sat down earlier today. Last thing he did except for juggling gurgling blood and croaking. Surprised they're still there, not just cause no one stle em, but cause the force o' that ttable goin' inta the wall knocked half o' my decent shit off the shelves, and those stayed up." Stark was downright dumbfounded. That was so cool. That was the kind of guy that should be part of some mystical questing party or something. Or he could do birthdays! The lusch seemed to be enjoying it too, from the ground...

"Jeph?"

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

"I lost mah job, Stark! I'm out of here, to the big leagues! Time to start my friggin' life..."

Jeph broke down into sobs as he spoke.

[CATS]

A man blown apart, murdered in a public place, and the offenders didn't even try to hide their identities. Kyle watched them carry the man's two halves out of the bar. Didn't bother to clean up the enormous bloodspatter or pay the bartender for his table, of course. Didn't even pay for their drinks before they left, so far as Kyle could see. Kyle watched the guards outside the bar stand around and not do anything about it. He was fairly sure one of the assassins pressed something into one guard's hand as he passed by. Sometimes he wondered what the real monsters were, the things out there trying to eat everyone, or the things sitting right here in this room with him. Kyle took a long draft from his mug, put a few coins down on the table, and walked out.

It was sad to see humanity's true colors. Over the past few years, the kingdom's mask of order and upheld ideals had been slowly pulled away by the marauding creatures, and now the ugly face underneath it was fully exposed. For most of his life, Kyle had seen that mask and believed in it, not knowing that it was only a facade. Now he had that fact shoved down his throat constantly, everywhere that he went, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had thought about striking out against the corrupt officials and the ruffians who worked for them, taking his lance and going on a spree. There were a lot of problems with that plan, though. His spree wouldn't last very long, it wouldn't make a dent in the ranks of its targets, and it wouldn't make an impression on the disillusioned, complacent citizens. It would just get him killed.

A sight that was both disturbing and (sadly) familiar snapped Kyle out of his thoughts. A goblin had gotten through the town gates (not a difficult task, as it appeared that one of the gate guards had simply run away), and it had taken hold of a small child, apparently not satisfied with the guard it had killed on the way in. The child kicked and screamed, but the goblin wasn't letting him go, and was quickly dragging him back towards the gates. A group of guards had formed nearby, all with weapons drawn; but anytime that one made to move in on the creature, it snarled fiercely, and the guard would back off. They would rather let the child be taken than risk their own lives against the goblin, even though odds were that it would drop the kid and run if they all charged it.

Kyle would've asked why the guards weren't doing their job, but he knew better. Instead, he pushed a couple of them aside, lowered his spear, and charged at the goblin himself. The creature snarled, then looked momentarily stunned when Kyle kept coming anyways. It was obviously used to humans being cowards. This confusion only lasted for a moment, though, and soon the goblin went to plan B; it raised the kid up as a shield. Kyle dug his heels in and stopped dead in his tracks, barely able to avoid skewering the kid. He circled around the goblin, kept his spear raised, but he couldn't get an opening. The creature kept the kid between its body and the spearpoint at all times, while constantly moving towards the gates, and soon enough it got through them.

Once it was outside the city, the goblin turned and ran, hugging the child to its hairy chest. Kyle followed for a while, but it was no use; he couldn't keep up with the thing. Even if he could, it wouldn't matter. It was certainly heading for a nest of its own kind, and if Kyle followed it there, he'd just be dinner for its friends. Kyle stopped and waited until the child's screams faded away into the distance, then started back towards Oakheim, letting his spear drag on the ground as he walked. It was sort of ironic; in better times, he wouldn't have even had his spear on him, and wouldn't have been able to do anything at all. These days everyone that had a weapon carried it whenever they could, since you couldn't rely on the guard to keep you safe anymore. Then again, in better times, a goblin wouldn't have gotten into the town to begin with.

[rn7]

"What's eatin' him? You know this guy Stark? He totally doesn't look as superbadass as you do." Fargo commented while sloshing his mug around. He scratched his head and looked quizzically back and forth between Stark and the slobbering mess on the ground. "Wow, what a coincidence! Both of you lost your jobs on the same day. Jeph, you're Jeph, right? Not that I know you or anything, Stark here just said your name. Now, I don't like this one bit at all. I mean sure, it's bad you're out of a job, but both of you? That's a sign, it's got to be."

Fargo swore his heard the crash of thunder outside. His silly imagination, right? Either way, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Listen guys, I don't think it's that great of an idea to stick around here too long. Just a feeling."

[mr_e_s]

Stark

"Lightkratos, man, you're pretty far gone already, ain'tcha?" Stark helped Jeph to his feet and into his seat. He didn't know the guy super well, but well enough that he probably shouldn't let him pass out on a shitty pub floor. Common courtesy and all.

"What's eatin' him? You know this guy Stark? He totally doesn't look as superbadass as you do." Fargo chimed in."

"I-"

"Wow, what a coincidence! Both of you lost your jobs on the same day. Jeph, you're Jeph, right? Not that I know you or anything, Stark here just said your name. Now, I don't like this one bit at all. I mean sure, it's bad you're out of a job, but both of you? That's a sign, it's got to be."

Stark wasn't sure if the kid was drunk already or if he was always like this. Either way, he figured he might have picked the wrong side in the fight. "Listen Jeph, this ain't the end, man. We don't need this town anyways. there's plenty of jobs for guys what know how to use weapons." Stark realized he'd never actually seen Jeph in a fight, maybe he was a total pansy. The sobbing didn't make a great case otherwise. "We'll bounce back. Us swords for hire always do. Besides, perfect chance to get out of this town, right?"

Stark pounded back the rest of his grog. He almost ordered another, but he thought better of it. "Besides, my good friend Fargo here just came into some money, and the next round's on him, so cheer up!"

The Brute

As fortuitous as the peaceful entry into the manse was, it still left the problem of an inversely proportionate facility upon exit. Or at least, that was the most likely prediction of the scenario to come. While his intentions weren't directly violent, it was somewhat likely some form of persuasion would be required to obtain the information he sought. People were generally unwilling to part with their valuables. Even if they had no idea what their true machinations were.

Certainly, the guard inside the estate were more prim and proper then those left to their own devices outside. Be it selection based on duty, or else fear of repercussions for improper behavior, they seemed to be a cut above those on the exterior. Several times he was asked to state his business here, and several times he requested the presence of the community's patriarchal figure.He could see the base signs of fear in the men's eyes, but few if any actually gave any physical indications beyond the narrowing of their pupils and heightening of their eyebrows. There was the occasional quaver in vocal cords. He almost had a problem with one guard in the inner sanctum of the manse, who demanded that he relinquish possession of his primary weapon. It was easily handled, as so many situations could be, with a menacing glare that told him if he tried it would yield unpleasant results. There were no heroes in the world. There were only people. Perhaps that was for the best.

There were two guards stationed at each side of a pair of large, oak doors, leading into what he assumed was the study of the baron Oakheim. A man conceited enough to name the town after himself. Reprehensible, really. Taxing all those people to be miserable on his land for a very shoddy illusion of safety, and a right to purchase his goods. People like this were the very epitome of the world's problems. Had the people anded together five years ago instead of running around like decapitated poultry, arguing and fighting amongst themselves, this world could have been magnificent. But the chaff so rarely rise up to the level of the wheat. This man was purely chaff, he recognized it as soon as he walked into the study. A puppy with delusions of being a fierce wolf.

"Salutations, Mr. Oakheim. I do believe I have a proposition for you that will benefit us both greatly." He sat down in a chair on the other side of the desk from the short rotund man. The juxtaposition of the scene was palpable. Made worse by how over-sized the baron's chair was for him, and how The Brute's chair would have been small for a man half his size. The baron clearly had this set out so that anyone who came to see him would feel small and unimportant, but it seemed to have the opposite effect in this particular situation.

The baron was not as skilled at hiding his fear as most of the guard. He gave a silent signal for the two guards at the door to be ready to kill The Brute in an instant after receiving the signal to do so from their fuhrer. "What is it you wanted to discuss with me?" The baron said, rather gruffly.

"Well, it's a matter involving something that recently came into your possession during your trip to the capitol city of-" The order had been given, and the short swords of the guards made to end The Brute's existence right there. Unfortunately for one of the guars, he already had a hatchet burrowed into his skull, the other was considerably more fortunate, having only been knocked over by the chiar as The Brute sent it flying back with his legs as he stood up quickly. Before the guard could gather his thoughts, his sword was out of his hand and his neck was in The Brute's. "You needn't die here. Just lie down, and remain perfectly still, and I promise you, your blood will not be spilled." There wasn't even a hesitation in the guard's movement as he was let go. He lay to the ground, not making an attempt for his weapon, just remaining motionless.

The Brute grabbed the still breathing guard's sword, and shoved it in between the door handles, preventing any interference from the outside. The shock hadn't quite worn off on the baron, who was likely used to being on the other side of this kind of fear. He was making sounds, none of them really formed words though, and The Brute took it upon himself to keep the conversation going. "I take it from that rash decision you made just now you do indeed know to what I am referring. That is good. It's nice to know I haven't wasted my time coming out here to this backwater community. What a shame it would have been to leave the comforts of civilization to find out that my prize hadn't been here at all. I might have gotten quite irate. I'm not as pleasant a guest when I get irate. Now, if you could tell me where to procure it, I'd be much obliged to leave and never return. You could continue siphoning the lifeblood of the people of this community unfettered by individuals such as myself. If, however, there is a problem, well, I suppose you wouldn't have to worry about how many nickels and dimes you could take with you to the afterlife, anyways. Perhaps it would be a release."

"Sense seemed to have retaken the baron with those last words. Sense, but not reason, alas. "I-I-I-I don't have it anymore! It was stolen last night!" He was now actively pushing away from the table without getting up from his chair, as though he were trying to see if he could somehow permeate the fabric and find his way into the plush stuffing of it, to become the chair. The Brute appreciated the imagery of it, before finally sighing and resolving to his next actions.

The barons screams brought the guard's attention, but the doors held true, and there was no other entrance into the room. Strong sturdy doors. Oak. They made for a nice office. They'd also do as a coffin. He asked politely again, and again. And in each answer, though there were minute changes in the phrasing, the core of the problem remained the same. An unknown thief had robbed the manse two night's ago, and had reportedly been murdered since, the killers had left town without being stopped, supposedly carrying the corpse of their victim out of the town with them. Apparently the Baron had several guards patrolling the area to look for them, but it was unlikely he'd get them to wander around outside the town gates. More plausible was that they'd hide out together in a low key place, and construct a passable alibi to pass along to their superiors the next day. But they wouldn't be telling the baron.

As his arm was crushed, he screamed so loudly, but it wasn't until most of his ribs had been broken by The Brute's giant hand that he really shred that last bit of dignity, of humanity. He was just a wounded animal, trying to survive. He actually tried to bite the Brute's digits as they wrapped around his skull, howled like the puppy he was as the last hopes at remaining among the living vanished from him. Finally the howling was replaced with the crack of the skull, and suddenly it all caved in on him, the only sound coming from him the muffled sounds of a death rattle emanating from his throat.

There were a fair bit of guards on the other side of the door now, realizing too late that it was indeed folly to let the large man wielding a battle axe in to see their employer. But what to do for an escape? Would he kill them all? Or could he find another way?

[Purg]

"... You may want to cut your celebration short," Dom said quietly to the trio talking loudly at the bar. "This village... A goblin attacked the gate, just minutes ago. Goblins never travel alone, and their curiosity at what the guard at the front gate tastes like won't keep them occupied for long, I'd think." He stood up again, massaging his back - it still ached from the monster's stomps, although he was lucky a rib hadn't been broken. "I don't know how many people are aware, but this city is besieged." He sighed heavily, dreading his next words.

"... I know nothing about the rest of you, but I do know this - alone, I'm not powerful enough to defeat even one goblin, if they're all like the scout they sent. Perhaps it would be beneficial to group together - if the town burns and must be fled, a pack of adventurers is more likely to survive the assault than several of them going alone." He had already realized that, of the three of them, he was really the only one of them that was truly alone here, but hoped, for survival's sake, that they wouldn't mind letting him join with them in the upcoming assault. Once they had neared another settlement, he had every intention of leaving them - but for now, the only way he could see himself surviving would be through some type of companionship.

~-~

The goblin had returned from the village's gates, dribbling blood - it's own from its shoulder, and a human's from its mouth. The man riding on the back of a massive beast smiled confidently, gesturing with his head to the mass of creatures behind him, whipping the reins on his mount's horns, stirring the behemoth into a frenzied charge through the trees towards the doomed township of Oakheim. Goblins, dire wolves, a trio of skeletal archers, even an ogre slowly making his way at the tail end of the monster army, bending under low branches and scratching the thick hide common to his species. He even had a special new toy - a fire elemental, a roughly humanoid shape composed of ash, coal, and flame, swirling with heat and hissing air. The guards at the front were the first to fall - one, his throat torn out by a wolf, the other beaten down by the goblins before the ogre crushed him underfoot.

Prophet laughed, the mayhem and destruction surrounding him filling him with good humor. He left his minions to do as they pleased, be it attack the villagers or destroy the buildings, while pulling the reigns on the behemoth, directing it to the baron's manse. That was where his associate would be, retrieving the artifact, and he assumed it would be best to meet him there while the monsters caused an ample distraction. The behemoth, a large, catlike creature, dashed forward, it's twisted horns throwing aside the few guards too slow or stupid to flee from their doom. Had he not held the reins so tightly, he was certain his mount would be tossing aside the villagers and guards like the rest of his army - even if he had it trained not to attack him, there was nothing stopping it from mauling others. But he had a mission that he would rather not fail, and so he rode forward, dashing through the streets, even leaping on and over the houses, many of which fell under the weight of the behemoth leaping off.

The Brute was waiting for him, he was certain of it, and, though he wouldn't mind himself, he probably shouldn't keep him waiting long. As he rode towards the manse, he looked back - it seems the elemental had taken happily to the town, igniting several of the buildings as though they were kindling and wax paper. He grinned again - this blighted town never looked better than it did on fire.

Edited June 27, 2010 by OtherPhase

[Csquared08]

"Hey, you got any more of this stuff?" asked one of the patrons, indicating the whiskey that had at one time been in his glass. The barkeeper nodded and poured the man's tenth glass of the whiskey. Despite this whiskey being the strongest stuff in the tavern, perhaps even in any of the other taverns within fifty miles, the man seemed largely unaffected by the stuff; he just sat there calmly, lost in his own thoughts. The only thing the barkeeper could tell that had changed in the man's expression was his brow was now furrowed. Either he was deep in thought or he was becoming annoyed by the loud conversation of the three to his left, a feeling most of the other patrons shared.

When Dom came in and quietly informed the three that a goblin had been seen within the town walls, the man's face brightened. Not in the happy, things are going as planned brightening; it was more of finally, a challenge brightening. Finishing his last drink, he paid the barkeeper and walked over to the group of four.

"I hear you guys are in the business of leaving town. Mind if I tag along? You might need me if you encounter goblins." Dom looked over at the newcomer, instinctively sizing him up, seeing if his help would actually be welcome. He was quickly satisfied and nodded his approval. "By the way the name's Rutem. And last I heard, one Fargo Capcillon resided in this town. I was hoping you might help me find him; I have some unfinished business with him." greeted Rutem, his expression warm and a kind smile on his face, a look that is normally absent from someone searching for Fargo.