RAISING THE BAR [p]

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

MISSION ONE;

Another beautiful day on the commercial chain of islands known as 'Commi Island'. The sun arched high over head, beating down on the land filled with a plethora of shops and large crowds of tourists. With the ocean near, the waves could be heard crashing against the shore, creating a dull white noise in the background of the commerce that commenced. Lucian made his way to the quieter side of town, a mild white button-up tucked into his straight black slacks. His normal blue jacket hung over his shoulder from his finger tip, whistling a gentle pirate tune as he sauntered forth.

It wasn't long until he found the place, a run-down tavern that looked like it hadn't been fixed up in months. It was no wonder they were willing to do anything just to get rid of those pesky bandits, a pirate seemed like the perfect person for the job. Marines could careless, bounty hunter had their eyes on bigger fish, but a pirate would do anything for some quick cash and didn't mind the repercussions of fighting. Placing a heavy foot on the door, he forced it open, nearly slamming it off of it's hinges.

As though nothing had happened, he strolled into the building, allowing the tune to part from thin rose lips. He hadn't missed a single beat so far, and continued to enjoy its melody until he saw the contents of the bar, and the self-made music faded. Stopping dead in his tracks, somber eyes cast a judgmental gaze around the perimeters of the tavern. Not a single person sat at the tables. Dust and cobwebs covered every inch of the place, and for a slight second Lucian swore he saw a large rat scurry across the floor boards.

Well shit, looks like you guys need me more than I thought! the swordsman proclaimed, approaching a gloomy bartender who continued to clean a singe glass obsessively. When the man didn't respond, Lucian slammed the bar with his hand, a loud bang snapping the clerk back to attentiveness. "Yoohoo. The names Lucian, you hired me to take care of this bandit problem...? Lucian's voice hinted at his irritation, but he remained calm nonetheless. He planned to take his frustration out on the bandits, his mind trailing to the thought of their blood. Would it taste delicious? He decided that the petty thieves would leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and dismissed the thought rather abruptly.

[CAIN VERETICUS]

His life was a mess. He was reaching his 55-year mark, and yet, he was stuck here, in this pathetic excuse of a bar, with no wife and no children. Such was a cruel life he was cursed with, and all it took was to be born under his parents, the initial owners of his inn. He was the last of his three brothers, the other two having left this world as well. One was a Marine, who died in combat, while the other was an unfortunate merchant who just happened to cross path with an unruly band of pirates. Pirates. It bothered him to be forced to hire such an individual, but it did not seem like he had much of a choice. They were, after all, the easiest bunch of people to attract with money.

Why did he need the help of outlaws for? Well, he needed taking care of another band of outlaws. A small band of bandits, that lived up the hill not too far off from here, within its cave. Now they... They were the people that truly made Scruffy's life miserable. Yes, his name was Scruffy, but moving on...

These bandits had been coming into his pub and demanding payment from protection, seemingly from other bandits and thieves. Of course, fearing for his life, for what it was worth, and for the inn, he would pay. And there goes the majority of his profits. It was frustrating. Infuriating. Maddening. And Scruffy wanted them out.

The man ran those thoughts through his head, utterly indulging in his train of thoughts, even as Lucian entered the bar, his hand making a routine twisting motion as he wiped the already-clean glass with a dirty piece of cloth. Redundant, really.

"Yoohoo. The names Lucian, you hired me to take care of this bandit problem...?"

Scruffy jumped slightly as the man smacked the counter, his hand ceasing its movement as he glanced up at him with his brown eyes. He blinked, the wrinkles beside his eyes deepening in texture as he turned softly on the heels of his old leather boots, facing the man. Setting the glass down, he furrowed his eyebrows, in obvious disdain of his newfound company.

"Took you long enough. I was beginning to wonder if you'd come." Scruffy spoke out with a snarl, as he placed both hands on the edge of the counter, leaning against it. "Whatever the case, you're just about to work for your money. The bandits have yet to visit this week, and I reckon they'll be coming in within the next hour, maybe less. You can either wait here, or be stupid enough to head out there and hunt themselves, I don't care. I just want blood."

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

PRE-OBITUARY;

"Whatever the case, you're just about to work for your money. The bandits have yet to visit this week, and I reckon they'll be coming in within the next hour, maybe less. You can either wait here, or be stupid enough to head out there and hunt themselves, I don't care. I just want blood."

By the way he spoke, Lucian felt the so called Scruffy underestimated him completely. He may not have been the most powerful combatant to bring in, however, Lucian was still well versed in combat and a seasoned fighter nonetheless. With the time of their arrival approaching, he thought it was best to set up an ambush. Eager to see their reaction, he began to formulate the sequence of events in his head. The only entrance to the tavern was large double doors near the front. Iron handles at either side allowed a wooden panel to slide over the door and secure it from entry.

"Lock the doors, and don't come outside. It might get messy," Lucian advised, pivoting away from the gloomy old man to make his way outside. As he passed by the tables, he grabbed a few loose ones and dragged them to the door for obvious reasons. They would serve as reinforcement in the case that the door's lock didn't uphold. He'd rather secure the content of the shop, no matter how worthless, to avoid losing a portion of his pay. He hated that. If people wanted something to get done, they should be prepared for the possible damage that came with it.

At the last moment, he tilted his head back over his shoulders, giving a last few words before his stylish exit. "Do not open the doors for anything, until I say Tartoros. The meaning of the word is not important, but if you hear anything other than that, do not open," His eyes had narrowed, the furrows in his brows increasing intensely. His last message, was as serious as someone could get, and it almost seemed threatening by the tone in his voice. Kneeling over, the male leaped out of sight, disappearing into the outside world of Commi Island.

Not until the doors slammed shut behind him, did Lucian begin to enact his plan. He began by securing the perimeter, moving about quickly and quietly to determine people or objects that occupied the area. He came to the conclusion, that for the most part it was empty, save for a few empty barrels at each of the store fronts. The area to the front of the shop was wide open, however, parallel shops had been built adjacent to the left and right of the tavern.

Embedded in his memory, for the most part, the scenery would not be forgotten. And the swordsman would take note of any new people or objects that suddenly appeared. With time to spare, he mounted the tavern, climbing to it's roof top and positioning himself flat against the tar laid tiles that covered it's crown. The roof had been built appropriately to the situation, coming to a crest in the center, which Lucian lay tucked behind. Those who arrived at the tavern would not see the man from his position. Nor would they expect an aerial assault by means of blade. These petty bandits were done for.

[CAIN VERETICUS]

"Lock the doors, and don't come outside. It might get messy,"

Scruffy clicked his tongue in frustration, as he pushed himself off the counter, his right hand coming up to wave him off. Well, not him, specifically, but his words. As if he was going to go outside, at that moment. He was old and wise enough to know when to stay the fuck out of fights. It was the reason he'd lived this long, after all. And with that, his brown eyes watched the man off, ignoring the action of redecorating his pub. It would take him a good two seconds, before he finally stepped out from behind the counter, as he walked to the center of his own pub. The door was successfully barricaded then, succeeding in keeping the bandits out.

Or them trapped inside.

"Do not open the doors for anything, until I say Tartoros. The meaning of the word is not important, but if you hear anything other than that, do not open,"

Once again, the grumpy old man replied with another click of his tongue, and Lucian departed the pub, leaving him inside with four customers and two of his employees. His only two employees, note. One a bar wench, and the other the cook. He crossed his arms, a deep heavy sigh escaping his lips. To hell with it. "Everyone inside the kitchen. I don't want to take any chances." His gruff voice broke the silence within the pub, and it was all it took to get the small crowd moving.

Scruffy, however, stayed where he stood, arms crossed and a frown on his face.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did you see his face? He almost peed his pants! Hahaha!" The short blonde called out, the black headband around his forehead shifting only so slightly as his head bounced with the laughter. He was clad in a simple attire. A leather jacket, acting as his armor, and a pair of brown pants, with a sword strapped onto his left waist. Despite his physical stature, he was rather mature in appearance, looking to be just past 30.

"That was hilarious, yeah! What a coward, yeah?" The second male beside him spoke up, this one a large dark-skinned male, obviously having seen beyond his fair share of sunlight. He had long dreadlocks for his hair, and was clad in but a simple black vest, his muscular body revealed, and a pair of green jogging pants. He was the largest and the tallest of the group, armed with a broadsword, its sheathe strapped around his torso.

"Quiet down, you fools. Your voices are annoying." The feminine voice came, silencing the other two's laughter. A red-head, standing about 5'8'', blessed with a great figure and appearance, save for her missing right eye, covered by an eyepatch. She wore a simple fitting black blouse, with gauntlets strapped around her wrists. A pair of black pants accompanied the attire, the clothing hugging her body well. And finally, a katana strapped to her waist.

The fourth spoke not a word, the man keeping his head low. He was short-haired, black in colour, and carried a scar upon his cheek, reaching from his ear to his chin, the curved mark arcing towards his eye. He was clad in armor, the set simple yet sturdy, armed with a shield and sword. Among all five, he looked rather gloomy. He stood on the opposite end of the line, from the blonde.

"Bah, let them do whatever they want. As long as we get what we came here for. That Scruffy owes us our money." And finally, the man at the center spoke. He was bald, slightly wrinkled, and sported a beard that reached down to his chest, the facial hair braided. He was clad in a dark crimson long-sleeved shirt, with a black leather jacket over it. A pair of cream-coloured pants completed his attire, as a sword with a sheathe so grand in appearance it was obviously stolen strapped upon his waist. And he walked with the confidence of a king, as he led the uncanny band of renegades towards the bar, unaware of the surprise that was waiting for them.

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

AMBUSH;

The old man, scruffy, had quite the attitude. In a sense Lucian liked it, it reminded him of his own father. Oh how he had missed home cooked meals since his departure. The flesh and bones of unfortunate travelers found by the kumate tribe. But out in the real world, things were different, and society shamed the practice of cannibalism. So Lucian kept it to a minimum, avoiding the poor quality flesh of humans, and sticking to the powerful ones. They harnessed the best taste, with the iron taste of blood. It got him excited.

Peering over the crest of the roof, his fingers dug into the space between tiles. Using the porcelain squares for balance, he was able to watch as the five bandits approached. He listened in on their conversation, basing their intelligence on the way they spoke. The two figures to the left spoke of their previous victims, obviously enjoying their topic. Lucian had already picked them to be the first target of his blade, with lower intellects, they would be more susceptible to an ambush.

This didn't mean he forgot to make note of the others. The woman appeared rather brash and impulsive, but held rank within the group. Maybe the second in command. The leader was obvious, the eldest of the group, and standing in the center. How cliche. This man looked old enough to have been hindered by his age, and although having the most power, his movements would likely be much slower. The silent one on the end seemed to trouble him the most, the quiet ones were always the scariest. Deep within their own heads, you couldn't tell what devious plots bubbled up.

Regardless, he would decide to take out the brawn first. Removing the primary power of the group would weaken them tremendously. Climbing over the crest of the roof, Lucian would slide along the shingle with good balance and grace, falling behind the blond and the large male beside him. Unsheathing his sword at 25mph, the steel of his blade aimed to bite into the flesh of the large male. Slashing through the flesh of his back, nerve endings an possible portions of his spinal chord might be severed.

But the mayhem didn't end here, twisting his grip at the peak of his strike, he brought the pommel of his hilt down hard on the blonde. Hitting him in the back of the neck with enough force to leave him stunned or in a worst case scenario, paralyzed. His attacks, if successful left the two men on the ground. One unconscious, the other writhing in pain. Lucian turned to the others of the group, his hand to his front, gripping his katana tightly before him. The blade would be extended towards the leaders throat, and the swordsman would begin to mentally prepare himself for a parry or evasion.

[CAIN VERETICUS]

Without a single clue of what was about to befall upon them, the five bandits moved closer to the bar. The entrance being small and all, Frado, the leader of the five, would lead the way, while the other four allowed themselves to slow down and cluster up behind Frado, so as to fit through the small doorway. Before Frado's hand could reach forward and grab the knob, though, the sound of heavy footsteps would come from behind them. All five froze, a grave mistake on their part indeed. Thankfully, fortune was on their side, it seemed, for this part.

Lucian had attacked the back of the large man, and although he did succeed in drawing blood, it was not an effective a strike as he would have anticipated it to be. See, the broadsword was strapped onto his back, the said strap coiling around his torso. It sliced into his flesh, but would fail to do no more harm than a few inches of a gash, as his sheathed weapon served to block it. The blonde, however, was easily dispatched, for the man had chosen to turn around to face their assailant. A mistake, for instead of finding his neck, the pommel found his forehead instead. He would fall back, unconscious and out of the battle.

The large black man would stagger forward, his large hand glasping over his wound, and his other hand reaching forward, grabbing the wall of the pub, an evident expression of pain plastered on his face. "Fuck, that hurt, yeah!" He called out, as Frado and the other two drew their weapons, all three ready to defend themselves. The woman would slide past behind Frado, eyebrows furrowed and focused on them, while Frado and the armoured male stood their ground, glaring the man down.

One of his men was down, and the other was injured, though could still walk. Frado, to say the least, did not expect this welcome at all. Holding his majestic blade in hand, he reached forward with his other, patting the shoulder of the armoured male, who nodded his head. And with that, he started to approach Lucian, a shield strapped onto his left forearm and a sword in his right. At the same time, the female would attempt to circle around Frado, holding her katana with both hands, her footsteps calculated and focused.

This man was going to regret messing with them.

Or so Frado believed.

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

FIGHT FOR YOUR LIVES;

He could feel the smooth incision as the tip of his steel katana bit into the darkened flesh of the large man. His sword had shielded him partially, but his injury was substantial nonetheless causing a chuckle to part from Lucian's lips as the towering buffoon staggered forward. His hands clasped at the gaping injury, and his pretty boy comrade fell to the ground beside him. Blood gushing from his forehead, the sight seemed to excite Lucian more than expected. But he stepped over the body as though nothing had happened and proceeded to unleash a powerful slash across the back of the large man's knees.

With two down for the count, Lucian was approached by a third combatant. The metal clad warrior held a shield to his chest, a sword extending from the other hand. He approached with obvious caution, for he had seen what quick work the swordsman had made of his two comrades. "Hmph." Lucian exclaimed, an amused grin spreading on his face. With his word already extended forwards, he pulled his hand towards thrusting forth with great power and speed. The tip of his sword aimed for the belt of the armored foe.

Human reaction would dictate his shield to defend against the volley, but with last minute altercation in the direction of his blade, Lucian's katana slid over the top of the shield in attempts to pierce the vulnerable eyes of his enemy. The Liquid Blade as the swordsman called, maneuvered with snake-like agility piercing at a speed of eleven meters per second (25mph). There was no way in hell that a man so heavily armored could match his speed. The success of the strike was irrelevant at this point, for the pirate had lifted his foot and extended it powerfully. Smashing his heel into the shield of the bandit, the force aimed to knock the man off balance.

It was now time to deal with the woman. Who decided to circle around her leader with her blade drawn. She was probably the quickest of the group. But she was the only one left to defend their leader. Smirking, Lucian set a trap in place. Lunging forth towards the old man, the swordsman aimed for his throat. This action inevitably forcing the woman to react, and display her level of speed which likely rivaled his own. But this was not an issue, she had to defend two people, while the pirate need only defend himself. The following sequence of events could determine the outcome of this battle quickly.

[CAIN VERETICUS]

And Lucian charged at the armoured male, nicknamed Bal for the sake of reference. Now, Bal had been fighting for a long time. From the streets, into the mercenaries, and finally becoming the outlaw that he was now, thinking that the best way he could earn money was not work for others, but claim it himself. To say the least, he had experience that compensated for most of his weaknesses. And so, as Lucian charged in, Bal moved his left arm downwards, aiming to protect his waist from the incoming thrust. However, the deviation of the blade's direction came as a surprise.

And Bal pushed himself just to react accordingly, as he brought his shield up. Though it failed to block the weapon, it still succeeded in coming in contact with it, as the top of the shield pushed against the bottom of the extended blade, pushing its route upwards, as he leaned his head to the side. The weapon cut into his ear, slicing it into two separate halves, still attached onto his head, as he let out a loud yelp.

And Lucian was not over yet, as the defender of the pub kicked at Bal's shield. Already disbalanced and disgruntled by the shearing pain from his ear, the attack connected without the slightest resistance, throwing Bal back, landing on the floor right beside the wall of the pub. Frado grunted, realising then just how good a swordsman Lucian was.

Despite that, however, the man's pride refused to succumb, and as Lucian charged at him, Frado held his weapon up, keeping his head and eyes focused on Lucian. The woman, Alice, though, would not allow it. She charged forward, displaying speed that made her superior to her other teammates, as she swung her katana outwards, from her left-down, to right-up, aiming to slice at Lucian's chest as she slid the weapon under his extended blade.

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

DEATH;

He was right, her speed rivaled that of even his own. But she had committed to her leaders defense all too easy, opening her wide to an unexpected attack. With no signs leading up to his sudden jolt in direction, the swordsman practice his well prepared Half-Step, placing him in a position of great advantage. Moving at ten meters per second, which was about 25 mph more or less, he capered with movements comparable to a shunpo.

Standing now at the back side of the woman as she began to lift her blade upwards, the swordsman lowered his stance swinging his steel katana across her lower torso. Power and speed surged through his blade as it aimed to connect with the flesh of her hip. Positioned perfectly in her blind-spot, since the eye-patch lay on her right eye, the finesse of his counter was outspoken by his actions. This left only the leader, by reasonable terms, to fight. The woman's corpse had likely fallen limp to the ground by now. Her impatient and poorly calculated movements had been her ultimate downfall, and as the curtains drew to a close, she probably regretted anything she had failed to complete in her life.

Thieving the poor of their hard earned money was hardly an honorable lifestyle, it served them right to be left to decay in their own blood. The muddied earth would serve well as a pig's burial ground. Smirking, it was now left to just the leader and the swordsman. His eyes told him that the man was powerful, his muscular frame was evidence of such, regardless of the wrinkles that plagued his skin. Blemishes and scars painted his body, this was the indefinite war paint of a fallen warrior.

"Its obvious that you've seen the most combat of us all. Why now, do you sink to such a low depth. You've become the low scum you probably despised in your youth," Lucian question, saving not a breath before their final battle commenced. Rushing forth, he blade was angled diagonally, clashing with the drawn weapon of his adversary for obvious intents. This was merely a show of power, and a tool used to scale veteran's strength. Pushing hard, the swordsman attempted to bull rush him and knock him off his feet.

A man of great power and slow movements would be forced to participate in such a competition. But the upper hand lay with our venerable swordsman, for he became to incorporate his tools of agility. Pivoting his feet, he pressed hard with his lead foot, maintaining the warrior's steel embrace. His back foot would swiftly approach from his rear, flanking the feet with a powerful sweep. His actions finished with a lifting motion, could leave the old man on his back, vulnerable to Lucian's blade. Lucian had dropped down to the ground as his leg vaulted forth, allowing his weight and hips to carry his leg through with full force. An old man on his back, the swordsman would mutter a few words before dispelling him. "May the gods forgive you," he whispered, steel piercing the man's abdomen and bringing closure to his life.

By now, the steel clad warrior had regained his footing. Intentions of vengeance were to be expected.

[CAIN VERETICUS]

Frado was, to say the least, pissed at the outcome of his team. One was knocked out, one was dying behind him, the large black man had tried to get away, in fear for his life, surprising for a man of his size. He did no get far, though, for the blood loss would get the better of him and he would collapse a block off the pub, dying in his own pool. Bal was recovering behind him, slowly getting up onto his feet, and his daughter had just been murdered by this man. Rage was evident in his eyes, as his grip on his blade tightened even further, his knuckles growing white.

Rage. It blinded even the most skilled of swordsmen.

Lucian charged at him, preaching words that never reached Frado's ears as the two men clashed blades, the bandit using all of his weight to press down against Lucian. And in a way, he was winning in this battle of strength. But with his judgement clouded, he could not predict what he should have. That Lucian had already had a plan in mind. The sweep came in without resistance, swiping the man off feet. Frado yelp as his body fell to the side, balance regaining just enough for him to fall fully on his back. Did not do him much, really, as he lay there on the ground, his weapon by his side.

Lucian's last words came, and Frado's eyes widened, as he quickly tried to swing his blade in. It connected, but not quick enough. It served only to make things worse, for he redirected the blade right towards his heart. And it pierced through the crucial muscle, affirming the man's passing. Frado gasped, his eyes widening. So... This was it. His end.

Bal recovered soon enough. His blank face no longer existing, replaced instead by one akin to Frado's earlier face. Without a second thought, he charged, with every intention of carrying out retribution for his friends. Upon reaching Lucian's range, he swung the shield forward, aiming to smack Lucian's face with the top edge of his defensive equipment, keeping his sword close to his chest for parrying measures. And whether it connected or not, Lucian would pull the weapon out of its place, slashing at Lucian's torso.

He would have his vengeance, one way or another.

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

POSTMORTEM;

Now lacking any source of reason, the iron clad assailant clambered to his feet, choosing to rush the swordsman with full force. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and his hearing was likely hindered as result. It was sad that he had chosen to attack the swordsman, his life could have been preserved if he had chosen to flee. Nonetheless, Lucian showed no sympathy, a malicious gaze focused intently on Bal. He yielded not an inch from his position, and could see through such wild movements birthed of hatred.

As the shield swung out, it opened the underside of his arm to an attack. Seizing the opportunity, Lucian extended his arm piercing the wrist of his final adversary with a quick and effortless flick. His grip twisting, Lucian batted away the sword in Bal's opposite hand. His inside open to attack, Lucian carried out a finishing blow, steel flashing across his enemies throat. For a moment, everything was silent, but as the distinct colours of carnage gave way, crashing metal sounded; the warrior had fallen to the ground, slain.

Angling his katana above his left shoulder, Lucian completed a simple slash, halting just before the ground. The measure had cast the remainder of blood on his blood onto the dirt beneath him, allowing to clean his blade of most blood. To onlookers dismay, he continued to bring the blade to his lips, allowing his tongue to slide across the steel surface and cleaning it of any remaining gore. An unsightly view, but it was the culture of his kumate past that arouse around battle.

"Bitter. Just as I thought," he scowled, sliding the katana back into its ebony sheathe. Arms stretching outwards, he yawned, proceeding to the Tavern doors before knocking three times. 'That wasn't the code. Pausing momentarily, he thought back to what he had told the old man. "Tartarus," Lucian recited, pronouncing the name of his crew loudly and clearly. He could hear the wooden panel sliding out from behind the doors and chose to stand aside. An arm cast outwards to present the corpses to Scruffy as a parting gift. "No need for the thanks. If anyone asks, tell them this was the doing of the Tartarus Pirate Crew," he announced, making sure to add one last final bit, "fabled warriors, to rise from the ashes of the underworld."

It was quite the cheesy phrase, but he liked it. The swordsman's body expression was outward, apathy tainting his visage has he extended a greedy hand. He expected his reward to be handed over promptly in the form of a money sack. Satisfied by the clanging of coins, this would mark his exit.

[CAIN VERETICUS]

Bal gasped as the blade slid cleanly across his throat, his eyes wide in fear. He had been beaten, the same way as his friend, Frado, had. By a young man who had probably seen less death than he had. This was honestly not the most honourable death he had wanted for himself, but alas, it was what he had gotten. His body grew limp, as he gagged, blood rushing up his throat and out of his mouth. He fell on his knees, head bobbing with the movement, his vision fading away. Regrets? They were too numerous to count. And he may have even forgotten a large number of them. He closed his eyes.

And he fell back, armor clashing against dirt, announcing the end of their dastardly crew.

And twas was the end of their merry adventures, their misdeeds, their battles, their celebrations. There'd be no more killing, no more suffering, no more bloodshed. No power. No happiness. No fear. No love. Everything about them was gone. And the most unfortunate one would be the blonde, for he would awake in this mess, alone and with no longer anyone to call his friend.

"Tartarus."

Scruffy raised his chin, as he glanced towards the door. His eyebrows were furrowed, his signature frown plastered still upon his face. With a deep sigh, he uncrossed his arms, and then paced towards the door. Moving aside all the barriers that Lucian had set up, he pushed the wooden bar off its slots, before opening the door.

"No need for the thanks. If anyone asks, tell them this was the doing of the Tartarus Pirate Crew, fabled warriors, to rise from the ashes of the underworld."

Despite his words, though, Scruffy failed to listen to him. His eyes were focused on the five bodies that lay before him, all in each of their own pools of blood. He stepped past Lucian, his head slowly pivoting by his neck, giving him a wide view of the battle that had just occurred. The five bandits had been bloodied, beaten, killed. And there was nothing else for him to worry about. However, the pub owner maintained his grumpy demeanour nonetheless, and he swung his arms up in protest.

"Great, now I gotta clean this bloody mess." He grumbled, as he turned towards Lucian, before spotting the extended hand. Groaning, he reached into his vest, before pulling out a small pouch, with the promised amount within. Dropping it, literally, into the man's palm, he waved his other arm off into the opposite direction of his pub.

"There, got your money. Get outta here."

And his frown never waved.

Ah, dear old Scruffy.

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

DEPARTURE;

The sack of coins plopped into his palm with a perky ring. Smiling cheerfully, the swordsman pocketed the spare change and headed off from the shop. He wished he could say he was sad to see Scrappy off, but he wasn't. Hell, he couldn't remember the old man's name to save his life, being that it was Scruffy rather than the improvised scrappy. His mission complete, Lucian was off to newer and greater things.