Of Thieves and Cannibals [mini-arc]

[LUCIAN FAWKES]

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[atrb=border,0,true] mini-arc! OF THIEVES AND CANNIBALS He found himself spiraling deeper down's the rabbit's hole. Time: it was only a matter of it. A small wooden vessel, no larger than a dinghy, slammed into the cobbled stone surface of the port. The ship was partially damaged in the process, but amidst the pandemonium, the corsair bound swiftly overboard. Plunging into the icy depths of of the ocean. His pursuers were only moments from docking, and he used the lapse of time between them to narrowly escape his capture. Prickled flesh, specifically that of his arm, pierced forth and pushed water aside frantically; clawing deeper and deeper until an iron barred tube fell into sight. Nearly out of breath, he close in on the opening, squeezing between the metallic bars with all his might. Was it to late? His chest thumped heavily, a feint feeling overwhelming him. Just as his bodily processes began to slow, and he could feel himself slipping into darkness, he surface. Gasping for air as the gut rotting stench of the sewer filled his nostrils. Swarms of rats scurried along the inner corridors of the horrid waterway, ravenously excavating the narrow corridors of any remnants of life. Human bones crumbled along the wet cement pathways, and Lucian pushed himself quickly from the water. It was disgusting down here. Nonetheless, this last hope of desperation had earned him his freedom; but this liberty was only temporary. Currently on the run, he found himself a primary target of the marines in East Blue. His recent plundering of their headquarters hadn't been overlooked, and in fact had managed to enrage even the upper ranks of the marine faction. Caressing the coiled hilt of his steel katana, which sheathed idly upon his left hip, Lucian pressed forward. His direction aimed towards that of inland, and he hoped to resurface at a safe location far outside of town. Things could only get worse should he fail to meet his intent. Moving quickly and quietly through barren corridors, the soft pat of his feet echoed out along the wet ground. So far he hadn't heard any noises, only good luck could allow the situation to remain that way. The sound of voices meant they were closing in on him, which meant one of two things. The pirate taking the marines head on, or quickly substituting an alternate escape route. Regardless of his actions, the matters at hand were only worsening. Maybe returning to loguetown had been a mistake.