The Quiet Lamb

Tonight, the Lamb was as about as silent as the sign suggested. Normally it wasn't, as Franziska did bring in a number of the out of towners into her family's tavern and inn, but there seemed to be little in the way of travelers this day and night, with only a few of the locals taking up their spots at the bar.

"I'll be right with you Micah." Fran says, carrying a plate of mash and gravy to the older man, returning to behind the bar for three pitchers of amber colored beer to hand out to the other patrons lining the tables; a bright smile on her face in spite of how they potentially felt about her:



She slid over the tall glasses to her patrons, spot cleaning with a rag while she ran about. It wasn't busy as usual, but it didn't mean she could slack off. They had a reputation.... to keep. She sighed at the thought of that. No matter how hard I can try to clean our family's reputation... it will be a long time before people would even consider such. We shouldn't be out here, in the boonies mopping piss and vomit, we should be vomiting and pissing with the rowdy nobles in the pubs in Cretu... okay, maybe not that far, but we should be arm to arm with our fellows... the families we were friends with for many years! She closed her eyes, sighing heavily while she was wiping a table with a rag. She reopened her eyes and listened to the soft, folksy music in the air. Well... it is what it is. Got to get back to it. She thought, returning to bar to prepare more glasses in case any other patrons decided to join.

[From here]

Istion wrote:
Istion looked up at vice, and smiled slightly as he stood. "I remember you. No, I did not await long, only just arrived myself about 10 minutes ago. Come, lets complete this mission" Istion said as the blades of his coat's hemline clicked a little, mere inches from scraping the wooden floorboards as they creaked a little beneath his armored boots. He quickly opened the wooden double doors to the inn interior.

Vice smirked, and followed Master Istion inside. The bell threw him off, ringing as they entered. The bar was moderately packed from the onset, and he was kinda glad they didn't stick out. There was a table just a little ways from the bar, which the men took as their seat. Sitting across from Istion, Vice nervously smiled. "So... which of these patron's is our woman, Master Istion? She kinda chose a far out of the way place to choose as a watering hole, no?" He chuckled, saying this under his breath to the man, being private about their conversation.

Vice Fairgrave wrote:[From here]

Vice smirked, and followed Master Istion inside. The bell threw him off, ringing as they entered. The bar was moderately packed from the onset, and he was kinda glad they didn't stick out. There was a table just a little ways from the bar, which the men took as their seat. Sitting across from Istion, Vice nervously smiled. "So... which of these patron's is our woman, Master Istion? She kinda chose a far out of the way place to choose as a watering hole, no?" He chuckled, saying this under his breath to the man, being private about their conversation.

Istion sighed a little as he recalled the reason that the Wolfbreaker family was out here. "They had no choice, Mr.Fairgrave. The ostracization of the Wolfbreaker clan forced their hand. To escape persecution the girls and their mother moved out here after they lost their patriarch. Something Lord Valundar objected to most defiantly, even going so far as to openly criticize the Royal Family and the House of Lords over." Istion grinned a little again at the memory of Valundar standing on the Dais, hands on the lectern and condemning those who would judge the sins of the parent should pass to the children, "Said it was a very betrayal of the memory of Scar'd, and a dishonor to his memory. Heh, and they could do nothing as he was the Luminary."

Istion wrote:

Vice Fairgrave wrote:[From here]

Vice smirked, and followed Master Istion inside. The bell threw him off, ringing as they entered. The bar was moderately packed from the onset, and he was kinda glad they didn't stick out. There was a table just a little ways from the bar, which the men took as their seat. Sitting across from Istion, Vice nervously smiled. "So... which of these patron's is our woman, Master Istion? She kinda chose a far out of the way place to choose as a watering hole, no?" He chuckled, saying this under his breath to the man, being private about their conversation.

Istion sighed a little as he recalled the reason that the Wolfbreaker family was out here. "They had no choice, Mr.Fairgrave. The ostracization of the Wolfbreaker clan forced their hand. To escape persecution the girls and their mother moved out here after they lost their patriarch. Something Lord Valundar objected to most defiantly, even going so far as to openly criticize the Royal Family and the House of Lords over." Istion grinned a little again at the memory of Valundar standing on the Dais, hands on the lectern and condemning those who would judge the sins of the parent should pass to the children, "Said it was a very betrayal of the memory of Scar'd, and a dishonor to his memory. Heh, and they could do nothing as he was the Luminary."

Fran had looked up at the sound of the bell, and called out: "Welcome!" with a sweet tone. She checked out the new individuals, recognizing the Galideno Military Uniform from the younger man. The other was dressed in a rather unique, bladed coat and had white, silvery hair and tanned flesh.

The beautiful woman soon approached, carrying a couple tall glasses filled with amber, Wolfbreaker Beer:



She leans over as she sets the glasses down in front of each man, her rather endowed bosom behind her Dirndl bobbled and swayed with her movements and visibly, though she seemed unaware of the jiggling motion that could be best described as 'gelatin'. "Evening gentlemen, the first beer is on the House in the Silent Lamb, but additional refills I'll be expecting some coin up front." Franziska began. "Are you staying for the night? Does hunger pain your chest? Or do you simply wish to wet your lips and raise your spirits?" She asked, pulling a notebook from her apron. She thought upon her approach, she heard her surname, and something about the King... sore subjects she did not want to return to at the moment, so she simply perked up and smiled sweetly at both men.

Istion wrote:
Istion sighed a little as he recalled the reason that the Wolfbreaker family was out here. "They had no choice, Mr.Fairgrave. The ostracization of the Wolfbreaker clan forced their hand. To escape persecution the girls and their mother moved out here after they lost their patriarch. Something Lord Valundar objected to most defiantly, even going so far as to openly criticize the Royal Family and the House of Lords over." Istion grinned a little again at the memory of Valundar standing on the Dais, hands on the lectern and condemning those who would judge the sins of the parent should pass to the children, "Said it was a very betrayal of the memory of Scar'd, and a dishonor to his memory. Heh, and they could do nothing as he was the Luminary."

Vice's expression changed, his smile fading to a frown, and furrowed brows. "Wait, you mean they were exiled?" he asked, not very educated on Scardian law, save that tradition was rooted in their lifestyle. To hear of a Scardian who would betray their 'God-King's' memory, seemed alien given how Valundar acted. However his mind soon wandered:

Franziska Wolfbreaker wrote:

The beautiful woman soon approached, carrying a couple tall glasses filled with amber, Wolfbreaker Beer:



She leans over as she sets the glasses down in front of each man, her rather endowed bosom behind her Dirndl bobbled and swayed with her movements and visibly, though she seemed unaware of the jiggling motion that could be best described as 'gelatin'. "Evening gentlemen, the first beer is on the House in the Silent Lamb, but additional refills I'll be expecting some coin up front." Franziska began. "Are you staying for the night? Does hunger pain your chest? Or do you simply wish to wet your lips and raise your spirits?" She asked, pulling a notebook from her apron. She thought upon her approach, she heard her surname, and something about the King... sore subjects she did not want to return to at the moment, so she simply perked up and smiled sweetly at both men.

He turned to the waitress as she placed the free glasses of amber in front of them, averting his direct gaze from landing on the woman's... impressive assets. He flustered slightly as she asked about their needs. "Heh well-" he paused, as his head was level to her chest, he ended up looking up at her face to try and avoid being a creep... but found himself somewhat tongue tied since she had a pretty face to match her lovely bust. "Well this free one's fine with me Miss, for now." He managed, before turning to Master Istion.

Istion smiled pleasantly "these will be fine for now, My lady." The older Hazorian turned to Vice and said, "Well, I guess you have just met our potential ally." he said as he took a short sip from the frothing amber ale. Ice cold and pleasantly bitter.



"Ah, Wolfbreaker Beer. It's been a very long time." Istion said after a second sip.

Istion wrote:Istion smiled pleasantly "these will be fine for now, My lady." The older Hazorian turned to Vice and said, "Well, I guess you have just met our potential ally." he said as he took a short sip from the frothing amber ale. Ice cold and pleasantly bitter.



"Ah, Wolfbreaker Beer. It's been a very long time." Istion said after a second sip.

She was used to that kind of response from the soldier, but was a bit confused by his meaning when the silver haired man spoke up:



"Oh....kay. Well if there is anything else you gentlemen desire, do not hesitate to ask. Its what I'm here for." She said sweetly, putting the notebook away, smiling again, and was about to attend to her next patron when the silver haired man's next line caught her ear. She paused in her step, turning to face him and smiled. "Ah, so you've been here before I take it? This is the only place in all of Scardia one can find such a beer. My father's recipe, Wolfbreaker Lager and Ale are what really bring travelers back to this edge of Scardia, not just my charm." She giggled. She nodded to the portrait of Alenwulf Wolfbreaker above the bar, or Alen to his friends. Beside his portrait was an image of an older man, balding with a ghotee who's oil painting was severely worn and had long tears through it as if someone took a knife to it. The plaque beneath was also scratched away, making it impossible to read. That man had been Alen's father- Fran's grandfather who was the cause of a many deal of trouble for the family, and Scardia as a whole; those who were native of Cretu never let the old man's crimes be made unaware. Sometimes, she had to deal with rich snobs from Cretu coming in and ruining the nice atmosphere of the Silent Lamb by bringing up the old man's crimes, which made her customers nervous or annoyed, and forced them to leave. She had not seen any such persons tonight.... yet.

"My father's working on a mead recipe as well, but as luck should have it, he turns out to be allergic to bees- that's why he's not tending the bar these days. It really took it out of him two years ago, so he's taken more of a backseat in the operation these days." She explained his absence to the silver haired man, but then again, Minktail Bullet Bees can have that kind of effect on a man. Their venom was quite potent, he was lucky to still be alive... even after swallowing the other bit of info that same year he was injured...

There was a glimmer of sadness in her face mentioning that, before she returned to being their sweet and charming hostess. "Oh yes, I'm Franziska, but you can both call me Fran if you wish. If you gentlemen change your mind about your orders, don't feel afraid to call me over, but I need to get back to one of my patrons~" She bowed, her breasts bobbing gently again as she left their table and returned to the kitchen behind the bar. After a moment or two away, she had returned with a platter of sweet smelling sausage with sausage gravy drizzled over both the naturally smoked and grilled sausage and buttery garlic mash- there was a few chopped vegetables as well, carrots and peas piled beside the mash and gravy- another pitcher of beer in her free hand. Her arms were quite muscular for a bar maid, and on closer inspection one could see through the tautness of her clothing, that the woman's buxom figure concealed a leaner, and muscular build. A soldier's build masked by her simple, maiden beauty. She delivered the meal and cold, foamy beverage to the patiently waiting patron, before resuming her other duties around the bar's interior.

Istion wrote:Istion smiled pleasantly "these will be fine for now, My lady." The older Hazorian turned to Vice and said, "Well, I guess you have just met our potential ally." he said as he took a short sip from the frothing amber ale. Ice cold and pleasantly bitter.

"Wait... what?" He says under his breath, looking from the silver haired Hazorian to the beers and then the girl again. She didn't seem like the type they were seeking, so at first he figured the older man was jesting with him in the manner that his twin brother had on occasion. Thats when he heard Istion say something:

Istion wrote:


"Ah, Wolfbreaker Beer. It's been a very long time." Istion said after a second sip.

"You don't really mean..." he blinked looking over to her.

Franziska Wolfbreaker wrote:
She was used to that kind of response from the soldier, but was a bit confused by his meaning when the silver haired man spoke up:



"Oh....kay. Well if there is anything else you gentlemen desire, do not hesitate to ask. Its what I'm here for." She said sweetly, putting the notebook away, smiling again, and was about to attend to her next patron when the silver haired man's next line caught her ear. She paused in her step, turning to face him and smiled. "Ah, so you've been here before I take it? This is the only place in all of Scardia one can find such a beer. My father's recipe, Wolfbreaker Lager and Ale are what really bring travelers back to this edge of Scardia, not just my charm." She giggled. She nodded to the portrait of Alenwulf Wolfbreaker above the bar, or Alen to his friends. Beside his portrait was an image of an older man, balding with a ghotee who's oil painting was severely worn and had long tears through it as if someone took a knife to it. The plaque beneath was also scratched away, making it impossible to read. That man had been Alen's father- Fran's grandfather who was the cause of a many deal of trouble for the family, and Scardia as a whole; those who were native of Cretu never let the old man's crimes be made unaware. Sometimes, she had to deal with rich snobs from Cretu coming in and ruining the nice atmosphere of the Silent Lamb by bringing up the old man's crimes, which made her customers nervous or annoyed, and forced them to leave. She had not seen any such persons tonight.... yet.

"My father's working on a mead recipe as well, but as luck should have it, he turns out to be allergic to bees- that's why he's not tending the bar these days. It really took it out of him two years ago, so he's taken more of a backseat in the operation these days." She explained his absence to the silver haired man, but then again, Minktail Bullet Bees can have that kind of effect on a man. Their venom was quite potent, he was lucky to still be alive... even after swallowing the other bit of info that same year he was injured...

There was a glimmer of sadness in her face mentioning that, before she returned to being their sweet and charming hostess. "Oh yes, I'm Franziska, but you can both call me Fran if you wish. If you gentlemen change your mind about your orders, don't feel afraid to call me over, but I need to get back to one of my patrons~" She bowed, her breasts bobbing gently again as she left their table and returned to the kitchen behind the bar. After a moment or two away, she had returned with a platter of sweet smelling sausage with sausage gravy drizzled over both the naturally smoked and grilled sausage and buttery garlic mash- there was a few chopped vegetables as well, carrots and peas piled beside the mash and gravy- another pitcher of beer in her free hand. Her arms were quite muscular for a bar maid, and on closer inspection one could see through the tautness of her clothing, that the woman's buxom figure concealed a leaner, and muscular build. A soldier's build masked by her simple, maiden beauty. She delivered the meal and cold, foamy beverage to the patiently waiting patron, before resuming her other duties around the bar's interior.

It wasn't till she fully introduced herself that he finally accepted that the buxom waitress was the bad ass pilot he had heard much of when he was still in the service. He did his best not to stare, not only due to her attractive form, but because of the awe of the rumors he heard made him want to fully confirm said rumors. Again, at a glance, she looked like your typical country girl if not a bit more refined in appearance. Her sweet demeanor conflicted with the stories he heard about her kicking ass in the training hall and being unstoppable in hand to hand, and melee combat. Then again, with those jiggly features she was a slightly intimidating opponent... but furthermore, as she was carrying out the platter of food, he could see the taut muscle hidden by her simple clothes, and her arms which were slender, yet had a toned look to them. He noticed too now, that her fingers had healing calluses in the places used by the Air Corps's airship boarding gear, since the wires were tough, and almost razor thin- people tended to scar or callus just under both index fingers when reapplying the grounding lines to the waist mounted reels, and could just see where her index fingers had gotten used to activating the ODM triggers. She almost looks like she'd be able to pick a man twice her up and over her shoulder with bone breaking finesse. But... how can someone with... that kind of form be graceful in the flow of battle? Let alone using boarding gear? He thinks, blushing slightly when her bosom bounced again as she gave another patron their food. He held his chin with his right hand, the elbow propped on the table counter as he observed the woman with a mix of growing acceptance... but still felt a bit skeptical about her skills and abilities.

He glanced over at Ixion, and noticed a peculiar look on his face. "What?" He asked, blinking, before taking a sip from the beer presented for him, while it was still cold. It had a smooth bitterness, yet was flavorful as he took a much deeper swallow of the ice cold amber beverage.

Vice Fairgrave wrote:"Wait... what?" He says under his breath, looking from the silver haired Hazorian to the beers and then the girl again. She didn't seem like the type they were seeking, so at first he figured the older man was jesting with him in the manner that his twin brother had on occasion. Thats when he heard Istion say something:

"You don't really mean..." he blinked looking over to her.

It wasn't till she fully introduced herself that he finally accepted that the buxom waitress was the bad ass pilot he had heard much of when he was still in the service. He did his best not to stare, not only due to her attractive form, but because of the awe of the rumors he heard made him want to fully confirm said rumors. Again, at a glance, she looked like your typical country girl if not a bit more refined in appearance. Her sweet demeanor conflicted with the stories he heard about her kicking ass in the training hall and being unstoppable in hand to hand, and melee combat. Then again, with those jiggly features she was a slightly intimidating opponent... but furthermore, as she was carrying out the platter of food, he could see the taut muscle hidden by her simple clothes, and her arms which were slender, yet had a toned look to them. He noticed too now, that her fingers had healing calluses in the places used by the Air Corps's airship boarding gear, since the wires were tough, and almost razor thin- people tended to scar or callus just under both index fingers when reapplying the grounding lines to the waist mounted reels, and could just see where her index fingers had gotten used to activating the ODM triggers. She almost looks like she'd be able to pick a man twice her up and over her shoulder with bone breaking finesse. But... how can someone with... that kind of form be graceful in the flow of battle? Let alone using boarding gear? He thinks, blushing slightly when her bosom bounced again as she gave another patron their food. He held his chin with his right hand, the elbow propped on the table counter as he observed the woman with a mix of growing acceptance... but still felt a bit skeptical about her skills and abilities.

He glanced over at Istion, and noticed a peculiar look on his face. "What?" He asked, blinking, before taking a sip from the beer presented for him, while it was still cold. It had a smooth bitterness, yet was flavorful as he took a much deeper swallow of the ice cold amber beverage.

The Beijionese Hazorian smirked a little. "Oh yes, despite her rather simple appearance, Franziska here is indeed capable of fighting and commanding ships with a keen mind and sharp skills. I suppose then you ask why she is here in the middle of nowhere serving beer in a tiny inn. From what I understand, it's to keep her parents alive. When the elder sister Kurstin disappeared two years ago, it had a negative impact on the parents, whom both took ill at the apparent loss. Franziska here took it upon herself to come back, and nurse them back to health herself if she could, or at least keep them comfortable if she couldn't. Commendable, and selfless." Istion nodded, and took another drink of his pint glass.

Istion wrote:

Vice Fairgrave wrote:"Wait... what?" He says under his breath, looking from the silver haired Hazorian to the beers and then the girl again. She didn't seem like the type they were seeking, so at first he figured the older man was jesting with him in the manner that his twin brother had on occasion. Thats when he heard Istion say something:

"You don't really mean..." he blinked looking over to her.

It wasn't till she fully introduced herself that he finally accepted that the buxom waitress was the bad ass pilot he had heard much of when he was still in the service. He did his best not to stare, not only due to her attractive form, but because of the awe of the rumors he heard made him want to fully confirm said rumors. Again, at a glance, she looked like your typical country girl if not a bit more refined in appearance. Her sweet demeanor conflicted with the stories he heard about her kicking ass in the training hall and being unstoppable in hand to hand, and melee combat. Then again, with those jiggly features she was a slightly intimidating opponent... but furthermore, as she was carrying out the platter of food, he could see the taut muscle hidden by her simple clothes, and her arms which were slender, yet had a toned look to them. He noticed too now, that her fingers had healing calluses in the places used by the Air Corps's airship boarding gear, since the wires were tough, and almost razor thin- people tended to scar or callus just under both index fingers when reapplying the grounding lines to the waist mounted reels, and could just see where her index fingers had gotten used to activating the ODM triggers. She almost looks like she'd be able to pick a man twice her up and over her shoulder with bone breaking finesse. But... how can someone with... that kind of form be graceful in the flow of battle? Let alone using boarding gear? He thinks, blushing slightly when her bosom bounced again as she gave another patron their food. He held his chin with his right hand, the elbow propped on the table counter as he observed the woman with a mix of growing acceptance... but still felt a bit skeptical about her skills and abilities.

He glanced over at Istion, and noticed a peculiar look on his face. "What?" He asked, blinking, before taking a sip from the beer presented for him, while it was still cold. It had a smooth bitterness, yet was flavorful as he took a much deeper swallow of the ice cold amber beverage.

The Beijionese Hazorian smirked a little. "Oh yes, despite her rather simple appearance, Franziska here is indeed capable of fighting and commanding ships with a keen mind and sharp skills. I suppose then you ask why she is here in the middle of nowhere serving beer in a tiny inn. From what I understand, it's to keep her parents alive. When the elder sister Kurstin disappeared two years ago, it had a negative impact on the parents, whom both took ill at the apparent loss. Franziska here took it upon herself to come back, and nurse them back to health herself if she could, or at least keep them comfortable if she couldn't. Commendable, and selfless." Istion nodded, and took another drink of his pint glass.

Fran continued her duties, when she felt she was being watched. She paused, and turned her head in the direction of the looks- and saw the soldier and the silver haired man again. The soldier looked away, seemingly blushing. She smirked, catching him glance her way again, she gave him a wink, before returning to the bar, ducking beneath the counter. "Gonna need to order more jackets for the fan club..." she mumbled to herself, rolling her eyes and smirked while she looked for the pickled eggs for Micah and some of the Domescan stuff that was currently illegal to sell, given the war and all. She saw the Mauser down there too. A soldier all the way from the Far North had no money, so traded the weapon and a couple boxes of ammo for a full nights rest, a drink and some food. He insisted she keep it. It was a unique pistol, so she accepted it. Made a decent defense weapon, but she hadn't had to use it in the year or so its collected dust down there.

She stood up, and smiled back at the new pair. Getting a look at the two, she was sure she'd seen them both somewhere before... but never in the same place. The soldier was easy to write off as a comrade or superior from two years back, or a soldier she passed on the base. The silver haired man she swore she met when she was younger, when on a trip to Cretu with her family... She shrugged the familiarity off for now, and went back to work.

Vicent still felt a little skeptical about it, but continued to drink the beer which was given to him. He frowned a little on that subject. "That explains the reason why Wolfbreaker- Franziska left the Air Corps abruptly. It was around two years ago she left Galideno too if I'm correct... well, Galideno's loss should be our gain, hopefully." he says this, as he looked back and saw her smiling back at him and giving him a playful wink. He blinked at this, and looked down at the amber colored beer. "Still, if she's truly the deal, its been two years. Plenty of time for a person to get out of daily regiment and lose their finesse. I'm not so sure about her abilities till I've seen them first hand, but..." he glanced over at her from behind the bar again and smirked. "She's pretty cute at the very least. I half expected an old, chain smoking, scarred up woman with an eye patch and perhaps of questionable morals. Not a young, pretty, Scardian village girl." He smirked, raising his glass to Istion. "500 Gilex says I can get her to go on a date with me after we pitch our invitation to our army. Time limit is by the end of the day. If she says no, its my bust." He says, pulling out a 500 Gilex Bill, officially stamped and sealed:

(Face side)

(Rear side)

He waves it playfully in front of Master Istion, quite sure of himself as he says: "...and this can be all yours. But it wont. But I'm sure it'll be very comfortable paired with another 500 Gilex bill from... your wallet Master Istion." He playfully declares, waiting to clink glasses with the man should he accept the bet.

Istion, having no interest in Vice's flirting, also had no time for it. "Put your money away Vice, I have no interest in what you do with your personal time. Right now, we are here on business..." his voice trailed off, as he sensed the approach of darker souls coming towards the inn. "And business is about to get... complicated." his voice lowered in warning to his current partner. Istion put the pint glass down on the table, and let it go as his eyes turned towards the door and narrowed.

There were a few travelers in the back, wearing dark suits with long black trench coats and fedoras. They were simply drinking and seemed to enjoy their company, seemingly men on business. They had tanned skin from what looked like years of tanning under a bright sun. One with a pencil mustache and a thin goatee had been watching the two men who had entered the bar and inn with some suspicion....

On Istion's cue, three men enter the bar, causing this man with the 'stache to turn his attention to the trio. The three men were burly, well dressed in their regalia and pomp, but carried some traditional, ancient blades on their hips. The leader of this trio was 6'4, with long blond hair, wore a blue long coat and carried a pair of engraved hand axes with a crest of the house of Dez. "Huh, I still smell horse shit." the man said, turning to one of his comrades, who was wearing a similar coat, but had a more drunken appearance. "You sure you didn't track any in, Bren?" Gauren of the house of Dez says, smirking crudely. The drunken, disheveled looking red head shook his head. "Nah, its just this place. It reeks of it. That or Partho shat himself on the way in." Bren replied. The third, a man with a receding hairline and portly frame puffed his flabby red cheeks, his lips smacking as he talked. "Piss off! But what can you expect? This bar is in the armpit of the Scardia!" The three then laughed heartily, walking to a table already filled with locals. "Ey, move aside. Your in the presence of the rightful heir of the House of Dez, Gauren." says Partho, who slams his flabby arm to the table, causing the utensils and the glasses to rumble.

"Hey we're drinking here, I don't care if you came from the hair from my crot-" the old man complained when Bren, the drunk, grabbed one of the beers on the table, and just started pouring it in the old man's lap. "Seems like you've done an' pissed ya self old man. How sad, being old and losing your faculties." Bren sneered. The old man lunged up, but the blond caught him by his shirt, pulling him close. "You're out of ale, old timer... leave." He said forcefully, a hand on his axe. The others at the table simply sighed, getting up and took their leave. Gauren lets go of the old man, who is pulled by his comrades out of the bar. Gauren turned to Bren. "Pick it up, Gods above we're not savages..." he rolled his eyes, taking his seat. Bren groaned, and the fat Partho laughed nasally. They took their seats as Bren pulls a cloth off another table, using it to clean up the spilled beer.

"Three beers!" Guaren exclaimed, boots on the table, one leg crossed over the other, leaning back a little. "Come now, we've rode from Cretu! We had to see for ourselves what wonders this place holds... and by damn, were those rumors right! Its a rat trap!" He chuckled, slamming his boot on the table, while his cronies snickered.

Random Mobs wrote:There were a few travelers in the back, wearing dark suits with long black trench coats and fedoras. They were simply drinking and seemed to enjoy their company, seemingly men on business. They had tanned skin from what looked like years of tanning under a bright sun. One with a pencil mustache and a thin goatee had been watching the two men who had entered the bar and inn with some suspicion....

On Istion's cue, three men enter the bar, causing this man with the 'stache to turn his attention to the trio. The three men were burly, well dressed in their regalia and pomp, but carried some traditional, ancient blades on their hips. The leader of this trio was 6'4, with long blond hair, wore a blue long coat and carried a pair of engraved hand axes with a crest of the house of Dez. "Huh, I still smell horse shit." the man said, turning to one of his comrades, who was wearing a similar coat, but had a more drunken appearance. "You sure you didn't track any in, Bren?" Gauren of the house of Dez says, smirking crudely. The drunken, disheveled looking red head shook his head. "Nah, its just this place. It reeks of it. That or Partho shat himself on the way in." Bren replied. The third, a man with a receding hairline and portly frame puffed his flabby red cheeks, his lips smacking as he talked. "Piss off! But what can you expect? This bar is in the armpit of the Scardia!" The three then laughed heartily, walking to a table already filled with locals. "Ey, move aside. Your in the presence of the rightful heir of the House of Dez, Gauren." says Partho, who slams his flabby arm to the table, causing the utensils and the glasses to rumble.

"Hey we're drinking here, I don't care if you came from the hair from my crot-" the old man complained when Bren, the drunk, grabbed one of the beers on the table, and just started pouring it in the old man's lap. "Seems like you've done an' pissed ya self old man. How sad, being old and losing your faculties." Bren sneered. The old man lunged up, but the blond caught him by his shirt, pulling him close. "You're out of ale, old timer... leave." He said forcefully, a hand on his axe. The others at the table simply sighed, getting up and took their leave. Gauren lets go of the old man, who is pulled by his comrades out of the bar. Gauren turned to Bren. "Pick it up, Gods above we're not savages..." he rolled his eyes, taking his seat. Bren groaned, and the fat Partho laughed nasally. They took their seats as Bren pulls a cloth off another table, using it to clean up the spilled beer.

"Three beers!" Guaren exclaimed, boots on the table, one leg crossed over the other, leaning back a little. "Come now, we've rode from Cretu! We had to see for ourselves what wonders this place holds... and by damn, were those rumors right! Its a rat trap!" He chuckled, slamming his boot on the table, while his cronies snickered.  

Fran looked up from the bar, and her sweet demeanor gently melted away to an expressionless mask. She walked around the corner of the bar, and approached the three scoundrels. "You three are disrespecting my pub," Franziska began. "if you cant get along with my customers, you will not get service here." The busty woman collected the previous occupant's utensils, plates and beer glasses. "I'm sure you three remember where you entered. Try not to hit yourselves on the way out." Fran's sweet voice was now a stinging cold tone.

Istion wrote:Istion, having no interest in Vice's flirting, also had no time for it. "Put your money away Vice, I have no interest in what you do with your personal time. Right now, we are here on business..." his voice trailed off, as he sensed the approach of darker souls coming towards the inn. "And business is about to get... complicated." his voice lowered in warning to his current partner. Istion put the pint glass down on the table, and let it go as his eyes turned towards the door and narrowed.

Vice frowned, lowering his arm and the bill flapping in his hand. "Well you're no fun..." He sighs, glancing at his partner with lidded gaze. "You probably don't even have 500 to wager do ya...?" The man pouts, but then noticed the look in Master Istion's eye- his demeanor was changing. "Ah, talk about a mood killer..." He shifts his eyes on the door, slipping the bill back into his inner pocket, just above his holstered .38 Quicksilver. Vice's gaze returned to Istion, keeping his hand above his holstered weapon, before returning to the doorway:

Franziska Wolfbreaker wrote:

Random Mobs wrote:There were a few travelers in the back, wearing dark suits with long black trench coats and fedoras. They were simply drinking and seemed to enjoy their company, seemingly men on business. They had tanned skin from what looked like years of tanning under a bright sun. One with a pencil mustache and a thin goatee had been watching the two men who had entered the bar and inn with some suspicion....

On Istion's cue, three men enter the bar, causing this man with the 'stache to turn his attention to the trio. The three men were burly, well dressed in their regalia and pomp, but carried some traditional, ancient blades on their hips. The leader of this trio was 6'4, with long blond hair, wore a blue long coat and carried a pair of engraved hand axes with a crest of the house of Dez. "Huh, I still smell horse shit." the man said, turning to one of his comrades, who was wearing a similar coat, but had a more drunken appearance. "You sure you didn't track any in, Bren?" Gauren of the house of Dez says, smirking crudely. The drunken, disheveled looking red head shook his head. "Nah, its just this place. It reeks of it. That or Partho shat himself on the way in." Bren replied. The third, a man with a receding hairline and portly frame puffed his flabby red cheeks, his lips smacking as he talked. "Piss off! But what can you expect? This bar is in the armpit of the Scardia!" The three then laughed heartily, walking to a table already filled with locals. "Ey, move aside. Your in the presence of the rightful heir of the House of Dez, Gauren." says Partho, who slams his flabby arm to the table, causing the utensils and the glasses to rumble.

"Hey we're drinking here, I don't care if you came from the hair from my crot-" the old man complained when Bren, the drunk, grabbed one of the beers on the table, and just started pouring it in the old man's lap. "Seems like you've done an' pissed ya self old man. How sad, being old and losing your faculties." Bren sneered. The old man lunged up, but the blond caught him by his shirt, pulling him close. "You're out of ale, old timer... leave." He said forcefully, a hand on his axe. The others at the table simply sighed, getting up and took their leave. Gauren lets go of the old man, who is pulled by his comrades out of the bar. Gauren turned to Bren. "Pick it up, Gods above we're not savages..." he rolled his eyes, taking his seat. Bren groaned, and the fat Partho laughed nasally. They took their seats as Bren pulls a cloth off another table, using it to clean up the spilled beer.

"Three beers!" Guaren exclaimed, boots on the table, one leg crossed over the other, leaning back a little. "Come now, we've rode from Cretu! We had to see for ourselves what wonders this place holds... and by damn, were those rumors right! Its a rat trap!" He chuckled, slamming his boot on the table, while his cronies snickered.  

Fran looked up from the bar, and her sweet demeanor gently melted away to an expressionless mask. She walked around the corner of the bar, and approached the three scoundrels. "You three are disrespecting my pub," Franziska began. "if you cant get along with my customers, you will not get service here." The busty woman collected the previous occupant's utensils, plates and beer glasses. "I'm sure you three remember where you entered. Try not to hit yourselves on the way out." Fran's sweet voice was now a stinging cold tone.

Blinking at Franziska's response, the former Galideno Air Corps pilot slowly pulled his hand from his inner jacket. He never liked nobility, hell he didn't like Lord Val at first. But unlike Valundar Bladebreaker, the three not too far away were assholes! "Maybe I should give them a piece of my mind." he mumbled to his partner, pulling his tall glass of beer to his lips to work himself up to the task.

Istion placed a hand on Vice's shoulder. "Wait a moment. Lets see how this plays out" he said in a low hushed tone. Then the former Beijionese Hazorian lean in and whispered in Vice's ear "These three morons are not our only adversaries in this room." He indicated to the men in black long coats and fedoras in the corner with a subtle nod. "I believe that they are watching to see how Lady Wolfbreaker deals with these three louts, and will then use the incident to propose a deal. Then, take a look at their uniforms. I'll give you one guess as to whom they are employed by." With that, the silver haired man sat back, and brought the frothy beer back to his lips as he watched both groups with equal intensity in his eyes.

Franziska Wolfbreaker wrote:
Fran looked up from the bar, and her sweet demeanor gently melted away to an expressionless mask. She walked around the corner of the bar, and approached the three scoundrels. "You three are disrespecting my pub," Franziska began. "if you cant get along with my customers, you will not get service here." The busty woman collected the previous occupant's utensils, plates and beer glasses. "I'm sure you three remember where you entered. Try not to hit yourselves on the way out." Fran's sweet voice was now a stinging cold tone.

Gauren turned his head, his smile receding some as the vision of the ample bodied bar maiden approached. He had his hands folded behind his head, and still kept his feet up as she approached, only gently sliding his muddy boots, dragging them as he did so, across the surface of the table while she was collecting the dishes. The drunken Bren furrowed his reddish brows. "Disrespect? You deny us nobles your services wench?" He slurred, his eyelids fluttering and his body absolutely reeked of alcohol. Partho snickered. "Heh, I wonder what a full service covers?" He chuckled, licking his greasy lips.

"Nothin' you want, she gives it to the old bastards too!" Bren squawked, pulling a hip flask from his blue jacket. "Servicin' requires a peck bigg'a than yer pinky though." He added, causing the fat bastard to punch his comrade in the shoulder, his flabby cheeks red again.

"Shut it you drunken' bastard!" Partho stammered.

The long haired blond only watched as the barmaid's ample bosom hung and bounced as she picked up the previous customer's dishes, when he stealthily and quickly slipped forwards, his muscular arms scooping the woman up from her torso. He pulls her back into his seat with him, forcing her to sit on his lap while his left hand slid up and round one of those large and soft breasts. "Hold it there Milady..." He cooed, giving her breast a good squeeze. "Now I remember clearly, of a family who went and spat in the face of S'card." he says, gripping his right hand tighter on her left breast, his left arm pinned around her stomach, keeping her close enough he could feel the contours of her buttocks upon his pelvis. "They speak of the boy who turned his family in, who were exiled from Cretu. That boy became a barman in farthest reaches of Scardia, and they said with his ugly wife, apparently borne two lovely daughters; a traitorous whore and a young daughter with a rack the size of ripened Kiimelons." He says bringing his lips to her right ear, his tongue gently caressing her lower lobe. "The lads are just havin' some fun is all..." he whispered, his hand continued to grope and squeeze her left tit, his finger tips slowly drawing up to curl around the lace of her low cut blouse. "You may be a lowly exiled wench, but even a weed can look pretty in the light. You and I could have some fun, don't you know what you're missing in the capital, eh?" He says, raising his hips so his hardened groin beneath would be felt by her, riding against her soft bottom...

"Hey, what you doin'?" one of the customers complained, getting up from his seat when he froze: Bren and Partho showed off long blades hidden under their coats, as well as a pair of large revolver guns. They were the blond's protection detail in a sense as well as nobles themselves.

Disgusted, many of the patrons began up and leaving- too frightened to deal with noble's from Cretu; others remained, and looked like they were ready to fight back. Even the questionable men in black in the back seemed alarmed by these three, and their eyes darkened with malice as they observed the three Scardian nobles actions.

Random Mobs wrote:
Gauren turned his head, his smile receding some as the vision of the ample bodied bar maiden approached. He had his hands folded behind his head, and still kept his feet up as she approached, only gently sliding his muddy boots, dragging them as he did so, across the surface of the table while she was collecting the dishes. The drunken Bren furrowed his reddish brows. "Disrespect? You deny us nobles your services wench?" He slurred, his eyelids fluttering and his body absolutely reeked of alcohol. Partho snickered. "Heh, I wonder what a full service covers?" He chuckled, licking his greasy lips.

"I'd deny the King himself if he was half as rude as you three were." The bar maiden snapped back, never raising her tone but being absolutely direct about it. She decided to ignore the chubbier man's lewd comments. She furrowed her brows, but did not react to their filthy talk.

Random Mobs wrote:
The long haired blond only watched as the barmaid's ample bosom hung and bounced as she picked up the previous customer's dishes, when he stealthily and quickly slipped forwards, his muscular arms scooping the woman up from her torso. He pulls her back into his seat with him, forcing her to sit on his lap while his left hand slid up and round one of those large and soft breasts. "Hold it there Milady..." He cooed, giving her breast a good squeeze.

Franziska had dropped the dishes, the glasses shattering upon the wooden floor boards as she was immediately pulled into the blond haired man's grasp! She had a look of shock on her face as his rough hand manipulated around her left, jiggling breast! Turning sharply to him, her lidded, confused gaze was upon his brown eyes. "U-unhand me! Aaah..." she closed her eyes as he squeezed a sensitive spot, her face becoming slightly pink, her hands curling around at his arm curled around her stomach.

Random Mobs wrote:
"Now I remember clearly, of a family who went and spat in the face of S'card." he says, gripping his right hand tighter on her left breast, his left arm pinned around her stomach, keeping her close enough he could feel the contours of her buttocks upon his pelvis. "They speak of the boy who turned his family in, who were exiled from Cretu. That boy became a barman in farthest reaches of Scardia, and they said with his ugly wife, apparently borne two lovely daughters; a traitorous whore and a young daughter with a rack the size of ripened Kiimelons." He says bringing his lips to her right ear, his tongue gently caressing her lower lobe.

She calmed down some, breathing gently even as he berated her, and her family. "You have just this one chance... one chance... for you and your disgusting friends to leave." She says, in a low, cold tone. Her eyelid twitching as his hands continued to grope, and his tongue caressed her ear.

Random Mobs wrote:
"The lads are just havin' some fun is all..." he whispered, his hand continued to grope and squeeze her left tit, his finger tips slowly drawing up to curl around the lace of her low cut blouse. "You may be a lowly exiled wench, but even a weed can look pretty in the light. You and I could have some fun, don't you know what you're missing in the capital, eh?" He says, raising his hips so his hardened groin beneath would be felt by her, riding against her soft bottom...

Her anger was growing more fervent by the moment, her fingers pulsing with blood and the need to retaliate increased as the blond man only continued to ignore her. She could feel his blistered hand, years of sword practice no doubt, sinking into the folds of her top, the texture of the hand upon her flesh was unnerving. That was till he dragged his hard codpiece against her butt. She was about to act then, when she turned her large blue eyes towards the blond's cronies:

Random Mobs wrote:
"Hey, what you doin'?" one of the customers complained, getting up from his seat when he froze: Bren and Partho showed off long blades hidden under their coats, as well as a pair of large revolver guns. They were the blond's protection detail in a sense as well as nobles themselves.

Disgusted, many of the patrons began up and leaving- too frightened to deal with noble's from Cretu; others remained, and looked like they were ready to fight back. Even the questionable men in black in the back seemed alarmed by these three, and their eyes darkened with malice as they observed the three Scardian nobles actions.

They were showing off weapons to the other patrons, who were leaving from disgust, and for they knew how this would end. She let the blond feel her up more intimately only till the last retreating customer left the bar.

"You had your chance... now it'll hurt." Franziska says, turning to face him, her lips against his cheek-

-and there was a coppery taste in her mouth as she bit down onto his cheek! Her white teeth turning red with his blood as she bit hard on him! She also took her hands, gripping his arm around her waist tightly enough that her nails dug deep trenches into his flesh before the bar maid began to pry the arm away with her equal Scardian strength. S'card had blessed all Scardian's with his strength upon ascending, equally. Not only to keep outside forces from invading, but to let his people be able to defend even against their own on equal ground, thus why the slightly smaller woman was able to pull the depraved molester's arm from her waist! She continued to grip on his cheek with her teeth, blood dribbling down her cheeks, onto her breasts and down the cleavage opening of her blouse! Threatening to remove a large chunk of his face if he did not let go!

Istion wrote:Istion placed a hand on Vice's shoulder. "Wait a moment. Lets see how this plays out" he said in a low hushed tone. Then the former Beijionese Hazorian lean in and whispered in Vice's ear "These three morons are not our only adversaries in this room." He indicated to the men in black long coats and fedoras in the corner with a subtle nod. "I believe that they are watching to see how Lady Wolfbreaker deals with these three louts, and will then use the incident to propose a deal. Then, take a look at their uniforms. I'll give you one guess as to whom they are employed by." With that, the silver haired man sat back, and brought the frothy beer back to his lips as he watched both groups with equal intensity in his eyes.

Vice grumbled at first, but turned his gaze subtly to the men in the back before he slowly sat back down, returning to his frothy beer. "By the Twelve... Domescan Agents? This far?" He whispered to Istion. They looked a bit out of place in Scardia, they would have fit well in the bigger cities, Galideno even more so with the TIRS running around. He couldn't tell if they were armed, but it was almost certainly the case. He suddenly heard a commotion, noting the men in black becoming tense, and thus Vice turns his head back to the trio of morons and saw that Fran was now in the arms of the blond, the noble from the house of Dez. The soldier glares to Istion, before back to the man. He watched with building anger as the noble began to have his way with Fran, and even if she was a badass soldier herself supposedly, no woman should be grabbed in such a manner without permission!

He was about to show this blond what he thought of 'Scardian Nobility' when others within the pub were beginning to leave. He didn't notice why till he turned to the pair of dolts that accompanied this deviant:

Random Mobs wrote:
"Hey, what you doin'?" one of the customers complained, getting up from his seat when he froze: Bren and Partho showed off long blades hidden under their coats, as well as a pair of large revolver guns. They were the blond's protection detail in a sense as well as nobles themselves.

Disgusted, many of the patrons began up and leaving- too frightened to deal with noble's from Cretu; others remained, and looked like they were ready to fight back. Even the questionable men in black in the back seemed alarmed by these three, and their eyes darkened with malice as they observed the three Scardian nobles actions.

He saw the weapons, a pair of .38 revolvers. Mark Ones likely, he figured. Older service pistols that were common all over the planet since Galideno made so many of them. They were nothing special, single action weapons that had a tendency to snag on shoulder holsters; which was good for him.

Soon, the blond was screaming, and he could see why: Fran had bit her attacker's face! Quickly, he moved in on the closest of Dez's friends, the drunkard; throwing his glass of beer into the face of the fat man upon approach!

"Got ya!" He exclaimed, wrapping his arms under the shoulders of Bren, pulling him back and out of his seat, placing one of his legs between Bren's and looping it around the man's right ankle. "You guys are a lot of talk, no action!" Vice shouted, gripping the man tightly, keeping him from using his arms!

Franziska Wolfbreaker wrote:
"You had your chance... now it'll hurt." Franziska says, turning to face him, her lips against his cheek-

-and there was a coppery taste in her mouth as she bit down onto his cheek! Her white teeth turning red with his blood as she bit hard on him! She also took her hands, gripping his arm around her waist tightly enough that her nails dug deep trenches into his flesh before the bar maid began to pry the arm away with her equal Scardian strength. S'card had blessed all Scardian's with his strength upon ascending, equally. Not only to keep outside forces from invading, but to let his people be able to defend even against their own on equal ground, thus why the slightly smaller woman was able to pull the depraved molester's arm from her waist! She continued to grip on his cheek with her teeth, blood dribbling down her cheeks, onto her breasts and down the cleavage opening of her blouse! Threatening to remove a large chunk of his face if he did not let go!

Gauren's eyes widened, his right hand squeezing her breasts tightly as the bitch bites down on his cheek! "Raaaaaahhhh! You BITCH!" He screamed, shaking the woman left and right, feeling her prying his arm off of her! "Damn you!" He bellowed, lunging forwards, she hit the floor on her chest while he was pressed against her back, his right hand removing itself from her breast, bringing the hand to one of the axes on his hip!

All the while, Partho let out a surprised cry, wiping his face of the amber liquid which stung his eyes! "Ah...the fuck?!" The small, portly man cried, rubbing his eyes furiously. Thats when Bren felt his arms pulled outwards, and a leg between his, pinning his right back!

Vice Fairgrave wrote:
"Got ya!" He exclaimed, wrapping his arms under the shoulders of Bren, pulling him back and out of his seat, placing one of his legs between Bren's and looping it around the man's right ankle. "You guys are a lot of talk, no action!" Vice shouted, gripping the man tightly, keeping him from using his arms!

However, much like Fran had with Gauren...

"What the HELL?!" The drunk, though unassuming, was still a Scardian- where Vice was not. With only his left leg available, Bren used the resistance against his arms and leaned forward! His speed and his strength lifted Vice off his feet, but also in turn cause Bren to trip, and then flip over him! The soldier's back had crashed through the table which had collapsed due to their weight and the impact. Somewhat used to falls, and luckily being on top of Vice, Bren had recovered easily and now had a long blade pointed to Vice's neck:



The drunken man smirked. "Fuckin' Galidenese moron! You can't hold up a Scardian if you can't compete with our strength and spe-speed!" He slurs, holding Vice at bay by sword point- the tip of the blade kissing Vice's neck!

A sharp tug on Bren's collar hoisted the thin gangly man in short order from Vice, forcing him to drop his sword at the sudden jerk. And he could feel armored fingers circled around the back of his neck.

"Fortunately for our friends here, We are." came Istion's voice in cold resignation. and Vice could see for the first time, the fury in the Hazorian's eyes. Istion slammed his right fist into Bren's lower back, right into his kidneys, sending the man flying into his other companion.

"I am Istion, here at the behest of Hrothor the Honored of the White tower, and Lord Bladebreaker, the Luminary. You three have disgraced yourselves far more than enough this day. Continue this performance at your peril." The holy white flames of the Hazorial then also started to belch black smoke, as his shadow elongated. And from it stepped a black haired copy of himself.

"And I am Galaerion. The Twin, I too am here at the behest of Hrothor and Lord Bladebreaker. You stand before the brothers of Light and Shadow - no enemy can withstand. Do yourself a favor and depart, before your lives amount to nothing more than broken furniture bills."



"Good afternoon brother. It has been a while" - Galaerion said to Istion.

"Indeed. I apologise it must be under these circumstances."

"It's been a while. Still remember the moves?"

Istion smirked. "Oh yes, Indeed."

Galaerion returned the grin, curling his mustache - "Then let us bereft them of their weapons."

"Just like old times" Istion said, before the brothers whipped out their bladed cloaks, slashing and confounding the trio with their movements, swords shattering to pieces, and confusing them men as the sharp, dangerous blades of the brothers carved their guns and their holsters from their person.

Vice was a bit confused, thinking he could take on the inebriated Scardian, unaware that the scrawny man had more than twice the power than he himself had! He lay there, wheezing for a moment having the wind knocked out of him, while Bren stood above him with his sword drawn to his neck! Ah crap... I didn't see that coming. He nervously glanced into the eyes of the drunkard who berated his lack of a skill set. Then he smiled.

Istion wrote:A sharp tug on Bren's collar hoisted the thin gangly man in short order from Vice, forcing him to drop his sword at the sudden jerk. And he could feel armored fingers circled around the back of his neck.

"Fortunately for our friends here, We are." came Istion's voice in cold resignation. and Vice could see for the first time, the fury in the Hazorian's eyes. Istion slammed his right fist into Bren's lower back, right into his kidneys, sending the man flying into his other companion.

"I am Istion, here at the behest of Hrothor the Honored of the White tower, and Lord Bladebreaker, the Luminary. You three have disgraced yourselves far more than enough this day. Continue this performance at your peril." The holy white flames of the Hazorial then also started to belch black smoke, as his shadow elongated. And from it stepped a black haired copy of himself.

He coughed, sitting up, his bulging eyes glancing to the fallen weapon and then to Istion. "Shit, Istion!" He gasped, rubbing his neck. "Talk about a close shave!" Vice then sat on his knees, turning to face Master Galaerion who appeared from the shadows, his glowing red eyes focusing upon the three. Master Gala too? What the hell...? He sighed, confused. Together they practically stripped the Drunkard and the Fat Slob Noble to their nickers, their concealed weapons falling to the ground or breaking, due to their unique Terronian style coats. "Well you came here in the nick of time-" he paused, when he saw they were now both staring at the entrance, his eyes following their gaze...

Galaerion wrote:"And I am Galaerion. The Twin, I two am here at the behest of Hrothor and Lord Bladebreaker. You stand before the brothers of Light and Shadow - no enemy can withstand. Do yourself a favor and depart , before your lives amount to nothing more than broken furniture bills."



"Good afternoon brother. It has been a while" - Galaerion said to Istion.

"Indeed. I apologise it must be under these circumstances."

"It's been a while. Still remember the moves?"

Istion smirked. "Oh yes, Indeed."

Galaerion returned the grin, curling his mustache - "Then let us bereft them of their weapons."

"Just like old times" Istion said, before the brothers whipped out their bladed cloaks, slashing and confounding the trio with their movements, swords shattering to pieces, and confusing them men as the sharp, dangerous blades of the brothers carved their guns and their holsters from their person.

Partho's chubby body and striped undergarments revealed themselves, his vision returning to see his tattered noble garb stripped away! Bren, whose hip flask had been on his person had exploded sinking into his tattered trousers and made him look like he had wet himself! "Ah shite! Whe-where the hell you come from?!" They had thin, razor marks no deeper than one cutting themselves shaving across their entire bodies, showing the level of skill it took on such awkward weapons to not cut them to ribbons! They shivered backing up as the twins took a step closer...

Vice Fairgrave wrote:
He coughed, sitting up, his bulging eyes glancing to the fallen weapon and then to Istion. "Shit, Istion!" He gasped, rubbing his neck. "Talk about a close shave!" Vice then sat on his knees, turning to face Master Galaerion who appeared from the shadows, his glowing red eyes focusing upon the three. Master Gala too? What the hell...? He sighed, confused. Together they practically stripped the Drunkard and the Fat Slob Noble to their nickers, their concealed weapons falling to the ground or breaking, due to their unique Terronian style coats. "Well you came here in the nick of time-" he paused, when he saw they were now both staring at the entrance, his eyes following their gaze...

All eyes were now on Gauren, who had lifted himself, and the bar maid up! Using her as a shield he brandished one of his engraved hand axes towards the three men! A deep wound in his cheek continued to bleed around his chin and down his neck. The axe in his right hand had a pair of succubi in the engraving, a rose between them and ensnaring both voluptuous winged beauties in thorny vines. The crest of House Dez, and he had the other on his hip. His left arm was loosely around his ample bosomed shield's waist again, blood seeping from his arm in long deep trenches where she had clawed him deep! "Stay where you are! I'm the Heir to the House of Dez! That old Hrothor has no hold over MY family! We Dez fought alongside the mighty S'card! Why care about this mangy mongrel?!" He exclaimed shaking her intentionally to cause her bosom to jiggle. His eyes wide, and crazed- his long blond hair caking to his face. "This bitch comes from a line of traitors! What does it matter what I do to her? SHE'S NOTHING! NOTHING!!" The man laughed, unhinged and distraught at his audience's audacity.