[Pig's Foot Tavern] Good Times (Open)

[Alexander Vorg]

Summer 12, 511 AV Alex looked around at the familiar setting of Pig's Foot Tavern. For Alex, it was a place of memories. The first time he had a beer, the first time he got in a fight and lost, 12, the time when he met his master. Alex shook his head, disgusted that he had caught himself reminiscing about the good old days. He sat down, and was about to get some cheap ale when he heard a raucous yell followed by a rather high pitched squeak. A large man, probably one used to heavy labor judging my his size, was beating the living daylights out of a smaller man who was barely able to fight back. Alex smiled. This was really how the Pig's Foot was meant to be. He tapped the shoulders of one of the onlookers and whispered, "Hey, what's up with that guy?" The man snickered and said, " The little guy thought that he would cut old Marweather's purse. Oh, and it looks like old Marweather is gonna cut the little guy right back." Alex frowned and turned around to see that the Marweather had drawn a dagger and was closing in on the poor wounded thief. "Damn it" cursed Alex as he pushed through the crowds. No matter how violent the tavern got, it usually didn't end in a stabbing. Having been a regular customer for the last 17 of his 22 years, Alex almost felt that it was his duty to make sure that everyone was able to either walk,crawl, or be carried away from the place in one piece. Alex sighed. Even he found it annoying that, unlike the rest of Sunberth's population, he couldn't just sit there and watch someone die. By the time Alex reached the end of the crowd, Marweather had raised the dagger and it was about the enter a downward spiral that would end in flesh. Alex jumped in between the blow, simultaneously parrying the dagger with his right arm and sending a curving knee to the liver. The man doubled over and dropped his weapon, gasping for breath. Not letting up, Alex sent an elbow to the back of his neck, picked up the dagger that had been discarded on the floor, and then jumped back, waiting to see if old Marweather was done. He wasn't. Marweather clambered back up, and charged Alex. Alex quickly pocketed the knife, and got into a fighting position. He lightly sidestepped Marwheather's first huge swinging blow, and swayed his head back to avoid the next one. What an amazing lack of skill, thought Alex, trying to keep positive. He knew that what this man lacked in skill and finesse, he made up for with raw destructive power. If any of these huge overhand rights hit him, he would be out cold and probably dead.There was only one easy way to deal with people like this. Alex ducked under the next right and, with all his strength, shot his knee up and into the big man's groin.

[Leviathan]

The fight thus far was obviously in Alexander's favor, skill, finesse, accuracy, precision, perhaps even experience. The way he weaved and danced around Marweather's attacks made the hulking giant of a human look like a schoolyard bully, no true talent for the art of unarmed combat. A right swing, deadly, pounded fiercely into the air where Alex's head was only moment ago as he ducked and, in a very skillful way, thrusted forth his knee into the man's crotch, or at least that was his intention. Rather, his knee found no resistance as it pressed against nothing. In fact, Massive Marweather, or Massive Marwy as he was often called, was pulled away by two smaller (though not by much) men who were significantly more sober. One of them, a heavily scarred man, shirtless, with the tattoo of a dagger-symbol upon his chest, pulled Marweather away from his brawl. Marweather was high on alcohol, confused by the drink, and his vengeance was foul. You didn't want a sober Marweather hungry for revenge. "Easy there Marwy, easy there. Don't piss off the boss now. It be a shame to have to see yah hang." Marwy, as if that subtle threat instantly undid hours of drinking, nodded slowly and stumbled out of the tavern with the bare chested man. "Hey you, come sit with me. I'll buy you a drink." It was a sweet voice, a young woman, staring directly at Alex as she patted the empty seat next to her. Actually, every seat at the counter within four yards was barren, as if the woman herself had a plague of death lingering around her and anybody that dared get within range of touch risked their very life. "Come on baldy, don't be shy." Insistent, and whether Alex planned on obeying or not, the large man that remained, one of the two that detained Marweather, grabbed Alex by the shoulder and leaned in to whisper in Alexander's ear. "You'd best do as she says." There was a soft push, ushering the bald vigilante fighter towards the young woman who, obviously, was heavily scarred across the right side of her face, and the way she favored the left side told that she couldn't see, or at least not well enough to rely on, through the right eye.

[Alexander Vorg]

Alex looked at the large man with doubt in his eyes, then turned his head at the woman who had just called his name. Alex had been beating up drunks since he was 13, and nobody had ever looked twice at him afterwards. Nobody had ever offered him a drink before, and especially not a woman. Never having known a mother or friends, he hadn't really ever talked to a woman in his life. Now faced with a situation like this, he was understandably uncomfortable. It wasn't that he was scared of her, but he was still rather uneasy about the whole thing. What was it about her that made him feel so uncertain? Was it the right eye, that seemed to have been brutally scarred, almost scratched out? No. There were weirder things going on here. Like why would a cronie of the drunk loser that just ran away warn him to 'do as she says' ? Why was it that, in such a crowded and boisterous environment, there was nobody who was sitting near her? This was made even stranger by the fact that she was a rather attractive woman. Even if the bar was almost empty, the seats next to her would usually be filled. Alex resolved to be on his guard around her, He walked slowly over to the mysterious woman and sat in the seat on her right side. This way he would have an easier time if she suddenly decided to attack. Probably an unnecessary precaution, but it was always better to be prepared. "Hi, my name is Vorg. What's yours?

[Leviathan]

Uneasy was a good way to describe being around this woman. There was something about her that hinted that she was the devil-figure of mizahar, or perhaps was in allegiance with such a person, which may not have been too far from the truth in a Sunberth's point of view. Her rosey red lips curled maliciously into a wicked grin, a small one like an innocent child, but that one good eye was pouring out some sort of cruel intention by the looks of things. She turned around in her seat, facing the bar so that her left eye, the strong one, remained closest to Vorg at all times. What was teh point of having a guest if you couldn't see them right? "Merv, I'd like a bottle of wine please. We'll be sharing it." She continued smiling as the old barkeeper nodded in silence. She didn't even ask what Alexander wanted, for as she saw it, she was treating him. He would drink what she offered (which was probably okay since the Wine was held especially for her, good ol' Merv). It didn't take long for Merv to return with her bottle of wine, and even less time for her to uncork the bottle and drink from it. A strong, heavy drink, straight from the lips of the bottle itself, then she placed it in front of Alex. "Hello Vorg. You can call me Sweetheart." Already, a nickname. Surely a strange thing for a first-time-meeting, but there was plenty about this 'Sweetheart' that seemed strange. The eye burned out by something years ago, her burlesque and seductive nature, the way nobody approached her, but nobody denied her. She was nothing but strange it seemed. "You know, you're easier to look at when I've had a little to drink." A hand found its way onto Vorg's thigh, quite close to his privates as they sat there. "I'm more impressed with your hands though. I have no doubt you would have killed Marwy if my men didn't drag him off of you." And there it was, a sudden drastic shift in her personality. Her hand, which went from caressing Vorg's thigh to a clenching fist, began to dig uncomfortably into his leg via nails and surprising grip. "Marwy is going to remember this when he sobers up though, and he'll want your head. Daddy will probably let him take it too. So, whether you think you do or not, you need me."

[Alexander Vorg]

This situation was going from making Alex feel uneasy to making him feel uncomfortable. He had thought it was bad enough when she drank directly from the lip of the bottle, and told him call her Sweetheart. Sweetheart? What would his old master think about that? And then she suddenly started massaging his thigh? Alex knew that his face would be going very red if his face worked that way. Luckily, 10 years of living with a master that showed the emotional range of a teapot had made him good at remaining stoic himself. Alex wondered what he was going to do in this situation. Should he remain like his master, stoic and unemotional, focusing on the problem at hand? Should he be more like himself, more interested in the hand that had started to clench and dig its nails into his leg, than the belated revenge of an old drunken loser. Or maybe there was another solution. Either way, there was no time to lose. He was slowly losing emotional control of a certain portion of his body as well (one very close to her hand's current position). Alex placed his hand on her's, not trying to get her to release her grip, just resting on top of her's. He leaned in towards her a little bit to pick up the bottle of wine. Taking a small sip of wine, he replaced the wine to the original position. Alex smiled at the woman. "So an old drunk with the speed and finesse of a cat with 1 leg is going after my head? That really doesn't scare me at all, Sweetheart." Alex sent a prayer to any God that would hear him that his master wouldn't walk into the bar and see him. That would make an awkward situation a desperate situation."So why don't you tell me why I need your help, and why you're offering? More imporantly, who's this Daddy of yours, and why can't he keep a tight leash around his dogs? Alex thought that this was a fair question, if rude. He didn't know what kind of person this Daddy was, but he was sure that he must be a boss of one of the various Crime Syndicates of Sunberth.If this kind of man was after him, he had a reason to be scared. Much more a reason than to be scared of Marweather.

[Aberdon]

Pig's Foot, a tavern for the wretched to hide their troubles and the opportunists to multiply them. Aberdon sat toward the back, nursing a tankard of water rather than ale. Spirits, while useful to calm his almost constant state of suppressed fury only deadened his instincts. In Sunberth, instincts were the electricity jumping bodies to life, keeping a soul intact among the murderous streets. No one blinked at a body anymore, no one cared. The big names came and went every so many years, trod beneath the vicious feet of the up and commers. Old ones thought quicker perhaps, knew the city better perhaps, but as soon as one lost their edge in combat...they lived on borrowed time.

Aberdon watched the brawl with quiet appreciation. The giant was clumsy, dulled with alcohol, and the smaller fighter (Still large by all standards) easily played along his blind side and kept the creature lumbering. He knew what he was doing, which was not fantastically out of place in a city of constant combat...but it was still comforting to see.

But it wasn't how he performed that drew the Isur's attention, it was who he attracted.

The woman at the bar, small by the standards of death dealers in Sunberth but no less dangerous than a coiled adder, coaxed the bald fighter forward. Aberdon watched, sipping the water in his mug. She had an air of death around her, and not one undeserved. Among the cutthroats of the city, she held some semblance of power. Her name escaped the Isur, he remembered someone like her from back then...when he was a slave. His merchant at the time, Atrophus, had dealings with a man, looked a bit like her...but the exact details were beyond him.

At the time he had simply been a beaten soul, methodically swinging his hammer for anyone but himself.

Standing, he took his cup and gear a few tables over, sitting just within earshot of the woman. He caught the gaze of the man who had helped usher the bald fighter over and for a moment they simply stared, neither willing to break the contact.

Aberdon broke it finally, turning back to his drink. His yellow arm still held one manacle of the chains that used to hold him, and the surface glimmered in the tavern light.

For now he would simply listen, interested only in the events of the Sunberth underbelly. Perhaps he'd hear a name, some of the people he was looking for. More than likely, he wouldn't hear a thing. Curiosity had driven him here but would not neccesarily put him directly in the path of Sunberth corruption. Despite how much he wanted to act, everything had a system in the city. Should she fall, more would rise to vie for her position...or perhaps he would only anger someone who was best left undisturbed.

His eyes fell to the broken manacle cuff on his yellow arm.

He wouldn't let them bind him again...never again.

[Leviathan]

If it was names the isur was looking for, then he made the right move in inching ever closer to the woman that was, more or less, forcing Alex to call her Sweetheart. The name, typically one shared only with a significant other, or two lovers that felt like nicknames were beyond adorable. It meant something, of course. She would not request to be called Sweetheart without a reason, and perhaps it was nothing more than a physical attraction to the man she desired, and she was aggressively open about it, but the situation was all wrong for that type of story. Sunberth was all wrong for that type of story. There were many fairy tales that took place in this stinking festering city, but rarely did any end with a happy ending or a 'happily ever after'. Dwellers of Sunberth prefered tales that told their lives accurately. Libayna, which was her true name, though she had yet to reveal this, smirked ever so venomously as Alex placed his hand on hers and spoke her nickname. Perhaps, to him, it meant nothing, but to her it meant he was giving into her desires. Perhaps she was wondering just how far she could push the bald barroom brawler. "Perhaps Marweather isn't to be feared as much as I let on. He is a miserable old man now that he lost his leg. It didn't happen long ago. Infection, the doctor told us. Had to be removed. Daddy would have hanged him if he learned what Marwy did. I'm a good girl though, I forgave him, missing his leg is bad enough of a punishment, and Daddy never has to know, so Marwy never has to die." There was another vile smirk as "Sweetheart" told her little tale, though she didn't outright say it, both Alex and Aberdon understood that she was implying that she took Marwy's leg. A girl who was so fragile she almost looked like a child (though there was no evidence of innocence on that face anymore) could not only take down a hulking man like marweather, but sever his leg, or at least cause the needed amputation. "The thing is, Vorg, is that Marwy is my problem..." Then her smirking and scheming glances faded as she dropped her charade and moved into perfect, stone cold, emotional expression. "Marwy is useless now, and I could have Daddy Kill him, but these men have rules, and I respect them." Libayna leaned closer to Vorg, putting her red lips only an inch from his ear. She was close enough that the moisture on her breath reached out to caress the man's cheek. Then she whispered, quietly enough that only Vorg himself could hear. She may not have been aware of Aberdon, but she certainly knew her guard was still in the room, and that is who she was hiding the details from. "I want you to kill Marweather for me." Then, with a soft gentle kiss to his cheek, she pulled back and took the bottle of wine in her hands, finally relieved Vorg's leg from her seductive grasp. "I promise, I'll make it worth your while." To everyone except Vorg, it would seem like a simple sensual advancement on Alexander Vorg, just as she intended. As for Aberdon, well, perhaps her face was familiar from his pre-freedom days, but it wouldn't have been her specifically he would remember, but perhaps her father, Robern Dalagnar. Slaves weren't really his business, but he had been known to force taxes down the throat of just about anybody that had any sort of business in this city.

[Alexander Vorg]

Alex's eyes narrowed. In any other city he would have looked around, to make absolutely sure that nobody had heard what she had just said. Here in Sunberth, he didn't bother. If anyone had heard her, they wouldn't have really cared. Even assassination requests weren't exactly juicy info for most people in this city. Alex looked around the room, trying to think of how he was going to answer the strange woman. Looked at Merv, the old owner of the bar. And the rowdiest table, near the door, where the crazy drunks had started yet another bar fight. His eyes finally rested on the Isur in the nearby table. His master had always liked the Isur. The bone structure of their dominant arm was suited towards his martial arts more than any race. He would always talk about how much he wanted an Isur apprentice instead of one so mundane as him. Even now, he could see the super-dense arm, sparkling yellow, that his master always doted. What was it that he used to say? Gnosis? That was what the arm was. His master had said that all Isur had some kind of divine gift that made their bone structure so suited towards martial arts and gave them some kind of special power over metal. Some kind of magic. "Focus," thought Alex. There were more pressing matters than a yellow-armed man with magical powers. He turned back to the woman. It was strange how she was able to manipulate him so easily. He had enough experience in dealing with close-mouthed individuals to see a master at work. The way she had pretended to have sexual interest in him. How she had got him to copy her. And how she had delivered him her little mission without the possibility of anyone noticing. But not only was she good, she was vicious. Like some kind of...spoiled little girl. She would get a new puppy, play with it for a while, and then once it bored her. She would kill it. But he wasn’t that kind of person. Maybe, if he had stayed in that orphanage. Maybe if he had had to crawl his way back to the orphanage that day when the old man had beat him. If he was raised the way any child in Sunberth was raised. Maybe then he would have taken this mystery woman up on her offer. But he wasn’t that person. He didn’t kill. “I’m not interested. You can go do it yourself if you want to. Or hire someone else to do it, there are plenty here who are good enough to do your dirty work.” Alex looked down at the counter and looked at the woman. There was something else about her that felt off. Something that he just couldn’t shake off. So far she had come across as spoiled. A woman who was very good at getting other people to do her dirty work. So how did somebody like that lose an eye. It was obviously scarred, almost burnt out. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “ By the way, how did you lose your eye?"

[Aberdon]

She moved with the serene grace of a coiled serpent. Her every movement was an exaggeration of sexual perversion. Not enough, perhaps, to be noted...but she operated herself in the realm of how most men would view her. Little girl, little body, milky white curves. Aberdon knew what the Sunberthians talked about. He had been past the whorehouse, had seen its wares. Perhaps in Sunberth people were their best, the greatest among them either geniuses or chiseled leviathans, carving their influence in presence alone. Women on the other hand held their office with the beauty sculpted of poison and divinity. Breaths of surprise, lithe and flexible, the women in Sunberth used sex as a weapon more potent than even a blade.

It was surprising how far men would go for a good rut in the alleys, who they would kill, who they would betray.

Aberdon, by virtue of his inhumanity, was approached but seldomly, girls more interested at the silver veins bulging through his body than him. Certainly he was no strange to the pleasures of the flesh...Zeltiva had taught him that magic students were open to a variety of differences, even enticed by them.

But in Sunberth, where not all daggers were seen, he did not let his guard down easily.

Listening to the woman in all but when she whispered into Vorg's ear, the Isur reserved his judgements. Things were rarely as they seemed and a girl with two capable guards had business somewhere.

Or someone had business with her.

It was when Vorg asked about her eye that the Isur glanced up, intrigued at such an honest turn of events. Few pointed out the obvious. If they were not explained it was likely because they didn't need to be. How the woman reacted, even for the short moments of surprise at the question would tell him a little more about her character.

Who she was perhaps...

And what she meant to this city.

[Leviathan]

The woman frowned dramatically as Vorg straight up denied her request. Wasn't he even interested in what he could have earned out of this? She shook her head. If he didn't even consider waht he could have taken a hold of, so be it. She could find someone else to kill Marweather, just as Vorg said. Someone else would be rewarded, and no, it wasn't sex that she had in mind. Something much more valuable. Protection, power, wealth, respect. Pity he already denied her. The woman, obviously, no longer had any interest in Vorg. Everything he might have felt or exspected just drained from the moment. The woman looked away, glanced around the room, a Isur? Not particularly common, but such a hardy person could be valuable, even more so than a bald barroom brawler with agile feet. She glanced back at Vorg, already there was a smirk on her face. "Sorry, that story is only told to those close to me. I'll see you around." There was a subtle feeling that it wasn't just your average simple parting phrase. She actually meant it, she would see him again, perhaps whether or not he saw her. Eerie thought for certain. But then again, this is Sunberth, who would care to find a dead man in the streets? Looters would even rejoice. With a promising wink, she took her bottle of wine and stood up from her seat, only to walk a few paces towards Aberdon. ”Hello there. Come find me if you want to be someone.” A smile later, Libayna handed a piece of paper to Aberdon, which merely read ‘Rotting Mansion’. It was a place to meet if he had the guts or desire to show himself. She walked away from him then, leaving the tavern with wine in hand, her bodyguard stalking behind her, and, moments later, was followed by a large gray wolf who had, somehow, kept itself entirely hidden in the corner of the tavern. It was obviously a friend of the woman, and without a doubt, it could tear a man’s arm off with ease.