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The Quest

Chapter One: The Encounter of the Four

There are only a few still around that can recall that time in history. A time where nothing was certain, everything had changed, and the world as we know it almost was wiped out forever. It was the time of swords and guns. Little is known of the world before hand, except that the human race was the dominant force of the planet, ruling everything with an iron fist. Advancing themselves technologically, building marvels of ingenuity, thanks to the power of science. And yet, as intelligent as they seemed, it was their own stupidity and naturally violent behavior that was nearly their total annihilation. They quibbled over senseless and meaningless matters, not being able to stand one another and it was for this reason, being as petty as they were, that one society wanted to kill the other. Using their own creations, weapons of almost god-like power, they not only wiped themselves out, but vaporized other innocent beings, having had committed now wrong upon the world, raining down the unholy fire upon them. But humankind was not so easily extinguished, as they carry a notable trait among other creatures and races that have endured for sometime, like cockroaches. They are survivors, adapting to changes.

So, once more, humans began to rebuild, but it was slow. And much of their former splendor was lost. There were only bits and pieces left; no one could really remember things as they had been, as there were no records or files. It was a time without memory. Technology too, had suffered much, the mechanical know-how being buried in the ruins, perhaps for the better. As many, oh so many of man’s creations had been instruments of violence, serving no better purpose other than the slaying of others. But one design did manage to endure. Perhaps the most famous of all. Guns.

The effects of the catastrophe, which had been named, “The Burning”, had altered many things, and while having destroyed much, it had another result, one that could be argued as either good or bad. It began to spawn new forms of life, warping some existing ones into different appearances, altering them down to what was known as the genetic level. So, it is unclear, as to what the race that is now known as Ugins, the small diminutive people, built as solid as rocks, being short dwarf men and women, rugged and hard, originated from. Some speculate that they were once humans, mayhaps midgets, the mutations enhancing their physical strength, as well as their durability. Or perhaps the Lax-Nor, a very slender folk, claiming to be the sons and daughters of some long forgotten god. Perhaps they too were once human, having fused with another creature of sorts, giving them a mystical and shining quality. None know, and probably, no on ever will.

These races, among others were perhaps a positive side-effect to the otherwise horrible disaster. But then, there is the other side of the coin. Not all the mutations and alterations done to the creatures of the planet turned out so fair. Some, instead of evolving, had devolved, being reduced back to what they had been long ago. Most refer to them as a whole group, either being called monsters or demons, coming in nearly every conceivable shape and size. Some are very human-like, having a manner of higher-intelligence, others being more on the brutish side, animalistic if you will, using raw power over the strength of mind. And then, there are those beasts that grew to colossal sizes, being the highest form of life on the world, the top of the proverbial food chain.

During this confusing and unforgiving time, these races and creatures created societies, building up their numbers, repopulating the world. Towns followed, and they began to discover themselves all over again. And yet, even after seeing the consequences that their ancestors had brought upon them by their ignorance, humans were still just as excitable as ever, fighting amongst themselves, killing one another, using the instruments of death as they had been used so many times before. But one had to admit, there was far less corruption in the world, and while killing did take place, people had a better sense of morals, and most people overall were a bit more courteous, not resorting to lethal means unless necessary. More often than not, humans would only brawl with one another. And Ugins as well, being a very hearty folk, their favorite pastime besides drinking, is to beat upon one another, being terrific sports, loving a good rumble above all else.

Without the former technology to guide them, people had to start from scratch, and eventually got things running smoothly. They remembered how to use other creatures as beasts of burden, establishing a form of trade, and adopting more primitive skills, things that humans before hadn’t ever bother to learn. Like blacksmithing and leatherworking. Nearly every home farmed, growing their own food, and maintaining an average lifestyle. Most people settled down, forming a home, and building up towns, and perhaps growing to the size of cities. There were many cities scattered throughout the lands having a great populous, and on one continent or another, the people had recreated maps of the known world.

This whole era was a dark time, but it was nonetheless filled with adventure and mystery, as there were always intrepid wanderers, traveling along the wastelands and ruins, searching for lost treasure and questing along the lands. Many wouldn’t risk this, as another one of mankind’s undesirable traits, thievery had survived, and there were always gangs of bandits out in the world, not above attacking travelers, and stealing all their possessions. That is why most wanderers went about armed, either with a hand-to-hand weapon, such as a sword, or a gun. Guns were a bit rarer. Oh sure, there were many in the world, but it wasn’t something that one could buy in a store. There were an uncommon device, and anyone who carried a gun, in any way, shape, or form, deserved respect. Some were little more than single shot derringers, and then there were those with custom-made firearms, being fancy and effective. Some people only carried a gun just because they had it, but had no knowledge on how to use it. Most only knew how to load it, discharge it, and reload it again. There weren’t too many formidable gunfighters, nor were there many master swordsmen. But the majority of people never worried about these sort of things, as they hardly ever left their town. Their philosophy was, why go anywhere when they were so comfortable at home? Outside the cities was only danger and peril, and only a fool would needlessly wander about. If you don’t look for peril, peril won’t look for you. But then, there are some who have good reason to wander about.

This tale took place long ago, in the center of the age of swords and guns, beginning in the heartlands of the province of Velkton, the central plains of Morgoth. You know, in between the Peak’s of Quarrven to the north, and the fork in the River of Running Souls to the southeast? Within that space of land, there was only one city, Zolan. However, this story started outside of it; easily four days walk from there. It was in a smallish village, named Deon, in dedication to Deon Myron, the founder. Deon wasn’t a city, barely a town really, having perhaps three dozen buildings total, more than half were dwellings. There was an average market, blacksmith, the inn/tavern, and a few basic shops: butcher, traders, and the like. There were quite a few citizens around, having a robust population, but then Deon had been established along the road to Zolan, so travelers always came through, not being a rare occurrence. So, no one in the town thought anything about the four strangers that wandered in to the local inn/tavern, which had been named The Wineskin.

They came in at different times, apparently not knowing one another. The first arrived in the early morning, not long after the town came alive. He was a young fellow, perhaps his twenties, but with one glance, one could see he wasn’t just an average guy. He stood eight spans tall, and he wore an outlandish attire, dark clothes, mostly black, as well as a long coat, draping over him. The tails of which were brushing along the floor, flowing out behind him as he walked. What skin that was exposed was pale, his face being gaunt, having a boney quality. His hair was a scruffy dark brown, and his eyes were a similar hue, but despite the dark eye color, they were surprisingly keen, sweeping about, an alert and watchful look in them. And perhaps most noticeably, strapped over his shoulder was a very large object, indiscernible, being wrapped up in a dirty white cloth. It was sizeable though, that was clear, nearly as long as this man stood tall.

He had walked into the town, and made a straight shot for the inn, pushing on the heavy wooden door, and stepping inside. He gazed around, at the typical barflies that had been there all night, too drunk to see straight. The young man took a light whiff of the place, taking in the smell, a musty old quality, with the lingering scents of sweat, vomit, and alcohol. Not having much choice in his lodging, he made his way inside, finding a small wooden table in the corner, cloaked in the shadows. He sat on the stool, leaning his back against the wall, and propping his feet up on the table. He then set the wrapped object he had been carrying against the wall, then crossed his arms, lowered his head, and seemed to slip into sleep. The barkeep, a husky but jolly little man, by the name of Jasper, came waddling out from behind the bar, as he also served as the innkeeper. He didn’t like to kick people out of his establishment, but he just couldn’t afford for variegates to just sleep in his place. He came up to the young fellow, giving his shoulder a light shake.

“I’ma sorry son,” he apologized, “but I’ma ‘fraid that I’ma gonna need some money if I’ma ta have ya stay here.” There was no answer, and it did indeed seem the young man had drifted off into sleep. But then, his arms came uncrossed and his hand flashed up and out, making Jasper squeal in surprise, being unprepared by the startled movement. However, in the fellow’s hands, was a single silver coin, a Cull, more than enough to compensate for the average room. Seeing that made Jasper first wipe moister from his sweaty little head, but then perked up, his face turning on his sunny smile, despite the day outside being a bit dreary, promising rain. “Well,” he said, “I guess that means ya can stay the night, me young friend. I can show ya ta yer room in a moment if ya like. It’s a cozy little…” Before he could go any further though, the young man waved his still outstretched hand, dismissingly.

“I’m comfortable here,” he said, his voice being wispy and very quiet, “I’ll sleep in this spot, if it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.” Jasper hadn’t heard of such a thing, and he tried to argue with what he saw as an unfavorable decision.

“I understand yer comfortable now, but I know from experience that this room isn’t the quietest place later on, when all the locals come in, it gets downright deafening.” The young man lowered his arm, replacing it across his chest, his breathing slowed down.

“I’ll live,” was the last thing he said, and then, he spoke no more. Jasper wasn’t going to argue any further, as it was the kid’s money, and he could spend it anyway he saw fit. It wasn’t his business; he was, after all, just a barkeep. So, nothing more happened that day, and several hours did indeed slide past, nothing unusual happening. The young man awoke once, got himself a drink, and then dozed off again. The drunks in the place kept staring at him, perhaps wondering if they should jump him while he was asleep, and rob him blind. They may have been thinking that, but the large package in the corner was a deterrent, as if it was a weapon, they would have found themselves in a whole heap of trouble.

So, hours past, as afternoon came and went, and evening was fast approaching. The sky grew darker earlier, as the black clouds, with a hint of green, began to blot out the sun, the sounds of rumbling thunder, heralding their arrival. Just as the few first drops came splashing down on the rooftop, the heavy door opened once more, but not having some big smelly fellow, a local barfly, standing in the door way. This figure was most different, being much smaller, and most definitely feminine.

It was hard to tell, as she too wore a long flowing black cape, being tugged at by the picking up wind. She stood perhaps seven spans tall, her face being shrouded by a hood. Just as the young fellow did earlier, she glanced around, taking inventory of the inn, before stepping inside, pushing the door closed behind her. The door was the thick and stout oak, but she simply flung it closed with the casual flick of her hand. No one except the young man, who now was awake, only pretending to sleep, noticed, as he watched from his cracked eyes. Making her way over to the bar, she stepped along lightly, all eyes in the place watching her every move, watching her every step. As she approached, Jasper wiped the surface of the bar, cleaning the last remnants of vomit from a previous customer who had pushed himself beyond his limits.

“Good evenin’ to ya miss,” he exclaimed lively, “Welcome ta the Wineskin; what can I do fer ya?” Now having reached the bar, the woman lifted her hands up, and pulled down her hood, exposing her face. She was an exceptional beauty, being young as well, perhaps mid-twenties, and having a dark radiance that just made the air glow around her. She sported a pair of exuberant dark blue eyes, her soft and smooth skin being pale, almost a white, and yet, having a vital and vigorous look. Her hair, which had been disheveled from having been restrained in the hood for so long, came tumbling down over her shoulders, a raven black. She stared back at the barkeep, and raised one slender hand. Lying on her palm was a golden coin, a double Cull, a very large piece of money.

“I’ll require a room,” she said simply. It was near intoxicating for every man in the room to hear her speak, as her voice was shadowy and yet musical, having an unmistakable seductive quality to it. Not only that, but she didn’t slur her words, or something of that nature. No, her speech was clear and precise, being articulate in addition to being so very attractive. Jasper wanted to look at the beautiful woman standing across his bar, but his eyes were occupied at the single gold coin she was offering him.

“Of course, young miss,” he managed at last, “I’ll go see what I can do. You just have yerself a seat, and I’ll be with ya in a moment.” He turned away, and started waddling into the back rooms, presumably to get her room ready. Before he left though, he twisted his neck around, winking at her, “Don’t you or that coin go anywhere now, ya hear?” The woman only let out an exasperated sigh, no doubt getting the same sort of reaction wherever she went. So, as he had suggested, she turned, and made her way to another out of the way table, across the room. As she walked, she lifted her hands to her hair, smoothing it down. And for just a moment, all eyes got a look at what they had been hoping to see. As she raised her arms, her cloak parted, and many pairs of eyes groped at her body. As they had suspected when she had entered, she had a figure to match her face, the kind of which could drive a man wild with lust, having, what they call, “all the right curves”. However, one thing they did not except to see was a flash of silver. There, attached to her hip, was the handle of a sword, tucked into her belt. So, seeing that she was armed, no made a move, but…it was just a matter of time.

After a time, the barkeep came shuffling back out to the front, but as he did so, the door opened yet again. Outside the rain was falling in torrents, and lightning was flashing constantly, the boom of thunder sounding like a barrage of gunfire. All eyes turned, and there was an unsettling sight in the doorway, making almost everyone, including the woman, the locals, and even the barkeep to jump. The young fellow in the corner never even flinched. Standing in the doorway, on its hind legs, was an enormous grizzly bear, staring inside. At least, that was everyone’s first impression.

Taking a closer look, one could tell that this was no bear, but a man. A man of almost terrifying stature, draped in a massive bear pelt, acting as a cloak, the jaws of the beast serving as his hood. He was hunched over, so it was difficult to determined his exact height, however, he had to bend over to squeeze his enormous frame through the smaller door as he wasn’t just tall, he was wide. As with the young fellow, he too had a bundle strapped onto his back, but one so much bigger, easily fifteen spans long, wrapped up, and he had to take it off before he could enter. Once inside, he shut the door behind, and scanned the faces in the room. There were about twenty locals, staring at him with bleary eyes. However, the man noticed that there were two faces that he had never seen before. One was a woman, remarkably attractive, who was watching him with mild amusement, and no small amount of curiosity. And the other, was a young fellow, in the corner, gaunt and skinny, his expression being…well let’s face it; his face was devoid of any and all forms of expression. Shrugging off the rain water, the man made his way to the bar, the floor shaking due to his incredible weight. Surprisingly enough though, Jasper was smiling again, completely at ease even though this towering hulk of a man was almost ominously walking over to him. As the big man stepped up, Jasper reached out, and strangely enough, slapped him on the arm.

“Dante, you ol’ cur,” he exclaimed, “What brings ya ta my humble inn on this awful evenin’? The usual?” The man, Dante, only nodded. “I figured as much,” continued Jasper, who now waved at a seat, “Well, have yerself a seat, and I’ll be right with ya. Ya can leave ya pack with me. I’ll look after it.” And so, Dante reached an enormous hand into the inner pockets of his bear cloak, and brought out a bag of leather, handing it to Jasper. As the barkeep once more went off, Dante, scanned the room again, and clomped over to a stool sitting to one side, sitting in what was now the darkest corner, setting his giant package next to him. The woman watched him move, noting that he had the look of a predator about him. There was just something about him that aroused her inquisitiveness, as he was no mere man. She stood, but instead of approaching him, made her way to the bar again, where Jasper was fiddling around with something or another.

“Excuse me,” said she, getting his attention. Jasper turned, and gave her a smile, slapping his head good-naturedly. “Oh, now I’ve gone and done it!” he cried out, “I’ve plumb fergot about yer room, young miss! I apologize! I’ll get too it at once!” Before he could take off though, she shook her head. “Don’t worry about that,” she told him quietly, and leaned in close. “I was wondering what you can tell me about that man, the one you called Dante.” Jasper looked round, at the hulking figure in the corner.

“Dante?” he asked, somewhat surprised, “Well now, young miss, that’s kinda of an interestin’ subject. Can’t tell you too much, cause I only know little meself. He comes in here once a month usually, just to purchase food and a barrel of water or somethin’, nothin’ fancy. He don’t even live in town, he’s one of them wilderness kinds, livin’ the forest northwest of ‘ere, Horrin’s Woods, its called I think. Anyways, he a strange fella, but nice enough, and just as polite as you can be. When he talks that is. He’s the shy kind I think.” This seemed to satisfy the woman, and she began to ponder what she had just heard. From behind, the door opened once, and in walked yet another strange person.

This particular person was a stocky fellow, standing a minuscule six spans tall, but he was round, as thick as a boulder and quite unattractive. His face was beefy, having a squat neck, with heavy features. Also, his cheeks and nose were ruddy, a bright red, to suggest he may have been drinking heavily as of late. He had a bushy and tangled head of greasy bright orange hair, in a half-hearted pony tail, and a long and dangling beard, clearly kept better groomed and trimmed than the rest of his hair. His eyes were a crystal blue, constantly on the move, sweeping back and forth, excited and just itching to look at something. He was wearing basic sorts of clothes, specially designed to fit his unique size, as well as a piece of very distinctive armor. It was a basic chain mail suit, covering his stout upper body, and all over, here and there in totally random places were patched of solid steel, covering all the vital areas. And where there wasn’t steel, there was dried and tough leather, giving the armor a shoddy look, but serving as surprisingly effective. Hanging from his belt, were two short battle-axes, their tips having a keen look about them. This short little fellow was also, no mere man. In fact, a man he wasn’t. He was an Ugin, the hearty mountain folk. And after sweeping his greasy head about, shaking rain water off of him like a dog, he began to speak, his voice loud and thick with a peculiar accent. (Note: Scottish)

“Oy!” he shouted loudly, grinning at the inhabitance of the room, his teeth being a slightly green tint, “Thar looks ta be a good party in ‘ere tonight, eh! Hah, never a dull moment! Oy, I needs a drink!” And he began to shamble forward, his armor clunking and clanking, as he walked. Ugin were not renowned for being quiet, either in their manner or even in their dress, not liking stealth, being more the frontal assault types. As he came up, he squeezed into a chair next to the woman who was hadn’t even noticed the Ugin’s loud entrance. “’Scuse me lass, I’s needs ta get ta the bar ‘ere! I got ta wet me throat!”

As Jasper came back, the little man reached out, slapping the barkeeps flabby arm. “Oy!” he bellowed in a friendly way, “I’s be needin’ a drink here! And I’ll be needin’ what ever supplies ya can offer! I’s got a long road ahead!” And without even being asked, he pulled from a pouch on his belt, a bag, jingling with coins. Jasper smiled, and sighed, as he seemed to be running around an awful lot this evening. It was at this moment, that things began to roll. For yet again, the door to the inn opened, and in walked a large stinky fellow, a local, by the name of Duncan. Everyone knew Duncan, the foreman of the mill, an obnoxious and surly man, he always seemed to be both drunk and in a bad mood, liking to take his frustrations out on his smaller subordinates. And even though no one really liked him too much, no one could ever argue with what he said, as Duncan owned the only gun in town, and he was always waving it around, threatening to blow people away. So, it was this foul man that now walked in, and right away, he spied the dark attractive woman, standing at the bar, holding herself, from his perspective anyway, at a rakish angle. Seeing something so very fine, he strutted in, and bold as can be.

“Well, good evenin’ ta ye, me fine lookin’ darlin’,” he distastefully started, plopping down next to her, “I’m Duncan, and you’re in luck, as I run this town here. And I’m givin’ ya this exclusive chance ta spends an evenin’ in my company. I promise it will be somethin’ that you’ll never forget.” The woman only swiveled her exuberant eyes around, looking the hideous man up and down. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, coolly, her tone unchanging, “Such a night would emotionally scar me for life. However, I’d think I’d rather be trampled to death by a thousand horses. Now, why don’t you be a good boy, and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, lest the other slugs notice your missing.”

Duncan recoiled at the cold rejection, never imagining that he would get such an answer. In this town, he was the man in charge, and when he told a woman he wanted her, he got her, whether she like it or not. So, not one to take a hint, he only moved closer to her, rubbing up against her. “I’s think ya don’t understand, deary. I’m not askin’ ya, I’m tellin’ ya that yer my woman fer the evenin’. And if ya don’t like it, perhaps ya’d like ta take it up with this,” and so saying, he pulled out his gun, the instrument that had granted him the power over the town of Deon. It wasn’t even that nice of a thing, a crummy little revolver, rusting and having a decaying wooden grip. He placed the mussel right under her delicate chin, caressing her with the metal. She only stared down at it, unmoving.

“Now,” he cooed at her, his voice grating like stones against glass, “unless ya’d like fer things ta get messy here, then perhaps ya’d like ta follow me ta me private room, and get a little more…intament.” As he said that, one of his hands was roaming about, slowly sliding up her slender leg, dirty fingernails scraping as they went, his eyes busy leering down at her. What he didn’t see however, was her own hand, very leisurely sliding up, slipping behind her cloak. But before she could follow through with whatever she was going to do, there was a commanding voice that spoke into Duncan’s ear from behind.

“Release her,” it said, “and leave.” Duncan didn’t appreciate being interrupted, and he back away from her, and turned about, intending to pistol whip whoever had the nerve to have spoken. However, instead of finding himself staring into the frightened eyes of some would-be hero, he was looking square into a huge and massive chest. Tilting his head back, he saw the immense figure of Dante, his eyes gleaming down from beneath the bear hood. Being slightly taken aback by the huge colossus of a man right behind him, Duncan wasn’t one to back down from something he wanted. And he really wanted that woman. “Whats ya business here, ya bull! I’m head o’ this town, and ya’d better step aside, lest I descide ta get rough with ya.”

He considered the matter closed, and was about to get back to his woman, when an Ugin, from farther down the bar, not even looking at him, spoke. “Ya might want ta rethink that laddie,” he said, sipping his drink, “That fella there could put tha hurtin’ on ya, and bad too.” Duncan whirled that way, towards him, his eyes wrathful. “No one asked for your kind here, little vermin. I’m not concerned with what ya midget race has ta say!” He turned away again, but he probably shouldn’t have done that. With an unreal speed, the kind of which one wouldn’t believe an Ugin could move at, the little fellow jumped from his stool, and bolted right over. Duncan heard him coming, but totally underestimated his speed, and as he turned, bringing his gun around, he felt a searing pain in his groin, as a small, hard, and fast foot rammed right into every man’s vulnerable spot, between the legs. He doubled over in pain; bringing him closer down to the little man’s face, which was bright scarlet.

“A vermin, am I?” he thundered, “Tha next time ya have the courage ta call Rowan Thunderbolt a vermin, ya better have a damn good army at ya back!” And with that, he seized Duncan’s arm, and using a great strength as well as his stout frame, flipped the huge man over his little shoulders, sending him crashing into a table. The occupants of the table weren’t happy that their drinks had gotten spilled, and they got to their feet, growling like animals. The Ugin, Rowan, looked ready to bust some heads, crouched low to the ground, fists up, and ready. “Come on, ya faggots!” he shouted, waving his hands, “Ya want a piece? Then come over ‘ere and get some, if ye dare!” They did indeed dare, and the lot of them charged, and had they clashed, a brutal melee would have ensued, but Dante stepped between the two parties.

“Enough,” said he sternly, “I just wanted him,” pointing at Duncan, who was trying to get to his hands and knees, “To leave her be,” now gesturing to the woman, who was watching this whole display with fascination. “There need not be any further fighting.” Rowan, knowing he had let the blood go to his head, again, stepped back, bringing his fists down. “Yer right, laddie,” he said, giving the big man a slap on the leg, “’Sides,” he continued, looking at the sullen men, “Yer not worth the effort.” That, however, was more than they could bear, and one man in the group lunged for the little guy, but was stopped by Dante’s arm. The thick arm however, wasn’t enough to quench his bloodlust this time around, so the man wound up his fist, and savagely punched Dante square in the face.

That was a bad idea, as the force of the blow knocked back Dante’s hood, giving everyone a clear look at him. His expression said it all; he was now very angry, not liking to be punched, by anyone…ever. Seeing his face, and the hostility contained within, the men fell backwards, unsure of what he was. Pulling himself up to his full height, Dante took hold of his bear pelt, and pulled it off and to the side. And now, they could see that this guy was a mountain. He stood easily ten spans tall, a colossal towering hulk. His entire body was solid muscle, from head to toe, underneath his well-bronzed skin. His neck was thick like the truck of a tree, his arms were massive almost beyond reason, the straining muscles of his biceps alone were the size of young watermelons. His torso and chest were bulging, and his legs had a taut and powerful look about them. His face was stern and expressionless, a rugged handsome face, clearly having seen some harsh times. His hair was a dingy black with streaks of silver running through, cascading over his neck, reaching about shoulders length. His eyes, those were the most terrifying to behold, as they were a shiny and yet deep silver.

Seeing this gorilla, this beast of a man now unveiled, the men took a few more unsure steps backwards, having never seen such a massive human. And now, this gigantic man was staring down at them, a wild and ferocious look in his red eyes, advancing very slowly. The Ugin, Rowan, clearly seeing that the big man was fixing to clean house, and not one to miss out on a good fight, stepped up, cracking his tiny fists. “A’ight laddie,” said he, letting out a deep-throated yell, “Let’s have at ‘em!”

“Young miss,” said a low voice, and suddenly, the woman felt a tugging at her arm. Looking around, she saw Jasper, pulling at her, motioning her to come behind the bar. “There’s gonna be a fight, sure nuff. You’d best get ta some cover.” She gave him a smile, and took his hand off her arm. “I’ll be fine,” she told him, as she started to walk forward, “I can handle myself.” She now stood next to the diminutive Rowan, who rolled his eyes around, up at her with a curious look. “Ya want ta partake lassie?” he asked with chuckling snort, “Ye think ya can deal with a few of them?” She unclasped her cloak, and cast it aside. Underneath, one could get a clear look at her, she was wearing a black leather sort of jumpsuit, tight looking but extremely flexible, giving her a great sort of maneuverability as well as protection. In addition, she had a large steel belt across her waist; the buckle was a silver skull, its mouth open in a silent mocking laugh. And the sword at her hip, was as thin as a stick, a rapier, made of polished steel.

“I’ll manage,” was her coy answer. As they had been speaking, several other large galoots had come up and joined the others, now the three were facing off against a small mob of about fifteen. Rowan grinned back, liking her answer, and to display his liking of her attitude, he reached up and slapped her on the behind. “I like that way ya talk, lassie,” said he, “And it’s a pleasure to fight along side ye! I’m Rowan Thunderbolt!” The woman gave him a long hard stare, and answered. “Vivian. And do that again, and I’m smash your head in.” Rowan burst out laughing. “Ya, I’s thinks I’s likes ya! Ye got a bit o’ fire in ye! More women nowadays needs that, I’s think!” They were still talking when Dante, who had seemingly been oblivious to the whole conversation thus far, stepped forward, bringing his huge fists to bear, roaring like an angry demon.

And thus, it was on! Dante waded deep within the opposing side, his huge arms swinging back and forth, his fists sending men flying, crashing into tables, smashing chair, and denting up the walls of the place. Seeing the fight start, Rowan lunged to battle with a Ugin battle cry, bringing his heavy limbs to bear, punching, kicking, head butting, even throwing his small and yet heavy self against the taller enemies, knocking them to the floor. And Vivian, she moved with cat-like reflexes, waiting until her clumsy foes came in, before sliding out from under them, and kicking them in the back. Her arms moved like flashes of lightning, raining blows upon the faces of the drunks. The noise was deafening; shouts, curses, crunches, and the sounds of destruction of furniture. And in all of this ensuing chaos, there was really only one man who hadn’t moved an inch. The young fellow, still sitting in his corner, watching. But he wasn’t watching the huge man, or the beautiful woman, or the loud dwarf. No, his eyes were focused on the big stinky man on the floor, still clutching his gun. And he was slowly getting up, dodging human projectiles, and chucks of debris, as he was bringing the mussel of the gun up. His target was clear, the short fellow who had kicked him in the groin. His gun was now level, and as Rowan had seized hold of a man by the shoulders, ready to smash his thick skull against his head, there was a single, deafening shot of a gun, the echo bounding throughout the room.

Everyone froze, and stared around. There was Duncan, holding his hand, bloodied, now missing two fingers, and blood pouring from his wound. Next to him, lying on the floor was the sad remains of his firearm, a hole blown right through the middle of it, his fingers not far off. As one, all eyes went from one side to the room, to the other. There, still leaning back in his chair, was the young fellow, holding up a gun. Beside his chair, was the wrapping of the package he had walked in with. It was a rifle, a huge rifle, with an extra long barrel, made of blacken steel, the body of the gun itself was thick and built solid. Along the top was a long slender cylinder, glass in the center, serving as a scope. A buster rifle some call it, or a sniper rifle. And rising from the mussel, was a thin line of smoke, drifting to the ceiling. Now certain that he had everyone’s attention, the young man pushed himself out of the chair, gunstock pressed firmly against his shoulder. “Shooting an Ugin from behind,” he commented, more to himself than another present. “That’s low.” He took a few steps forward, as all the drunks began to gradually retreat, feeling fear. The young fellow stepped in front of the three strange fighters, Dante, Vivian, and Rowan.

“I think that’s quite enough,” he said aloud, his eyes focused on the cowering Duncan, and the louts behind him. He pumped a new shell into the chamber of his rifle, the loud click, making them jump. “You are now outgunned, and you are beaten. So, get to your feet, walk out the door, and quit polluting all of our air with your foul stench.” The other thugs were helping Duncan to his feet, now about twenty or twenty-five of them total.

“Oh yah?” one asked, sneering, “Ya talk big fer a boy! Ya may have a gun, but ya couldn’t kill us all if we rushed ya! ‘Sides, how much damage could ya do with one gun?” His question was answered by another voice. “Ah, but yer forget laddie,” said Rowan, stepping up beside the young man, somewhat grateful that he had shot the gun out of Duncan’s hand when he had, “There be three guns, not just one.” As he said this, he pulled from his side the two axes, holding them by their handles. But then, with the flick of his hands, he reversed their direction, now holding them backwards, his hands wrapped around the blade, and the handles now pointing towards the group. It was then the thugs could see, within the handles of the two axes, were two gun barrels, staring back at them. Rowan gave them a grin, cocking his head to the side. “Count them, ya faggots! Three guns.”

As he finished though, there was a new voice. “Perhaps you should count yourself,” it said, and Vivian making her way forward, smiling down at the Ugin. “There are five guns here.” So saying, she reached behind her, and pulled out, from a leather harness of her back, a pair of guns, the likes of which no one had ever seen before. They were two Desert Eagles, fifty caliber, and stainless steel, polished to a mirror sheen. Those were big guns, one in each hand, and she pointed these colossal hand-cannons at the group, all of whom were now getting very afraid. “Five,” she repeated. But then even this was contested, as the deep voice of Dante spoke next.

“Six,” he said, and joined them. He was now holding the object he had brought in with him, the wrapping now discarded. What lay beneath was truly something to behold. It was a sword, perhaps the biggest sword any of them had ever seen. It was a Zanbatou, named after an infamous demon sword. The blade was shining, polished silver, firelight glinting off if it. The blade was eleven spans long, the width was about a span, and the thickness of the blade itself was half a span. It was a simple device; it was just so…damn…big! And he merely stood there, holding up this gargantuan weapon with but one hand, no fear in his eyes. And as if this huge man, holding this equally huge weapon, wasn’t intimidating enough, he twisted the handle, and from within the sword itself, there was a hiss, and a cloud of vapor came pouring off of it. The tip of the blade seemed to retract into the sword itself, and in its place, was not a gun barrel, but a cannon barrel, the mussel of a bazooka in his sword. He lifted the huge weapon up, and set it on his shoulder, now aiming it at the men, his eyes set.

“Six,” he said again, and was silent. And so, stillness fell in the Wineskin, the four strangers, each pointing their weapons at the town locals, who knew that today had really been a very bad day to go drinking. Everything was tense for a moment, but then, on man near the front of the line let out a girlish squeal. “Aw, tha hell with this! I’m gettin’ out of ‘ere!” before stumbling over Duncan, pushing men aside, and running out into the darkness and rain. Seeing one of them go, all of them followed suit, stampeding one another as if they had seen a demon. But then, perhaps they did.

Having watched them flee, and now no longer in a situation of danger, the young man lifted his gun up, and re-shouldered it with the harness strap. Then, he turned towards the three. The others were now looking at one another too, and for a time, the four people kept eyeing one another, each with a scrutinizing look, with a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement. Finally, Rowan spoke. “Oy,” he said, scratching his red hair, “Now, that’s what I call a busy day! Hah,” and then he turned to the young fellow, and slugged him playfully in the arm, “Oy lad! I want ta thank ye fer your good aim! Otherwise, I’d be dead on the floor by now!” The young man smile down at the short fellow, liking his loud and surly manner. “You are most welcome. I am Kain,” he said, bowing low, “Kain Lenox, at your service. Martial artist, sniper, and…dabbler in “used goods”, shall we say?” Picking up on that right away, Vivian cocked her head to the side, giving the kid a knowing smile. “So,” she asked lightly, “You’re a thief, hmm?” Kain merely shrugged, “Call me what you will. I consider it a somewhat less than honest trade, but it’s how I live.” Vivian returned the shrug. “I am not one to criticize, I myself am not much better.”

“An’ I,” cried the Ugin, “I’m a proud that you two have gotten that off yer chests right off! People should be honest don’t ya think? I’m a mercenary meself, and I dabble meself in the sellin’ of goods, used or otherwise.” As they were talking, the huge fellow behind them, began to back away, and start off. “Oy now,” cried Rowan, going after him, and seizing the giant by the wrist. “Just where do ya think yer off ta laddie? It’s good form fer ya to drink with someone ya just fought with!” Dante shook his huge head.

“I appreciate it,” said he slowly, “But I must leave.” However, Rowan wasn’t taking that for an answer, and he kept tugging. “Aw, yer in no rush, I thinks! ‘Sides, take a look out there! That’s a storm if ever there was one! Ye need to hang ‘ere till it blows over! Ya can sit at me table!” He then started to guide the big man, who was at last reluctantly following, and then he whipped his head around at the other two. “Well, come on then!” he shouted, motioning them to follow, “I can’t drag ye all along now can I?” The two, Vivian and Kain, glanced at one another, shrugged, and followed. As they passed the Ugin, he gave them a grin. “Aye there ya go! We’s needs ta chats a spell first! Isn’t that right lassie?” And he raised a hand again, but this time, Vivian gave him a knowing glare, making Rowan burst out laughing.

“A’ight lass, I gets the message! Hands off the goods, aye?”

Notes:
Cull – a silver coin used as a form of currency
Double Cull – gold coin, worth three times as much as a Cull
Span – 1 span = 9inchs