Completed The cat that bites

[Tove]

Timestamp- 13th of summer, 518 AV

The sun beams down mercilessly from its place upon a cloudless sky, leaving the air thick and sticky. The scent of sewage and decay plagues the senses of all those who walk the streets. Any unlucky sob could find themselves ankle deep in bodily waste, which could have just as easily have belonged to a human as it could an animal.

Tove’s eyes flit about with each step, sweaty palms occasionally reaching into her pocket as if the Mizas within would float away. The petty crime that runs rampant in all corners of the city had left Tove more than a little paranoid. Despite finding the lawless men and women interesting to watch, she hardly wanted to be on the recipient end of the stick.

Chills rise on the back of her neck, an all too familiar thudding of feet hitting the ground signalling the presence of another close behind. Panic leaves her chest tight, the beating of her heart reaching her ears. Pale eyes hunt for an escape, the fear of being followed all too real.

Without thought, the girl makes a sharp turn, finding herself in an alleyway that smells of bile and sewage. Less than a chime passes, her eyes following the figure that had been behind her. Relief washes away the pressure within her chest as the figure walks past the entrance of the alleyway without even glancing in her direction. The muscles in her body relax, a shaky laugh escaping her whilst her fingers run through the thick curls that had long since lost their shape.

Relief, as it often is, was short lived. Before she even has time to react an arm reaches out, a strong grip pulling her deeper into the alley. Panic settles within her chest once more as her eyes find the perpetrator. A tall lanky man stands before her, his features cut in half by a devious smile. Red hair hangs loosely over his eyes, sun-kissed skin adorned in tattoos.

“Hello little lady, don’t ya know it’s dangerous to walk the streets on Sunberth?” Before the man continues on he takes a large swig of ale, placing the glass bottle down on a large crate. Tove’s eyes become wild, her heartbeat quickening.

An arrogant laugh escapes the stranger's throat, his eyes locked on Tove’s as he tilts his head smugly. “Now now, don’t be scared little thing,” His hand reaches into his pocket, pulling out a single gold miza, “I only ask for ten-gold mizas.” He pushes his miza back into his pocket, eyes narrowing on Tove, “I suggest you hand them over before things get messy.”

Never had she felt so weak. Ever since she can remember there had always been a way to escape, a loophole she could manipulate. She had never been put into a position where fighting was the only clear option. Her mind was full of jumbled ideas, eventually settling upon lying.

“I don’t have anything on me.” Like many, lying had invokes an involuntary reaction within her. Her words are quick and jumbled, cheeks burning intensely. She has yet to master the skill of deceit.

“Hmm, I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” One step forward on his part causes Tove to take two steps back. Amusement washes over his features, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Elliot will.”

‘Elliot-...' She is given little time to react, a rough hand wrapping itself around her mouth, another pinning her face against the brick. The impact causes her teeth to clench down on her cheek, the taste of iron spilling across her tongue. The unseen man was clearly stronger than his snarky counter-part, his grip would surely leave a bruise.

The red-headed man pats her down, his hand reaching into her front pocket, pulling her Mizas out with ease. He clicks his tongue at her whilst shaking his head, “This could have been so easy, now I’ll have blood on my hand- or well, his hands- once again. What a shame.” sickeningly-sweet tone of his words being used to mock the Kelvic once again.

'You're going to die here, this is the end. Don't go out without hurting at least one of these greedy shykes'

Teeth clench down on her captor’s hand with little hesitation. A pained scream escapes the man as he attempts to pull his hand back, though Tove doesn't let up. A soft ripping sound reaches the Kelvic's ears, her head no longer being yanked about. A morbid combination of Elliot's blood mixes with her own, a chunk of his flesh still between her teeth as he cradles his hand.

“The petching whore bit me!” Elliot hisses, gripping his hand tightly. Before Tove has a chance to react his fist collides with the side of her head. The sound of yelling is replaced by a loud ringing, her eyes momentarily rolling back into her head.

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Several days passed with no incident. No loss of control, not even a single push to be forced out of his very own head. Vel had began growing suspicious of his lighter counterpart's silence. Had he fallen into a depression so deep he relinquished all will to fight on? For if so that could make him a coward. Or was he buying his time, retreating to the deepest, darkest shadows of their being, before making a comeback harder than ever? For is that was the case than he had been barking up the wrong tree. A fool or a coward. Both qualities Vel did not admire.

To say that Vel was making the most of his last few days of freedom was an understatement. It seemed that every time he ventured outside in the Sunberth sun he seemed to get himself into trouble. Within his chest he carried a hart longing for the vast, open planes of Cyphrus. But it seemed no moment of peace and stability in his life had ever been known to last and the longer he spent in the city of thieves, the fewer of these moments he had.

Meandering between the wretched maze of crooked buildings, the Akalak kept his head down. None wished to bother him and in return he had little interest in being bothered. Only a fool would take on the shadow a Riverfal warrior, standing at 7ft with the musculature to rival many, clad in studded leather and armed to his teeth. A great, bastard sword strapped to his back. Beneath the black cloak, what was left of, his left arm hid from view of any potential trouble makers. Those who valued their lives showed no weakness in a city where trouble lurked around every corner.

And on this day it seemed that trouble was already waiting for him.

As he turned the next corner, screams oh horror reached his ears before even his sight could make sense of what was happening. It was too late for the Akalak to turn on his heal and walk away however, for in the dark alleyway the eyes of two men darted to him. One visibly drunk with a nose so red that it suggested the substance had been a habit of his for many years, the other cradling his bleeding hand.

"Turn back, Akalak." spoke the drunkard who had unsheathed his sword. His fingers wound into the girl's hair, holding her up and the blade pressed against her throat. His eyes, grim and grey, were daring and commanding. A grin, baring rotting teeth, spoke of no scrupules.

Freeing the sword from the safety of it's scabbard came to Vel like an instinct. Were these men gang goons? No that couldn't be it. They were far too wretched even for the likes of the Sun Birth. Although both of them wielded their blades with a strong grip there was an aura of petty thievery about them.

"Not another step. Or the girl get's it!" the drunkard commanded, pressing the steel a little harder against her flesh to show that he did indeed mean it what he said. "Lay your sword on the ground and carry on your merry was as if this never happened, else you'll regret it."

Vel swallowed loud. A million thoughts raced though his mind, all at the same time. If he voluntarily disarmed himself, he'd be opening himself up to end up in her place. And for what? A girl he didn't even know. This could all have been a ploy to trick passing suckers. But on the off chance that she was indeed just a helpless victim and he managed to yet again find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The dishonour that would come with risking an innocent woman's life was one his morals would not allow him. And so the Akalak found himself between a rock and a hard place. The next moment were the choices between abiding by the laws of survival in Sunberth or the code of his own conscience.

A nod and a look was exchanged between the two assailants as Vel very slowly lowered his blade, handle pointing towards them, in the dirt. Looking as if he was about to pee his pants, Elliot was the one to come up, never once taking his eyes off the Akalak warrior. Likewise Vel's sight pierced though him with detest. He watched as the goon inched towards him and slowly bent over to pick up the sword and when he was satisfied that Elliot's grip on the handle was hard enough he slammed his foot down on the end of the blade, pulling the man down with it. Vel's foot then came up right into the goon's teeth, knocking him back with full force and disorienting him for a prolonged moment.

The Akalak now towered over whimpering Elliot with his foot on the man's chest and the tip of his blade pressed against his throat. Looking up to the other goon it was his time to make ultimatums. "The girl goes free or your friend here dies. Let's see how much you value his life."

The glares exchanged between the Akalak and the drunk wretch electrified the air. It was as if they searched for any weakness of will in their opponent. "Ksavir. Listen to him, please." came Elliot's cries, bartering with the drunkard for his very life. Few men knew this fear. At last, the thieve's fingers released the girl. At the sight of this the Akalak smirked and slowly pushed his blade into his victim's throat, silencing his cries of fear and anguish once and for all, replacing them with the wet squirt of blood christening Sunberth dirt.

"You bastard!" cried Ksavir, wide eyed. He was unable to quite believe what just happened.

[Tove]

Ksavir stumbles, his face flushed in a combination of rage and sadness. The muscle between the two men lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, which leaves Ksavir at a disadvantage. The realization that he would soon join his brutish friend in the after life is a fact her refuses to accept.

Silence leaves the alley tense, or at least, tenser than it would be if everyone simply yelled at one another angrily whilst venting all their life problems.

Ksavir's mind is jumbled, the Akalak's smirk sending a chill through his bones. The muscle of the two men had been killed, Ksavir is fully aware that he could soon join his fallen comrade. Suppressing his anger and fear, diplomacy would be the only thing that could save him. Diplomacy mixed with foul play, that is.

"Let's not be brash now, we can talk this over like civilized men, yeah?" His words are slurred, almost incomprehensible. A rotted smile spreads across his face, though fear still dances behind his eyes. The blade he had once threatened both the Akalak and Tove with slipping from his grasp, arms raised in feigned surrender.

"See, we're all friends here. Let's just...calm down?"

The Kelvic's vision is no longer blurred, being replaced by the painful throbbing in her head. She had done well to live in Sunberth without being in debt to a stranger, her lack of self-dependence leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

'Idiot girl, the only reason you're alive is due to an...' Blue eyes lock on her savior before falling on Ksavir once more, 'an Akalak? How...strange?'

There is no time to dwell however, she had no plan of being killed or being put into another situation where she could be killed. The process of pushing herself up had been a painful, mostly because all her body longed to do was lay down and sleep. A soft groan escapes her, hair clings to her face, blood acting as somewhat of a glue. Her hands grip the large crate that Ksavir had left his bottle on, allowing her mind to catch up with her eyes.

Self-preservation is important, it keeps morality in check and the likelihood of survival at a much higher chance. The high alert state of mind keeping her focus on the stare down between the two men. A small reflection of light catches her eyes, steel that had once been hidden behind Ksavir's belt now being lifted. Despite the fact that his hand had slowly found the knife, his tone remained diplomatic.

"What do ya want? Mizas? Alcohol? I'll give ya what I took from the girl, a win win, yes? You get Mizas, I get to go on my merry way...and the girl lives."

The air shifts, Ksavir's smile fading. With little to no hesitation, he lunges forward, swinging the dagger about like a madman. He's quick for a drunk, though the alcohol had impacted his equilibrium quite a bit, his swings aiming for nothing in particular.

Tove had no plans on helping, as she hardly had the skill nor care, to aid the man who had saved her. Despite having her money placed on the Akalak, metaphorically, her conscience ignored all things rational. The idea of simply walking away from the two felt wrong.

'Just run you, idiot! What has this man done for you other than stumble upon two easy kills?'

Despite her morality demanding to be acted upon, it is hardly the reason she now had the glass bottle that Ksavir had been previously drinking out of in her hand. No, the final decision was one made out of greed, the revelation that Ksavir still had her Mizas fueling her decision.

Ksavir continues swinging as he shamelessly hurls insults at the Akalak.

"You blue son of a whore!"

Snot and tears mix together as he swings, the muscles in his arms tiring. His blade comes in contact with the flesh upon the Akalak's arm, though it barely even breaks the skin. He draws his arm upward in preparation to pierce the Akalak, though the action is interrupted by the sound of shattering glass against the back of his head, as well as the strong scent of the ale that had been preserved within the bottle.

The man falls to the ground, merely knocked unconscious. Tove's eyes lock on the Akalak's before falling on the man.

The smell of ale lingers, silence falling upon the alley once more. Tove exchanges no words with the Akalak, crouching down next to the unconscious thief. Her fingers reach into his pocket just as his had done to her, pulling her Mizas out from within.

"I only want what's mine, so, yeah..." Talking isn't easy, her voice scratchy and pained. Even on a normal day simple conversation is difficult for the Kelvic.

'Should I say thank you, should I simply leave, what is considered normal?'

"Unless you plan on robbing me blind and leaving me to die in a puddle of my own blood, I suppose this is the part where I say thank you?" The words now sound less forced as they escape her, though her attention is soon shifted towards Ksavir as he groans.

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Ksavir's frail attempts at diplomacy had no effect on the Akalak. Simply put, Vel wasn't interested in the money. There was no honour in it. However, nobody threatened him, not even his own other soul. A man of pride, was he, ready to cut down any wretch who'd dare to disrespect him so.

He stood there silently as the good babbled shamelessly, tip of his sword pointed at the man's throat from a distance as if willing the steel to leave his hand and like an arrow, pierce that throat in half. His eyes however, they were on the girl. Patiently they watched her, tested her. Seeing what would she do next. Would she flee like a coward or stand her ground and enact her revenge on the enemy? That was the test of honour by which he would judge whether or not she was worthy enough for him to stick around.

Insults were thrown. Ones that made his teeth grit as the drunken fool hurled himself at Vel, a dull steel dagger in hand. The Akalak warrior too a step back and assumed a defensive stance as the clash of steel filled the air. The first blow was parried successfully but Ksavir was faster than him, uninhibited by a blade as cumbersome as Vel's. He lunged at the Akalak, somehow managing to get though his defences and and slice at his left arm, or at least where he was hoping it would be. To his surprise however the knife goes right though, hitting nothing on it's way as he found himself stumbling forward and just barely catching his balance.

"What is this?" Ksavir grasped, disoriented momentarily as Vel once again creates some distance between them. Drunken eyes attempted to focus on the warrior's silhouette and then he sees it. With the cape now, unclasped, laying on the Sunberth dirt, the Akalak only had one arm to use. The one ended just below the elbow with a nasty scar obscured by the sleeve of his tunic. "Well well, this will be easy." the drunk grinned deviously, suddenly thinking that he was the one with the advantage.

Vel was angry. Visibly angry. Teeth clenched and the defensive stance now shifted into offence he barked insults of his own as the two men circled each other life dogs. Adrenaline pumped though his veins. A feeling he lived for. For just a moment the girl was nothing but forgotten.

This time Vel made the first move. Breaking into a sprint he brought his blade above his head and brought it down on the man who managed to duck out of the way in the last moment. Against Vel followed though with a slice at an angle. But he was too slow. Carried by adrenaline and buffered by alcohol, Ksavir took no chances to het closer to the Akalak. A range at which that massive blade was useless. Without thinking he performed the same move, slicing at his arm but this time much higher, catching just below where his armour started and opening a small catch scratch of a wound.

Swearing loudly, Vel stumbled back only to watch his opponent fall to the floor. A moment of confusion soon cleared up by the sight of the girl, standing over the good with a broken bottle in her hand. And so it was. An honour he wanted to see in her.

"I have no interest in your money. That you can keep." he said placing his sword on the ground and retrieving his cape which he then clasped back around his neck where it's rightful place was. "You have however earned more than just your money back. I'll not take your revenge from you either."

His eyes settled on the groaning, half conscious body of Ksavir and he produced something from his bag. A dagger, beautifully ornate and twisted around the point. A Lakan. The kind of weapon seldom seen away from Riverfall. He passed it to her hinting heavily for her to use it to silence the wretched boozer one last time. Perhaps she hadn't saved his life yet, but it things would have carried on they way they did he'd likely be in real trouble. Her presence there was a blessing and Vel would repay it in his rather specific Akalak way.

After that he strapped the bastard sword behind his back where it belonged and looked about for a minute. "It would do us good to get rid of the bodies. If they have ties to any of those petching gangs, we'll be in trouble. Although I sincerely doubt it. They were both incompetent idiots, may their souls rest in despair."

[Tove]

Bottling a drunk is one thing, fighting an Akalak far taller and stronger than her is another. The odds would not be in the Kelvic's favor if the Akalak suddenly changes his mind. Hopefully, that would not be the case, however, as she has no other choice but to comply to his wishes. She owes him her life, hopefully, he will refrain from taking it.

Tove studies the dagger warily, she had seen what had happened the last time he offered someone a weapon, glancing over at Elliot who now lies in a river of his own blood. Eventually, she deems it safe to take, cautious fingers wrapping around the hilt, removing it from his custody.

Upon closer inspection, it is clear this is no ordinary dagger. It hailed not from the lawless city of Sunberth, the beautifully intricate designs matched no other she had seen. Yes, high stature gang members may often have ornate daggers, swords, bow, and whatever other weapons an individual prefers. Though the Akalak seems to have a distaste for such things.

"I'll make this quick." Her attention turns to Ksavir as he regains consciousness, kneeling down beside him as pitiful whimpers escape his throat.

Ksavir weeps uncontrollably, begging to be spared, though his words are mispronounced and shrilled. Tove almost pitied the man, though the memory of his aggression towards her had yet to be forgotten. There would be no second chances.

Ksavir had become hyper-sensitive to touch, a yelp escaping him as the blade touches his flesh. The tables had turned, he was now at her mercy. Despite the predatory nature of the Kelvic, she wanted it to be quick, jamming the blade into his throat with a great amount of force. The blade pierces through his throat, hitting the ground beneath him. It is safe to say he won't be getting back up.

“I...ugh, think he is dead. Very much so in fact.” She wipes the blade off on Ksavir’s shirt before pushing herself up, offering it back to the Akalak, "Where should we hide them?" Worried eyes lock on the Akalak's, hoping he knew what to do in such a situation.

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Vel already started looking for a place to stash the wretches. With his back turned as she ended the life of her attacker, he rummaged though crates and barrels stashed in the shadows of the crooked buildings until he found one more less empty. There was some black slime at the bottom of it but then again, they were hiding corpses not packaging them for export. After death men cease the ability to complain about slime so why should he care?

"This will do. I doubt anyone will miss them anyway and after a few days in the sun, in a stinking grimy barrel, they're not gonna be recognisable. No way of tracing this back to us." he said, patting down Elliot's corpse and rummaging though his pockets. He didn't find much but the few miza Vel did find he tossed to the girl. "Here. You seem like someone who might need them more than me." Less money was less trouble. Less chances for some drunken daredevil to jump him when he's not looking.

Vel then tugged the corpse by the ankles, pulling it towards the opened barrel and leaving a grimy trail of blood and dirt behind. Once he reached the wall he hooked the legs on the corner of one of the crates and looped his body underneath to lift the corpse. A muffled crack of breaking joints echoed though the air. For a man with just one arm he was doing pretty well to think of ways around his disability. Angling himself to place the head of the corpse at the barrel's opening, Vel then released it and watched it slide inside with only the ankles pointing above the rim. It seemed that no matter how much he tried to push them in, the wretch's legs were just that little bit too long so rather unceremoniously the Akalak swung his sword and severed both of them, tossing them in after their owner. The top of the barrel was then slammed onto it and twisted until it got stuck. One man down, one to go.

"I'm Vellisius Grisghul by the way. But you can just call me Vel." he said approaching the girl and patting down the corpse at her feet. The dagger Ksavir wielded, Vel pocketed immediately. Though it was nothing special, he had interest in the weapon. But other than that the shikester had nothing of value on him. She already made sure of that. "It's rude not to introduce oneself after all that. So what is your name then?" he prompted, grabbing the second body by the ankles.

Once again he dragged the body over to the pile of empty crates. Though this time, unable to find a barrel quite as perfect for body stashing, he had to sever a few limbs and hide the man in two, separate wooden crates. It was neither a pleasant, nor a pretty sight but somebody had to do it. Vel was far too chivalrous to let a woman partake in such unsightly dealings.

"Come, lets get out of here before bad luck rears it's ugly head again." he said. With his sword on his back and the cloak shrouding a quickly clotting cut stump, he was ready to put this whole situation in the past and rid it from his memory.

[Tove]

The Mizas fall into her hand with ease, confusion making home on her face. Never once has someone just given her Mizas, the Kelvic doesn't know whether to be offended or thankful. Either way, she won't rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.

An Akalak is a foreign sight indeed, Sunberth consists of mostly humans than any other race, and an Akalak is clearly not human. They also stand out, which brings unwarranted attention. The race is the poster child of manhood, which would leave the masculinity of many wounded. This would most likely lead to a fight Or at least that's the reasoning conjured up in Tove's mind.

The sound of snapping bones causes the Kelvic to wince, leaving chills running down her spine. The sound is neither calming nor pleasant by any means. Moments later Akalak approaches her once more, clearly wanting to get rid of the other body with haste.

"I'm Vellisius Grisghul by the way. But you can just call me Vel."



'A decent enough name, if not too long. Tove has always wondered why parents give their children such long names, maybe her mother gave her a long name at birth. It matters not, Tove is simple, it's easier to forget then a long or unique name.

Being asked her own name threw her off, however, having been conditioned to allow another to introduce her. Higher ups hardly ever addressed a slave, kind of like how a person doesn't ask a dog its name when being walked by their owner. It made no sense to do so.

"Tove..that is what you may call me." Her eyes follow Vel as he disposes of the second body, never once straying away as he cuts limbs off the dead man. Luckily, Tove's stomach survives, having hunted Brats and small birds alike in times of desperation. If she were merely a human the sight would most likely leave her rather ill, if not scared.

He seems unbothered as he speaks of leaving the alleyway. It was as if nothing had ever happened, as if he hadn't just cut the limbs off a man in order to properly hide his body.

"Where should we be off to? I don't go many places, so I assume you have a general idea..."

The question is one that results in instant regret, she had assumed they would not part ways quite yet. This assumption usually didn't invoke anger from others, more likely to bring on the annoyance than anything else.

'You'll be able to gather more information on him if he allows you to join. Learn more of his people, such information is useful.'*

Curiosity killed the cat, though a cat that has yet to be killed continues being curious. Tove has not yet died, curiosity almost fueling her every thought. Along with paranoia of course. The two traits didn't mix together all too well, which leaves Tove's mind in a constant state of conflicting ideas.

The need for a friend leaves her somewhat desperate to tag along with Vel. She hasn't had an actual conversation since Lucille had passed on to the afterlife. It has been too long since she had heard a story from someone interesting. She has no plans of questioning him, as that would leave her only knowing half-truths. Facts that loosely fall off the tongue are far more reliable when it comes to understanding a person.

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

As Vel finished scattering the sand and dirt to mask the blood trail that lead to the barrels her name was finally spoken. And with a quick nod he committed it to memory. Hopefully this wouldn't be the last time they'd see each other. In this city any friend was a useful friend. Who else to aid you at the time of need than your very own makeshift gang?

"Liquor kills unpleasant memories quicker. If, that is, you don't mind the taste of cheep booze." he said. And truly was he itching for a drink. Recently he had been doing quite a lot of it. Then again there were few other ways to survive the day to day in Sunberth any other way than plastered. "I'd hate to keep you around against your will. But if you choose to accompany me i'd be most delighted to take you along, Tove."

He looked to her hopefully, watching the nervousness in her. Perhaps he was somewhat nervous himself. It wasn't often he had the chance to make a new friend. He just hoped this was the right person to put just a little bit of his trust into.

[Tove]

'Perfect.'

Alcohol is a familiar subject though she has little interest in tasting the pungent liquid, the experiences she has had with drunks leaving her reluctant to drink the stuff. Maybe it would be fun to go to an inn with the Akalak, they had just killed two men together. Booze often loosens tongues which means Tove will benefit from it, or at least it will if he is a talkative drunk. Maybe he is a quiet drunk...or an angry one. Either way, she would be a fool if she were to decline the offer.

"Well, I don't want to end up in a situation like that again so..." The desire to get closer to the Akalak is one that she can now fulfill. Friends are a rarity and he seems like a more than acceptable candidate for the role. "I suppose I will accept your offer."

A less nervous side of Tove begins to show, one that is slightly more bubbly. A warm glow expands in her chest, her eyes dilating as the excitement grows. She attempts to keep it concealed, she has a reputation to maintain. To display such emotion would destroy her sense of self-concept. It dances behind her eyes, and anyone with even a hint of observational skills could easily see it.

She shoots a final glance towards the crate, half expecting a mutilated man to pop out of a crate screaming bloody murder. The idea is one that causes her eyes to stray back to Vel.

Without further discussion, the Kelvic begins walking, turning a corner without even glancing back at her new friend. Moments later her head comes back into sight, peering down the alleyway. Lock curls fall to the side, her brow furrowed as her eyes find Vel once more.

"Well, come on then. We don't have all day!"

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

It was that word ' suppose' that caused him to arch his brow and let a quiet chuckle slide it's sneaky way though his teeth. How kind of her to grace him with her presence. It seemed there was a personality behind those bright eyes. A sass. And he liked sass. Sure as hell made for a more interesting conversation.

Vel hurried after her. The less time they wasted here the better especially when the premise of alcohol was afoot. About time he had a stiff drink to loosen up a little. We all have our vices.

It took a moment for him to grasp his bearings on their exact position in the city and more importantly it's proximity to the nearest pub or inn. But soon enough Vel beckoned her over to not stray to far away from his protective presence and together they made their way though the dirty streets. It didn't take long before a left turn brought them to the No Man's Land tavern where a dusky interior and stuffy fog of alcohol welcomed them with open arms. It wasn't much but at least it was relatively safe.

Vel was quick enough to find them a dark corner, deep in the tavern's gut, where few eyes wandered. He had grown used to turning heads upon arrival and quickly averting the eyes of those who sought no quarrels. No one in their right mind would liberally pick fights with a 7ft warrior after all. At least not alone. Whilst in his presence Tove would find herself with that same privilege of averting the eyes of peaceful patrons.

Soon enough coin was exchanged for two mugs of beer and the two, new, unlikely acquaintances finally settled into each other's company.

"So what did they want?" he asked, coming in both guns blazing. Vel wasn't really one for small talk. Being a man of a fairly rough personality, he had figured long ago that he had no time for people who were easily offended by his questions. "Those two bastards back there. Were you just that unlucky or were they old 'friends'? Don't worry I've no judgement. We've all been though some stuff."