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It was another one of those dreaded Lehsunian summer days with a brooding black horizon flagging an inevitable, several hour long storm. As much as townsfolk and passerbys of Southern Lehsunia dreaded these storms, they actually meant good business for a certain tavern, whose most profitable days happened to be ones marked by such storms. Around three in the afternoon, still before the heavy downpour, people were beginning to slowly stream in for no reason other than to have a dry place to stay for the layover. Those who got there early enough made sure to nab all the available rooms, and those who weren't fast enough killed time chatting with other patrons, drying off at the fireplace, or drinking passable ale and rum at the bar.

But there was oddity in the mix of the day's customers: a human man, covered in a black hooded cloak, boiled leather armor and armed with twin swords at his belt. He had been drinking at the bar well before any signs of a storm and, despite the crowded bustling tavern, the seats to either side of the mysterious man remained empty.

The human raised his empty glass. "Barkeep, top me off," he asked gruffly, projecting his voice over the jabber of the crowded tavern.

Unlike many of the other patrons, the red husky barkeep was not at all intimidated by the armed stranger, possibly because he was the only one that knew that the human was only drinking milk. He put down the glass he was drying with a white cloth and addressed the human. "You've been doing nothing but sitting here brooding and asking for refills for the past three hours. Are you planning on paying anytime soon, or are you just going to keep on doing this until we close?" the barkeep asked dryly and with a glower.

"Do not presume to understand me or my methods, 'barkeep'," the hooded man sneered. "You know nothing of the pain and suffering, the hellish trials and tribulations that I, Sandoval DeLaRoca, have weathered!"

The red husky huffed in exasperation. "This doesn't have anything to do with who you are..."

Sandoval held up his hand in protest. "Be quiet you; Let me finish." He cleared his throat. "I was not also such a wretched vagabond as you see me now. I was once a wealthy and powerful man... feared and respected by all who dared cross me. Such was me, until the day I was betrayed! Backstabbed by one who I once called ally, my friend! And so I have given up everything: My home, my family, my god, even the touch of a woman... all for the sake of revenge," he said poetically as he raised his hand and clenched it into a fist dramatically.

The husky placed his paws on his hips. "Riiiiight. Well I hope 'revenge' is a profitable industry, because you better pay up now if you want any more drinks."

Sandoval gave the barkeep a stare of pure ice and malice, revealing the deep wells of pain and sorrow in his dark, swampy, grey eyes. Oh, truly no man could not be awed and humbled by such a sight! ...Except that the husky responded with nothing but a raised eyebrow, clearly unamused. Sandoval eventually relented with a huff of frustration and muttered something under his breath about the barkeep 'ruining the mood' before reaching for his wallet, but before he pulled it out, his attention (along with that of everyone else in the tavern) was swept away by a thud of wood-on-wood as three men entered the then silenced tavern.

"Well, I thought I was entering a tavern, not a pelican's nest! Truly a poor establishment for one so great as Aaron Greyjaw," announced one of the three men, a grey wolf finely dressed in silks.

"Right as always Aaron. This ain't nothin' but a pelican's nest, it is!" said the shaggy brown rat to Aaron's left, who's thick sailor's accent clashed immensely with his fine attire.

The mangy red fox to Aaron's right nodded, and spoke in a similar accent to the rat. "Is just as you say it is, Aaron! Ain't nothin' but a pelican's nest!"

Sandoval eyed the wolf suspiciously from the corner of his eyes, immediately distrusting of another man who dare also refer to himself in the third person, all the while the barkeep began clenched his brow in frustration. "Oh no, not these scumbags again..."

The red husky waitress was the first person to address the trio, coming from one of the tables that she was serving. "Excuse me, but there's really no more space left here..." the waitress said politely, hoping that they'd buy her half-lie.

Aaron gasped in offense. "You dare deny Aaron Greyjaw shelter on the brink of a storm?! I ought to teach you some respect with the back of my paw!" he said as he raised his paw threateningly, causing the waitress to take a step back in fright.

The rat joined in. "Yea, watch yer tongue lass! This be Aaron Greyjaw yer addressin'. Get in his way and he'll have her hide an' wear it as a coat!"

"That an' the hides 'a all yer loved ones!" The fox chimed in enthusiastically.

The rat cocked his head and looked at his friend with a bewildered expression. "Now thas just unnecessary, Jacob. Why'd 'e kill 'er loved ones too?"

"Oi, shu'up Henry, is just to scare her, it is."

"Ooh, I ge'it." He readdressed the waitress. "Yea, an' the hides of all yer loved ones!"

In panic, the waitress looked toward her father, the barkeep, who gave her a relenting shrug in reply. She forced a strained smile. "Well um alright, I suppose you can stay then..."

A smug grin crept its way on Aaron's muzzle. "Excellent! You shall live to be unsmacked another day, although after getting a good look at your face, I'm not so sure somebody else might do that anyway, ahahaha!" he said as he began making his way over to the bar. His two companions chimed in with laughter, resounding profoundly through the hushed tavern.

As Aaron and his two thugs made their way over to the bar, they caught sight of the two empty seats by Sandoval. The grey wolf went up to, slammed his paw down firmly against the wooden counter and leered at the human with a menacing grin.

"Hello, sir. I see that there're two empty seats on either side of you. Why don't you leave to make room for my two boys and me?"

"I, Sandoval DeLaRoca, grown quite comfortable sitting where I am, thank you," the human responded coolly, not moving an inch.

"What was that, you god-forsaken pinkskin?" Aaron snarled as his muzzle began to flare up with rage. "Scum like you should be glad to lick my boots, much less offer me your seat!"

"Better to be scum than a superficial ruffian," the human countered, disinterestedly swirling around the last drops of milk left in his glass.

The fox and rat gasped as Aaron was taken aback by the pure intensity of Sandoval's scathing insult. Unable to come up with a witty retort, the wolf then gripped at the front of Sandoval's cloak and yanked him up onto his feet, bringing the human's face mere inches away from his muzzle. "Are you trying to pick a fight, whelp?" he growled with deadly eyes. It was now plainly obvious that the wolf was a good three or four inches taller than the human.

"Oh boy, I can see the property damage already... There goes that trip to Newport I had planned," the barkeep groaned as he began slowly backing up.

"Yea, watch yer 'gaff mate. Thas Aaron Greyjaw yer talkin' to. E's a membah of the Order of Blades, he is. He'll cut you up real nice if you make 'im mad, don'tcha know?" the fox said as he quickly tilted his muzzle, motioning toward the tattoo on the backside of Aaron's right paw.

Despite all the threatening gestures, Sandoval was unimpressed, and only being further unimpressed after he saw the obvious impersonation Order of the Blades tattoo on Aaron's paw. At this point, the patrons around the bar were beginning to make distance from the inevitable altercation, which made things much easier on Sandoval's behalf. "No, I believe it is you who should watch their gaff," Sandoval said as he shoved the wolf firmly backwards, freeing himself from his grasp.

"Because I don't want any trouble, but if YOU'RE looking for it..." The human grabbed onto the hilts of his sheathed blades.

Aaron scoffed. "Show him we mean business, boys!" he roared as his two companions each pulled out a small pistol from inside their vests.

"...Then you have it!" In one fluid, lightning-fast motion Sandoval unsheathed both of his blades and sliced both of the pistols pointed at him cleanly in half.

"Great Sophie's Ghost!" the two inconsequential goons hollered in unison and Sandoval expertly stepped up and butted them in their foreheads with the hilts of his swords, knocking them both down on the ground, unconscious. Sandoval directed his gaze to Aaron, who was immediately humbled.

"Please, please, don't kill me! I'll give you anything you want! Just let me live!" the wolf begged as the human began to slowly close the distance between them.

Sandoval, entirely unfazed by the encounter, stopped advancing and shrugged. "Very well..." he said as he sheathed his twin steel blades.

That was exactly the reaction Aaron was looking for. "Ha, die you bloody idiot!" he shouted mockingly as he drew his own concealed pistol from his vest.

...But he wasn't fast enough to get a shot off. With an acrobatic flexibility, Sandoval disarmed the pistol from the wolf with a swift upward kick, causing Aaron to lose his grip on the pistol, and the gun to fall and slide safely out of the wolf's reach.

Aaron couldn't believe his eyes. "Wha-" was all he managed to say as he was interrupted by a fierce uppercut making contact with his jaw, interrupting and causing him to bite down on his tongue with quite the intensity. The wolf was out cold before he hit the ground.

"...I would not wish to dirty my blades on you anyway," Sandoval said smoothly and with expert delivery as he pretended to brush dust off of his shirt. But then it didn't take him to realize that everyone in the tavern was staring at him with slack-jawed stares of utter bewilderment.

"Uhh..." The human then cleared his throat and straightened his posture, hands placed proudly on his hips. "I grow weary of this run-down, fleapit of an establishment. I shall take my leave!" he declared in a clear, forced manner as dramatically flicked his black cape before making his way outside, just as the storm's downpour began.

After a seemingly endless period of quiet and befuddled expressions, the barkeep finally broke the long silence.

"Son of a bitch didn't pay!"

*

It was a dark, thunderous night in the seaside city of Newport, and at the top of the roof of town's clock tower, where no man should be able to climb, the silhouette of a human male could be made out.

It was the perfect perch... for a dramatic monologue.

Using his left hand to keep his balance on the pointed roof, the cloaked human raised his right hand to the full moon, and mysteriously stared at the tattoo on the back of his hand, a tattoo of a circle intersected by three lines.

"Alarice, I swear..." he whispered to himself as thunder resounded deafeningly around him.

"...That I will make you pay."