[i]Several days prior...[/i]

[b]“You’re a good man Malborn,”[/b] the burly middle-aged man scoffed bouncing a small purse of coin in his hand. [b]“But it feels a bit light… Are ya screwin’ with me?”[/b] 


[b]“N-n-no, Derian, please… I swear it’s all there.”[/b] Malborn stammered watching Derian fiddle with the bag that he had replaced on the counter. 

Leaning over the counter, Elderian pulled out one of the stools. He took a seat, snatching a full flagon of ale from a passing bar wench as he did so. Leaning over the counter Derian ran his fingers through dark grey hair before meandering down the side of his face stopping to rub his chin. He brought the flagon to his lips and took a slow swig enjoying the time he watched Malborn sweat. 

[b]“Y’know what’s nice about Oakport, all you’s always been so good to me,”[/b] Derian laughed chugging the rest of the flagon. [b]“Always making sure my pockets are full for the Boss.”[/b] 

[b]“Yes’m. I’m sure Stromm is putting this money to go use.”[/b] Malborn fumbled around with the words. [b]“Maybe he can use that money to keep those guards out of my tavern.” [/b]

With a quirked eyebrow over his left eye Elderian took a look over his shoulder. A quintet of lightly armored guards had forced their way into the Rusty Cutlass. Pushing patrons aside, bumping serving wenches out of the way as they tried to squelch the obvious mission on their faces. Chainmail shirts supplemented with gauntlets, greaves, and a half helm all accented with blue cloth accoutrements embroidered with gold. Small shields were strapped to their backs and long swords were strapped at their hips. But the tavern was not a suitable combat zone for shield and sword. Instead, they stood with rather lengthy daggers at the ready. A good secondary weapon suitable for this particular incident. Elderian could only smirk. 

[b]“Elderian Haart, we’re looking for Elderian Haart.”[/b] The guards announced and while they had the attention of the majority of the patrons the response was astoundingly quiet. [b]“We watched him enter, now where is he?”[/b]

[b]“Right here king-fucker,"[/b] Derian exclaimed pushing his stool back. 

Grabbing at his belt he stood there mockingly, smirking while he listened to their decree, “By order of Cacus, King of Fire, Elderian Haart is to be subdued by any means barring death to be delivered to the King immediately. Will you come quietly?”


Before Derian even had the opportunity to respond the guards had began their approach their daggers at the ready. The first guard lunged. He was met by a swiftly raised bar stool that shattered over the side of the guard sending him tumbling to the ground. He shook his head before taking a step forward. 

[b]“What else ya got?”[/b]

The patrons began to scatter. Pushing to the exits and the outskirts of the tavern floor. Malborn found it prudent to hide behind the counter. 

[b]“Please… no, c’mon… take it outside…”[/b] Malborn pled. 

An overhand thrust was dropped down towards Derian’s shoulder from the front, swiftly caught by his thick meaty hands. The second guard came with haste initiating a thrust move of his own. Derian expertly diverted the initial guard downward, using the shield on his back to deflect the third guards thrust. He put both men on the ground in one fluid motion sending them tumbling along the bar taking all the stools along with them. 

It was just in time to dodge the first slashing attack from the fourth guard. He leapt back. He leapt back for the second slash as well. Next came a thrust, Derian side stepped to the outside grabbing the guard by the wrist. He pulled it back wrenching it up behind the guards back. Slowly he added pressure and tension to the arm until the dagger fell to the floor enjoying every waking minute. With one fluid motion he tossed the guard against the bar. 

As the guard writhed against the oak bar, his body arched in agony Derian turned on his heel. He drew back his fist. A strange tingling began to crawl through his arm, static lurching from his closed fist to the leather of his jacket. As the punch moved forward true power began to materialize. Waves of lightning pulsated over his fist as if generated from the very around the limb as if breaking some sort of environmental barrier. The power manifested seemingly out of thin air until finally it smashed into the guards gut, sending his body to the ground keeled over convulsing. 

Then the power was gone. Elderian slung his body over the bar in a storm of wooden shards, the shattered remains of a broken stool. His breathing heavy, he started to push himself up. Quickly he was taken to a knee. His with a shield square across the back. His heart seemed to stop beating as the pain rumbled through his body. Then his vision faded. 

Sheathing the dagger that the guard had used to smash Elderian in the back of the head the guard looked around the room. The tattered remains of the battle scarred room were in disarray. 

[b]“Tie ‘em up boys. An’ get your act together.”[/b] The guard shouted shaking his head before turning to face the door. [b]“I mean seriously… four on one and ya can’t manage…”[/b] 

[i]Current timeline[/i]

[b]“Ugh….argh….uhhhh…”[/b] 

Derian had been unconscious for some time. His body was sore. He tried to push off the floor. A sharp pain shot up right arm, his hand stinging with pain. He was forced to drop down, supporting his body on his elbow. His body jostled, rocking back and forth. Looking up he noticed a few pairs of boots near eye level. Derian found confusion had overtaken him. He tried to shake the fog from his mind but was unsuccessful. He still had no idea what was happening. 

Leaning back he came to a sitting position. He tried to stand up sliding his foot forward, it moved with a jingle pulling his other leg a bit forward. Derian was bound. His ankles were bound with chains. Looking down he found his wrists free. He reached to his hips. The daggers he carried with him for only necessary situations had disappeared. Confiscated no doubt. 

Slowly he meandered his way to a seat on the side of a rocking wagon. Opposite of him sat a rugged looking young man. His face beguiled his age for sure. But his true identity was of little concern. He sat, resting his arms on the side of the wagon stretching out. He tossed his head bag, basking in the sun that broke through the iron bars of the cage that wrapped around the wooden exoskeleton. 

[b]“Hey kid,”[/b] Derian smirked at Altwen, though he had not known his name. [b]“Where’s this party going?”[/b]