Saga sat on a rickety chair in the far corner of the Dock Inn, downing a cup of the darkest beer he could get his hands on. His sword was still a bit bloody from his previous job, but he reasoned that a stop at the nearest tavern would help relax his senses. It almost did. As he sipped the last bitter drops from his mug, he reminisced the events of the past day.

Many boys dream of becoming knights, to don their shiny armor and smite the savages who dared oppose their liege. The boys with rich families were the ones who actually became knights. The others, too poor to realize their dream, become mercenaries. Saga knew both lives. 

As a knight, you would most likely live a life of luxury, with servants attending your every need, and women knocking at your door to gain your favor. It was a highly political life, as “fellow” knights sought to best him at every turn, whether or not he saw them as his friend or not. Above all else, they were to abide by their code of honor, a chivalric duty that all knights were held up to scrutiny. 

Of course, not all knights abided by this code. Saga remembered distinctly that abstinence was a key pillar of the code, and well, any fool with half a mind knew where that led to. Really, it was just a game of who could hide their sins better than others. Saga was one of the losers, and he remembered his loss all too well. It wasn’t lust for a whore that dishonored him, it was love. But they didn’t care. He nearly tipped his mug as he remembered her head rolling from the executioner’s block, ever so slowly.

Then there was the mercenary life. It was… quite different from the pampered lifestyle of the Vangardian Knight. You go to a client that requests your services, whether it be to bolster an army or protect him on his way to the shitter. After the job is done, you get paid. Easy. The pay wasn’t a mile from the pension he received as a knight, but he didn’t have to deal with political bullshit. There was no honor or chivalry among the wicked, and everyone knew and accepted it.

He finished another mug, and found himself thirsting for yet another. 

[color=orange]“Hey Hal! Two coin for that ale you’re so bloody proud–”[/color]

[@Flightless_Soul]

His words cut short as a newcomer entered the inn. And my, did she scream beauty. And danger.

Her eyes scanned the tavern, looking for someone. She had a sly eye, like a cat waiting to pounce on a fat rat. She didn’t look as if she was from the area, as she stood out like a sparkling ruby atop a pile of granite. Her eye never landed on him, probably because he was in the darkest corner of the whole inn.

He knew women like her. Back when he was a knight, at least. They could swindle a man’s sword right out of it’s sheath, of course, depending on which sword you were talking about. He knew their games, how they found their targets. It was easy enough to get rid of them, however. All you needed to do was say, “No”. But naturally, that was the most difficult part. 

But this one was stranger still. She might have a way with words, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was in fact more deadly than she seemed. For now, he would watch, and wait. 

[color=cyan][i]Oh, you’re catching feelings again, Saga. I can feel it, you know.[/i][/color]

[color=orange][i]Shut up, Seele.[/i][/color]