[color=silver]A cold dread hung over the docile fishing village, infecting everything it touched, right down to the stray hounds and cats that crept past, their mangy tails tucked beneath their legs in perpetual fear. Perhaps only a cold battlefield, littered with the dead and wreathed in the stench of powder and blood could compare to the general despair that infested this place. Whether it was the poor mood, grim weather, or something far more sinister or even a combination of all three Edward B. O’Daily could not quite say. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it one bit and would prefer to find the answers he sought and leave post haste back to England. Edward wasn’t his usual self, in so far as his appearance that is. Dressed in a pair of matching black trousers and coat, with a white undershirt and an ebony cane and top hat, Edward looked for all the world a mere English gentleman. Only his saber, its red tassel and gilded sheath belted to his waist betrayed his masquerade, marking clearly him as a military man.

	Releasing a waft of cigar smoke, thumping his cane, and grumbling Edward looked towards his two companions who leaned up against the porch railing alongside him, puffing on cigars and contemplating the quiet village they’d arrived in only hours before. The first was a wizened man, five or six years Edward’s senior. He was less fashionably dressed than his counterpart, his brown trousers and cream colored shirt being slightly threadbare and worn. Nevertheless he appeared capable, and Edward looked to him with great respect. He was Sergeant Thomas McKnowles, a clever and tough individual and one of the few men who believed Edward’s tales of monsters and magic, seeing as he’d lived through them as well. The second man was far younger, barely seventeen summers old, with slick black hair and dark eyes. He was a local, and one of the few that could speak some English. Edward and McKnowles had discovered him by chance several hours before on the docks, and had been quick to hire his services as a guide and interpreter. The lad, having to choose between doing backbreaking dock work, or accompany two strange and interesting foreigners for excellent pay had been quick to abandon his former employer. Edward wasn’t sure what to make of him, so far they’d discovered only his name, ‘Romblan’ and knowledge that he’d had a Scottish mother, which explained his knowledge of the English tongue, and that he’d been living here for most of his life. Whatever his story or circumstance Edward was glad they’d found him as it made life so much easier, especially when Edward was bartering the price of their little house they’d rented.

	“I say, I say.” Edward gruffed, pounding his cane onto the wooden floor boards to create a hollow beat. “This place is drearier then the foggy high moors on hallows eve night. Let us abandon this hovel and locate ourselves somewhere we can find cheerful company and good drink to spend the evening. Lest I, and in turn we, perish from sheer boredom and misery.”

	“I concur sir.” The good sergeant said, straightening up and adjusting his bowlers’ hat on his head. “Romblan sonny, where’s th’ nearest pub?”

	“Nein. We don’ got one here.” The boy claimed, his accent an odd mix of Scottish and harsh German. “Not unless ye want pisswater an’ grog. Inn’t worth th’ walk, not fer yew gentlemanly folk; no siree.”

	“We’ve faced worse, let me assure you lad.” Edward scoffed patting Romblan upon the shoulder. “Waste not the disbanded time as they say, and better to drink a horse’s piss then eat the dust of the road and all that lark.”

	The boy’s face screwed up and he appeared very confused. “No disrespect meant sir, but I would much rather ‘ave dust in me mouth then a horse’s [i]piss[/i]. That sounds nasty, an’ makes no rightful sense.”

	The sergeant laughed and Edward chuckled and they moved off, following Romblan’s lead towards this supposed, seedy tavern he knew of. Along their journey as they drew close to the docks Edward raised a hand, halting the other two and bidding them remain still. Narrowing his eyes and strode purposely forward, staring down the street with rapt curiosity. Gesturing for the sergeant and interpreter to join him Edward pointed towards the Warf, where a single man seemed to have gone mad. Poking at the water and muttering something unintelligible.

	“What does he say Romblan?” Edward asked, resting a steady hand upon his saber. “Should we be concerned for his health, or ours?”

	“He’s drunk milords.” Romblan explained, to the best of his ability. “He’s demanding the water to leave him be.”

	"He does not sound it.” Edward mused, stroking his chin. “The fool’s words are loud but not slurred, and his movements are precise. I daresay he is terrified of something, which is why I stand ready. A mad man with terror at his heels can inflict damage to opposition or themselves like no other.”

	“Aye, seen it a few times after a battle.” McKnowles agreed, his brow furrowing. “Men break mentally, and they cannot be stopped by conventional means.” He patted the stowed dueling pistol at his hip and Romblan shivered at this notion, turning his gaze away from the raving man.

	“Hopefully he won’t be no problem sirs, shall we move on?”

	“Nay, he is in distress. Should he inflict harm upon someone less capable or injure himself due to his state the blood might very well be on our hands for doing naught. Come Romblan, you shall translate and we will find this man his home and bed. Romblan did not seem pleased with this plan but he followed Edward’s assured steps nonetheless.

	Edward approached the man with confidence, one hand resting upon his saber hilt the other raised in greeting. When the man made no move to recognize their approach and he enlisted another tactic, bidding the man a pleasant evening. “Hello there mister, a dreary but satisfactory evening is it not? Stand easy we wish only to talk.” 

	Romblan stammered out the translation, to the best of his ability, mumbling a quick explanation to this odd formality all of which he feared flew clear over the man’s head. In the end he spoke nearly thirty words to Edward’s original seventeen.

	“Are you certain that is what I said?” Edward inquired looking fairly flabbergasted. “I say, I didn’t realize this language was so complex. I suppose I should simplify my sentences for convenience sake, lest we remain in conversation for many hours.”

	Romblan winced. “Eh, I suppose, just about accurate as could be sir.” [/color]