[CENTER][h1][color=slategray][b]"LUCKY"[/b][/color][/h1][hr][/center]

His feet were pattering slowly on the ground. He wasn't in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for any of this. He had just met the man himself. The big guy. The most powerful man in all of Vassidia, if not the world. And Aborran had told him lies. Nothing but absolute lies. None of it could be true. These thoughts made Alvar angry. His feet picked up speed. He needed to hit something. Break something, before he broke.

He began running, running to the only place he knew. He went home. To the old chapel. To where his boys were, his brothers would welcome him with open arms. He climbed a wall, using it as leverage to jump onto a ladder, climbing onto the balcony, vaulting over the railing and then out the other side, jumping up onto the wall, grabbing onto the ledge and pulling himself up. Days like these, when all he wanted to do was run, he came to appreciate that years on the streets had given him fingers as strong as fishhooks.

He stood up, watching the moon howl in the sky, lighting the city in a mellow, somber light. The city was quiet. Quarantine had done that to the capital. The city that never sleeps was now in a coma. And Aborran, the bastard, said that Alvar could wake it from it's deep slumber. He hated that assumption. The very idea, the things the Wizard had told him, they didn't match with the way his life had been. He leapt over the rooftop, onto the next. His feet picking up speed, his breaths got more shallow, quicker. His heart rate picked up, and a bead of sweat began forming on his forehead as he pushed hard on the next jump, it was a big gap. Flailing his arms in the air with great intent, he just made the jump, rolling on the rooftop, the tile weren't soft. But the hardness of the city had formed him into the man he was today.

The Chapel was just a few more blocks away. Another jump, this one smaller, he didn't even need to roll here. He just kept on running once he hit the roof. Grabbing a flag hanging outside of the facade of the building, he used it for leverage to make a gap too big to jump. He landed on his shoulder, rolling on his side to brace. He was getting a little tired. And yet, the anger hadn't washed off him. He climbed back onto his feet and pushed on. Almost home.

He climbed up the garrison tower in the Chapel Quarter, the guards had all abandoned their post in this area. Nobody cared what happened to this place, except the people that lived there. 

And there it was. The Chapel. His home. Brother Eli had lit the torches, almost to guide him. Alvar climbed down, sliding down the waterways, coming jogging towards the front port, opening it up, he spoke, loudly.

"Guess who's home?!" He shouted, and words filled the room. The youngest brothers were asleep, but they woke up to find Alvar coming home. Two of them  came running at him.

"Alvar! You're home! Are you okay?!" The bigger of the two, Gus, asked, while Oscar jumped into his arms, he hugged them both. Nodding.
"Yeah. You know me. No guards can harm Alvar." He said, arrogance showing. He was putting on as much bluster as possible. He couldn't really let them in on how he was feeling. He was their leader and the closest thing to a father figure some of these kids had. He couldn't show his weakness.

"Go wake up your bigger siblings, Oscar." He told the boy in his arms. 
"I need to speak with Himler and Taj." He told Gus. Gus nodded and ran off to find Himler and Taj.  Alvar removed his drenched jacket, hanging it on one of the homemade hangers, kicked off his boots that were also wet, and removed his shirt. A few fresh new bruises covered his torso, but that was hardly something new after a few nights in jail. He had ran into one of the older members of the Wolf Gang inside, and promptly thrashed him, and his two friends. Guards had to break up the fight. They never did that.

Alvar grabbed the cloth bandages and began bandaging up his ribs, and then his left shoulder where he had torn a stitch from a few weeks ago. He should've re-done the stitches, but there was no time. Once he was done, he got dressed again, a slightly less torn and dirty tunic, and a mostly clean leather jacket. He had stolen it from a trader in the upper district, it was meant for a knight, and was therefor padded in the vital areas. He strapped on the hardened shoulder pads and elbow guards he always wore when a fight was brewing, and grabbed his best pair of boots. The ones without any holes. He opened the chest that was under his bed after he had pulled it up and placed it on said bed. Opened it up, it revealed the wrapped sword and the leather bracers he had gotten from Yoseth so long ago. They never fit when he was a kid. But he was a man now. He tightened them and put the sword over his shoulder. He didn't own a sword belt or even a proper sheath for the blade, the one he owned he had made himself, and it barely covered half the blade. The strap rested in his hand as he filled his satchel with his necessities are Taj walked in.

"Alvar?" Taj asked, surprised. 
"What's going on? We getting ready for a fight?" He asked, as Alvar put the first-aid supplies into the bag. Finishing it all off by putting in the bottle of whiskey he had been saving in the satchel, closing it. He turned. 

"There's plenty wrong, Taj. I don't have time to properly explain everything. Is Himler out there?" Taj nodded, and Alvar motioned that he should bring the other boy.

Taj and Himler were the same age, they had come to the Lost Sons at the same time. They were big and mean, and they respected Alvar above all else. They were his best soldiers, Taj a better fighter than Himler. But Himler was far better at taking care of the chapel. He was the only one who could cook, and he was great with the young ones.

"I have to leave. It's urgent, and I can't tell you why, because you'll be in danger. Just know that I'm doing it for you, for all of you. And if all goes well, when I come back, we'll be living like kings." Alvar told them, bluntly. They both tried to object, but Alvar put his hand up, and they both shut up.

"I don't wanna hear it. I... I can't hear it, boys. You're my brothers. I've watched you grow up. And that's why I know you're ready to take the lead while I'm gone. When you two work together, you're unstoppable. If there's any two boys who can keep the Lost Sons in line, it's you two. You'll both become better man than me. And I'm so very proud of you." Alvar said, his voice almost breaking several times, Taj had a tear running down his face and Himler still couldn't quite understand.

Alvar walked towards them, putting his hand on each of their shoulders. 

"Please, lend me your strength so I can put a brave face on for the others. You may doubt me this time, or be angry with me. You can fight me about it when I come home." He said, cracking a slight smile, his eyes watering. He quickly wiped it away, as he walked through the doorway, seeing all of the other 14 boys sitting in a circle, waiting for him.


"Boys. I got a tip in Jail for the biggest score yet." Alvar began, bravado filling his voice.
"But, sadly. It's a score that's far away, and none of you ladies are prepared to go the distance like that." He taunted them, and they boo'd him. Laughing. 
"And I must leave. I promise I won't be gone long, but when I come back, we will be living like kings." He simply said. It wasn't the first time he had been gone, and the boys were all incredibly independent.

He heard the rain starting pouring outside.

He opened his satchel and got out his bottle. 
"Join me for a drink, my friends." He told them, and all of them managed to find a glass of really cheap beer, even the smallest of the kids, Oscar was after all just seven. But he was putting on a straight face, just like all the others.

"Here's to us. The Lost Boys of Vassidia. May the fire never go out in our chests and may we never go hungry again!" They all cheered in unison. Taj and Himler both lifted their glasses in solidarity. Hiding their sadness, anger and worry, just like Alvar did. He was their leader, in a sense, their king. And he had to leave them. He hated it.

The four chugs of the burning whiskey were the longest chugs of his entire life. He wanted to stretch this moment into infinity. He'd do anything to just stay here, party with the older boys and play with the young ones. Teach them how to fight, to cook and sew. To just feel at home.

But if he didn't leave, there would be no home to love. So he put away the bottle, put on his cloak and walked towards the main courtyard, where this shadowy cabal of rogues and outlaws would gather to take on a task too dangerous for anyone else to know about.