Prolouge
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Angel's share was never a busy inn. 

Managed by a man in his late twenties named Lucas, who would frown when people refer to his establishment as a tavern, it provides the best hospitality service you could find in the entire Rascade. 

Really, it cost him a large sum of money from his late Father's inheritance to turn what once looked like a building of debauchery into a respectable establishment worthy of respectable patrons. By the direction of his newfound investor, the south wall was demolished to facilitate the re-direction of the main door toward the city plaza, the second floor was fully revamped, and the interior was renovated and all was maintained with utmost hygiene. The change was drastic indeed, but certainly needed. 

Yet despite all of that, the inn and its fancy rooms had never seen much occupancy since its grand opening four months ago. He thought it was simply because they opened their door at the wrong season, but then came the spring and the situation was not improving. 

At least until their competitor, The Black Swann suddenly closed their doors a week ago after some nasty fights broke out in the establishment. Lucas never really cared about other people's business, but he couldn't help but eavesdrop on his patrons' swaggering even when he didn't want to;  apparently, a dockhand had his jugular sliced open with a broken bottle after picking a fight with a bunch of immigrants. What an idiotic way to die. 


It was another busy night when a man barged in and startled the manager. Lucas was quick to recall his practiced courtesy and be ready should the man require a check-in. Unfortunately, the man ignored him and beelined toward the table in the middle of the room and sat there.

"Oy! Where is the table service?" 

Rather unusual for his waiter to be this slow, but Lucas chose to not play the role of tough manager to this new staff. It was his investor who endorsed her, so he actually has not much to say about it. Nonetheless, it was not an entirely bad deal; she was decent enough for the job, and pretty too. 

"...a bottle of grog for the gentleman." Said the maid. 

Lucas begrudgingly pulled out a cask of rum from the cupboard under his table and mixed it with caramelized water. Hesitantly giving it to the maid and watched as she swiftly walked back to the man's table.

Really? Just a grog? Of all the finest drink he could serve the man asked for diluted liquor? He could already predict the payment would be paltry. 

The man sat there, alone. One of the other patrons from the next table, a merchant's handyman nudged the man. "Mind tellin me the story of your fondness for a weak drink?" 

The man's nose wrinkled, but he ignored him. The handyman, upon realizing the man sitting next to him was not feeling friendly retreated to his group, interjecting the ongoing conversation with a thinly disguised remark about the strange fellow next to them. 

"Back when I was a grunt defending the western province from mechean monkeys, grog was all we had," he grumbled, before sipping his drink. 

"Some sort of veteran aren't you?" asked one of the handyman's tablemates. Lucas recognized him as a low-ranking noble who had been regular just a few days ago. 

"Good sir, thank you for your service!" this time another patron, an assistant dockmaster with a scar on his face joined them. "It was a shame they relieved you from your duty so early. Especially when the war is already upon us."

Lucas wasn't so sure if it was just mere pleasantries or if there was a hidden meaning. The veteran sipped his drink, slower this time as if suppressing a growl. And then to no one in particular, he spoke. "There will be no war, our king doesn't want it."

"It's not decided yet." said the nobleman. 

"Honestly what's the problem with our king?" said the dockmaster. "Meche has gone too far and we have been too soft on them." 

"Ain't that the truth? Cowardice seemed to have seeped deeper into our proud city."

There was a silence.

"War is a bad business, my friend. And our king knows that." answered the nobleman. Then, to the dockmaster he continued. "And you should know that. Rascade got ships docking in her harbor because this place is peaceful. War means this water is dangerous and no captain would sail into a dangerous water. Means no money for you, Dockmaster, and everyone else. Peace brings prosperity." 


"Stop speaking with your ass! What's the use of prosperity when our dignity is trampled?" 

"Excuse me, what?"

"Ain't nobody trample our dignity, old man!" an off-duty soldier joined in, and immediately he and that veteran eyed each other intensely. "Rascade is still standing. People are free to do whatever they please and everyone feels safe." 

The veteran, not backing off even when facing an official, suddenly slammed his mug against the table. "You too speak like a fool! What's your name? What's your unit? How could a nation be safe when the king was attacked under our nose? Right in the heart of our city? Don't you at least feel ashamed?" 

The inn suddenly got frenetic. Lots of people had been muttering assent or disagreement, either with the sentiments expressed or the people expressing them. But this time they became even more thunderous when the veteran mentioned the attack four months ago. Of course, everyone remembered that, and of course, everyone was still antsy with the outcome. Although the so-called mastermind had been publicly polished, the resentment still remained. And the veteran's bold complaints resonate well with the populace. 

"Don't you all notice? Things turned for the worse after our king appointed that orc woman as his bodyguard." the dockmaster chimed in again. "Wouldn't be surprised if she was actually an enemy spy! Why was our king so unwi--"

Another soldier, broader and taller than the previous stepped in, and was now towering in front of the dockmaster. "Careful, good sir. Nobody talk bad about His Highness and Captain Matilda unless he wants to spend the rest of his days without teeth!" 

"Last time I checked Kindeance was a free nation!" Rigid with a seemingly bottled-up rage, the veteran stood up from his seating and faced the taller soldier. Not sure what happened next, but the situation jumped from a passive-aggressive standoff into an act of flipping the table, showing everyone that he too could be as menacing as a fully trained royal guard. 

Lucas' who had been a spectator found himself jolted by a sudden ditching. The manager instinctively yelled from the counter. "Hey! You all will pay for the damage! And take your fight outside!" 

"Shut up you pathetic wuss!" Barked the veteran. Now completely lost it, he faced the soldier again and spoke with unrestrained belligerence. "What the fuck are you doing soldier? Threatening people for telling the truth? Is this Kindeance I once defended with my life and limbs? Peaceful my ass! Have you seen what happened in Fanghorn? And what did our king do? Nothing! Are you folks waiting for it to happen in Rascade as well?" 

"No!"

Now stepping on the broken glass like nobody's business, the veteran addressed the crowd [b]"Good folk, do you think the city is safe? While the spies are among us? While our king sits idly?[/b]

[b]"No!!"[/b]

[b]"Can you feel safe knowing our soldiers are useless the King would rather entrust our problem to be solved by suspicious foreigners?!!"[/b]

[b]"No!!!" [/b]

More people joined it, surrounding them with their rabid cheering. The soldier, who didn't want to lose face rushed to grab the Veteran's collar, intending to make him stop. But the veteran handily evaded the grip and elbowed his face, before landing a well-placed kick onto the soldier's midsection. Sending him away across the room to hit an unoccupied table. 

Victorious, he raised his hands, and more people celebrated around him jeered at the soldier. 

[i]"Wayne was killed by some immigrant ruffians and what they got? A prison sentence!" [/i]

[i]"My family at Fanghorn had to live through the winter in a hovel!" [/i]

[i]"There is no justice at all, these soldiers are a big fat disgrace!" [/i]

The situation escalated badly everyone seemed all too eager to be the next bruiser. But the veteran was the man of the show. Menacingly he approached the downed guard, ready to give him another beating before a hand grabbed his wrist, and everyone's eyes widened in disbelief. 

There was an attempt to retaliate, weak and pitiful the maid didn't give him a chance. Three consecutive blows landed on the veteran's jaw; the first blow staggered him, the second weakened him, and the third put him unconscious. 

The crowd suddenly lost its buildup. 

"What was everybody doing there For? Do you want me to report you all for the assault and property damage? Pay your tabs and get out of my tavern! I am calling more guards now!" 

There he was. Lucas was so mad he didn't realize he used the word Tavern instead of Inn. But what the hell! What was the difference anyway if the place was this disorderly? 

The night ended just like that. After the maid dragged the unconscious veteran's body out of the tavern and tossed him onto the cold sidewalk, Angel's Share finally closed its door. 


[center]****[/center]
 

Several hours later, the veteran woke up. The world felt like spinning, but with his remaining unexpressed rage, he managed to find the inn's door and banged it several times before the vibration sent a pang to his jaw. Only by then he gave up, and limped away.

The roads were empty, and the night was cold. Embarrassment overwhelmed him, but also excitement, the feeling swelled the more his jaw ached. Next time he would plan better, doesn't matter if Angel's share closed its door. The plaza was right in front of it anyway. 

Now it was time time to collect his due reward. The veteran took a sharp turn toward a dark alley. Someone was waiting for him there. 

"You are late!" said his patron. Darkness, combined with his inebriated state made the veteran unable to recognize his face, but his voice was well recognized. 

"Naw! Naw! We agreed to do this in my term!" still, the veteran asserted his dominance, and rightly so because he has been their useful agent on multiple occasions. But this time he did that to regain his personal pride, a pride that was robbed from him by a mere barmaid.

"Tomorrow the the fire will be bigger," he said, refocusing himself so his words didn't sound too slurry. "I have yet to use all the information. People would be interested to hear who's the true owner of that tavern! Yesterday the message will be stronger!" 

His patron nodded. "You have done well!" and handed him a pouch of coins. It dropped just a moment after the veteran held it, prompting him to kneel to pick it back up. 

As he stood again. Someone else suddenly appeared behind him. Instinctively he turned back. "Who was that? Who are you?"

The shilloute was taller than him. Clad in black, a mask covered his face, and his breathing fizzled from the transparent tube connecting his neck and where his mouth should be. 

Then in an instant, the masked being unsheathed his blade and ran it through the veteran's torso, piercing his heart and part of his spine. The man gasped once before his killer let him go to lie down on the concrete pavement, twitching as his blood pooling around him.  

[b]"Yes, you are right. Tomorrow the message will be stronger than ever." [/b]