Valor and Violence

“For the love of the gods, Leo shouldn’t be that hard a man to find,” Ferez said, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Are you sure he is here, High Mage?” Asim asked. Ferez glanced at the man as he resisted the urge to pant. How was it that, even decked out in the thick armour of a Phoenix Guardsman, he looked completely at ease in the harsh Tok Risim heat?

Probably because he’s from so far south.

Ferez wasn’t sure exactly where Asim hailed from originally, but the deep ebony of his skin suggested it was far from The Six Cities, in the heart of the southern Emrinthian desert.

Lucky bastard.

“He’s here,” Ferez said, pocketing the damp cloth. “From what I’ve heard, he practically owns this island. It’s not even that large, though. I have no clue where he could be hiding.”

“If he is this region’s ruler, the locals are curiously ignorant.”

“Indeed. Something tells me they aren’t being entirely forthcoming with us.”

Ferez rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand as fresh beads of sweat broke out across his brow.

“To the Pit with it, let’s take a little break. In here seems promising,” he said, crossing the street and stopping in front of a small building. The sign out the front read ‘The Pirate’s Parlour’ in Tok Risim. It was quite well put together; clean, sturdy brick walls, a thick, unblemished dark wood door, and polished windows. In fact, most of the town was like this. Acqua Vitalle may have been tiny by the standards of a city, but it was tidy and safe. The pair of college men had been searching since dawn, and had yet to find any slums or ne’er-do-wells. The ordinarily ubiquitous Famiglia gangs were notably absent, and they had seen several patrols of guards in vibrant blue uniforms patrolling the streets, halberds resting over shoulders with sturdy truncheons tucked into loops on their belts. Not even Verduno had a police force, but they were everywhere here, sweeping up and down the town’s volcanic slopes with impressive coordination and discipline.

With a shrug, Ferez pushed open the door and stepped inside, pausing at the threshold a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. The inside was as well maintained as the outside, densely packed with functional furniture without becoming crowded. A fire roared against a side wall with a pot of rich smelling stew on the boil, while the far side of the room hosted a bar with remarkably well-stocked liquor shelves behind it. Aside from the barman polishing glass pints, the bar was empty.

Ferez put a winning smile on his face and stepped up to the counter, pulling out a stool and taking a seat.

“Two beers, please,” he said as Asim settled in beside him, easing his considerable weight down until he was sure the chair could take it.

“House, mid-range or premium?” the bartender asked, his attention still fixed on the pint in his hands.

Ferez gave an impressed grunt. “You can’t usually find a selection like that in a town this small.”

The barman shrugged, still not looking up. “It’s a nice town.”

“So I’ve seen. Although, I must admit, your hospitality is a tad lacking.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. See, everyone is giving me the runaround. All I want is to find an old friend, but no one seems to know him.”

“Acqua Vitalle is small, but not that small. Maybe they really don’t know him?”

“I doubt that. I understand he’s something of a big deal here. Man by the name of Three Fingered Leo, maybe you’ve heard of him?”

The barman glanced up, a hard edge to the set of his jaw.

“Don’t know no one by that name.”

“Oh, so you do?”

“What?”

“You said you don’t know no one by that name, meaning you know him, right?”

“I… what?”

“My mistake. I must have been confused by the double negative.”

“Whatever, stranger. There’s no Three Fingered Leo here, and you’d do best to leave the smartarse attitude back on whatever tub brought you here,” the barman replied, setting the glass down and leaning over the counter. Ferez couldn’t help but smirk back at the local’s harsh glare, and he opened his mouth to say something even more smart arse-ish when the door opened behind him, a brisk breeze accompanying the creaking of its hinges. The barman’s expression immediately switched from a scowl to an easy smile.

“Look, I really don’t know any Three Fingered Leo’s. We’ve got a Leo the Stump, though.”

“Oh, no,” Ferez muttered, his face falling. “Leo, what did you do now?”

The barman shrugged, the smile still on his face.

“Well, anyway. I would very much like to know where I can find him, if you would be so kind.”

“Don’t need to worry about that. I think he’s found you.”

Ferez turned around on his stool to find a tall warrior standing in the doorway. They were powerfully built, their frame accentuated by thick plate armour. Slowly, they raised their gauntleted hands to their helmet, and a long brown ponytail fell free as she removed it. The sides of her head were shaved. With her piercing gaze and deep scowl, it gave the impression of a streamlined, humourless fighter with very few fucks to give. Ferez didn’t doubt she knew how to use the massive bastard sword slung across her back.

Her eyes swept the room, barely pausing on the foreigners. “Hands where I can see them, strangers. Room clear, sir!”

She stepped aside and snapped to attention as a second figure darkened the doorway. Somehow, they were even more intimidating than the woman, clad head to toe in an ornate, blackened steel suit of plate. The helm was styled to resemble a face, twisted in agony, a jagged crown resting atop its head, while the cuirass had been forged to resemble a heavily muscled torso. The left arm and legs were similarly sinister, all sweeping lines ending in jagged points, though the right arm differed from the rest of the suit in two key ways. It was a brassy gold, denoting high quality Resonance alloy, and it terminated just below the elbow joint. The rest of the wearer’s arm was notably absent.

“Aquina’s cli-” Leo paused, glancing at his companion warrior before continuing, “ahem. What I mean to say is, Ferez, you old dog! It really is you!”