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It's a humid, foggy day in the late afternoon. The fog has darkened the countryside as if approaching nightfall. The unnamed shanty town is bustling with activity, mostly refugees escaping the war. An unusual amount of traffic afflicts the tavern, which it hasn't seen in over a decade. In the center of the room, a grizzled looking man with tattoos and a red bandana covering his face sits with the townfolk at a rickety old wooden table, but he is alone. He uses both hands to fiddle with an old copper coin. The pale green patina from years of being carried around makes it quite unremarkable to the impoverished crowd around him. Its etching appears to take the shape of a proud farmer, pitchfork in hand. In the corner, a young girl shrouded in a hooded white garb watches the man with great interest. The man is aware of his apparent stalker, and takes care to maintain his current posture so as not to alert her. A large dissheveled tavern hostess walks past the girl, being heavily accosted by the patrons who are clawing at their chance for food and drink. As she passes in chaos, the girl appears to vanish from sight entirely. "This tavern may be dimly lit, but no one should be able to vanish so easily in a veil of pure white," he thought to himself, continuing to fiddle with the coin in his hands. A large, burly man then slams his draught on the table in front of him as if to issue a challenge. "What manner of knave keeps old garbage as treasure?" the burly man exclaims, heavily spitting as he shouts. The tattooed man slowly looks up at the aggressive ape spittling before him, barely moved by his raucus display. "Boson, the Marauder King." the tatooed man says calmly in annoyed and uninterested tone. "Maurauder King?!" the burly man parrots, making sure the entire tavern can hear it. The tavern goes silent but for a moment - a moment that somehow felt like an eternity. Boson continues to fiddle with the coin, and the tavern erupts in laughter. "Get a load of this guy, thinks he's a king!" Three of the burly man's companions lean on Boson, slapping his shoulder and ironically pretending to be good friends as if to make a mockery of him. Their beverages spill over their mugs as they harass him. Boson then gives a small chuckle and smiles, as if to be in on the joke and good natured. "A round for my new friends!" he shouts to the hostess. He feigns carelessness as he places the coin on the table. The burly man, thinking he sees an opportunity, reaches for the coin. *Thunk*. A sharp pain races up his hand from the the webbing between his fingers. He looks down at his hand to see that it has been lightly split by a sharp dagger. He moves his gaze upward to view the platinum hilt glissening in the dim tavern lantern light, grasped firmly in Boson's hand as he stares deeply into the man's eyes. "Today you've kept your hand, but next time I'm taking your life." Stricken with fear, the man attempts to brush it off so as to save face. "Alright Mr. King," he says dejectedly. "We're only havin a bit of fun. Let's get out of here fellas." The man and his goons walk away. Boson smiles while looking back at his coin, paying no attention to the crowd that has gathered around him. He can still feel a presence, somewhere in the room. It feels suspiciously connected to the hooded girl. Behind him near the wall, he senses a quick movement and turns around to catch it, but there is nothing there but a pair of lovers having a quarrel. As he turns back to his coin, it is gone. Replaced by a tiny rolled up note tied by a small white ribbon. As he opens the note, he notices that it is entirely blank. | |