39A/N: Chapter 2, cant think for the life of me what I should say in this particular authors note. Um…have fun reading?
Mist floated up from the dingy River, encasing the bustling city in a thick envelope of zero-visibility.
The light from the early morning sun just penetrated the smoke like veil, casting odd rays of light here and there like stars falling through a thick layer of cloud.
A rancid smell floated up from the sewer gate beside the docks, the air, thick with fog and boat fumes.
The city had yet to sleep, when the normal folk were all tucked up in their beds, it was very likely that a small group of "no-good-wrong-doers" were pacing outside.
It was even more likely that whilst they were sleeping, their house had been burgled.
A foghorn sounded from somewhere across the icy water, it was answered with a yell similar to:
"And what time do you bloody well call this you bunch of hooligans?!"
Situated at the top of deck nine, the closest to the forest, was a dark wooden building, probably oak or something along those lines, with dim, flickering lights shining faintly through the forever-opaque windows. It cast a faint ray of light down and through the window sill and into the murky water below.
The faint tinkling sound of shattering glass could just be heard from inside, along with the distorted singing of a drunk. Immediately after, a loud bang and the noise of flesh-hitting-floor.
It was Happy Hour at the Copper Pot Pub.
Inside was just a little lighter from the shrinking candles mounted every so often along the walls, which at the moment had a serious problem with damp.
The bar held up a variety of drinking glasses varying in size and amount of dust.
Behind it, a dirty bartender going by the name of Mykes buffed a glass with a dirty cloth, only managing to spread the dirt further up the glass. His hairline had begun a half-hearted retreat to the obvious disgust of Mykes, forcing him to attempt to comb one side over. He wiped a callused hand on his apron, and continued his work.
Around the bar, were lots of different sized stools and an assortment of chairs.
Beaten up sofas lined the walls, stuffing hanging out of the multiple holes and strange bite marks.
All sorts of shifty characters lounged on the different seating, vampires, gnomes, dwarfs, humans and quite possibly, the occasional werewolf. Most, either unconscious or sleeping. The minority, were pondering over what to order next.
Faint bumps echoed around the room, as the effects of excess alcohol got to a few.
A man in his late 50's wearing next to nothing arose of his stool and began to sing "Oh look at that doggy in the window".
The bartender paused his frantic glass buffing, considered the details for what must have been the best part of three seconds, before reaching below the bar and grasping a long, wooden pole.
The man hit the dusty wooden floor with an enthusiastic groan, which seemed as though he was highly practised in the fine art of falling from a bar stool. The dark figures merely looked up from their drinks for a fraction of a second, before realising it was just the bartender again, and reverting back to their familiar view line.
Suddenly, the heavy wood bar door opened, squeaking as years of heavy-duty repairs reluctantly shifted from the usual position.
The customers recoiled as the morning sunlight hit their bodies, shielding their eyes from the blinding rays.
A Gnome turned from his stool by the bar:
"Shut the bloody door!"
The door clicked shut.
"And bolt it"
Added another beside the guy under a blanket
Click.
Vague thanking to God was murmured, before they all turned back to being abnormally engrossed in their drink.
Detriaris Metalon turned back to his familiar view of the wall behind the bar, he hiccuped gently, before grasping his long blonde beard and throwing it heartily over his shoulder.
"What'll it be?" Mykes asked the tall stranger that had entered the pub, eyes down.
"Water." The stranger walked over to the bar, placing his elbows on the wooden frame and leaning towards the wall.
He raised his left hand, pushing aside his silver-white hair that fell straight down to the ears. His eyes glinted in the candlelight. The man's green cloak parted in the centre revealing a tight fitting shirt and a chain mail vest. A well used jet coat that reached below his torso, but a lot shorter than the cloak, hung from one shoulder by a silver clasp. A very large sword was fastened to a loose black belt, its decorated hilt shimmered oddly in the bars half light. Foreign writing was engraved down from the hilt to the tip of the blade, it glowed oddly as the candle light touched it.
Probably another one of those renegades
Mykes thought, lowering his arm inconspicuously beneath the bar…
Oh well, a customer's a customer…
"No beer laddy?"
"That's it"
The bartender looked slightly offended, he stopped his futile attempt at finding a non-existent weapon.
"Think you could help me with this?" The figure asked,
He removed the cloak.
His left leg was damaged by a deep bite mark; he lifted his shirt, stained crimson and chain mail, to reveal that his chest and ribs were slashed also.
"No animal did tha'?" The bartender pointed, the bar fell into a hushed state of silence.
(Well, unusually silent, there were no more bumps)
"It did." The cloak flopped back down over his body.
"In the forest? Why, that's right next to where we are now! Where was it lad? I'll have to risk me own life to save this here pub!"
Mykes reached under the bar for the wooden pole, still having trouble finding it, he glanced over at a dwarf leaning over the bar, the dwarf froze, and dropped the pole, flashing his teeth.
"Who me?"
Mykes turned back to the man he was serving,
"It ran away."
The man's eyes glittered.
He swept his hair back into a horsetail, and sat down on a stool.
"You? Oh well done m' boy! Here, Here, bandages for The Copper Pot Pub's Hero! Come now you bunch of lazy buggers, "For He's A Jolly-"
The man that had been knocked out by the barman, awoke, and joined in, waving his dark hat around his head in what looked suspiciously similar to "The Macarena"
"F' ''e's a jo''y good fe''ow, f' 'e's a jo''y good fe''ow…" he took a deep swig of his beer, and continued.
"What be y' name lad?" The bartender asked,
The man looked up, and gripped the bandages, a strand of hair flowing over his left, green eye.
"Leo Makarios"
Leo was sat beside Detriaris he unravelled the long strip of bandages, and began to wrap them around his leg.
His hands seemed confident about the use of bandages, they wound strip after strip around his leg, gentle, yet surely.
He cursed as his hand brushed past it.
"Hero 'eh?" Detriaris shifted to look at Leo, his bald head shining in the candle light.
"Seems so, and you are?" Leo finished his leg, and took off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest, along with the slash around his ribs. He unhooked his sword and let it drop onto the hard wooden floor. It clanged in defiance.
"I be Detriaris Metalon, at your service!"
A/n review!