The counter of the Crossroads Tavern shook from the effect of Klay Faris asking for a refill. The seven-foot man was not one to wait for long. Across the counter, Abano Neir showed off his sword. The woman on his lap reached out to touch it but he pulled it away knowing full well what it could do if the wrong hand tried to posess it.
The sword shimmered in the light as if it was a quiet lake. Ripples ran up and down the blade as Klay’s thumping continued. Abano didn’t mind people’s curiosity when they saw a fluid forged sword. Its sharpness was unmatched. Some even claimed that it’s only because it was so glittery and pointy that people wouldn’t ask about other things, like that time he couldn’t pay for his drinks. Sure a few may have charged at him but with a few swings, they were no longer complaining. Most even offered to wipe their own blood if he left them in peace, one piece to be specific.
Now the Kismet Sons were running the tavern dry, racking up a bill only soldiers of fortune would dare look at twice.
The noise was silenced by the sound of one of them being thrown through the bar’s swing doors. Everyone stopped to look as a lone figure in a red hood walked in. He was an older man, his arms coursed with veins and muscles that could only come from years in a fighting pit.
His eyes swept through the room, then he began,”Three months ago you rebelled against your teachers at the Meres Temple and made off with the weapons they were training you to use. For this crime and many others you have committed along your course I am placing you under arrest.”
They exchanged glances. Abano was the first to burst out in laughter. It spread through the room until the bar was once more filled with a riot of noise.
“You want to arrest us?” Abano asked as his eyes swept across the room.
“Yes, and if you come peacefully it will go down in the report that you saw the folly of your ways.”
Abano pointed his sword at the man. It stretched out as it swept through the air. Its hilt shortened so that it was a spear by the time Abano finished saying, “Tell you what old man, you walk away right now and we might not take your sword.”
“I urge you to come quietly. My men are on their way as well. In a few minutes whatever number advantage you think you have will soon not matter,” the man responded.
“Do you know who we are?” Abano yelled as he rose.
The man drew out his own shimmering sword, he broke it and held either end in each hand. The pieces stretched out and he was soon holding two batons.
Abano looked at it in disgust, “What? Are you going to beat be like a toddler?”
“If I have to.”
Enraged, Abano made to stab him, the man dodged and struck out. Abano dodged, he lifted his spear, it turned into a battle axe as it came down. The man’s batons went up and blocked it. They clashed and droplets flew. They were in a pushing contest for a moment. The man took a step back, he made a strike for Abano’s ribs. Abano was once more holding a sword. He made to block the attack but a shot of pain ran through his ribs. He’d been too slow.
He retreated. His sword transformed into two. He came in for a second attack. The man dodged the head swing and went for Abano’s shins. Abano’s blades went down but with two dull thuds, he felt the batons hit their target.
He retreated, the man attacked. Abano dodged twice but the attack on his shoulder that he tried to block landed home as did the second swing for his ribs.
‘What the hell is this?’ he wondered. He could have sworn he blocked the attack. He swung once more, the man blocked and made for a head attack. Abano raised his sword in defense but this time he saw it. The man’s baton cut as it met his sword and became whole as it passed the sword and hit the bone between Abano’s eyes.
Head ringing, he swung wildly without looking. His left sword met the man’s baton and it stuck there. He tried to will it to transform into a shield but it didn’t move.
“I tried to warn you.” said the man.
Seeing their leader being defeated, some made to run as red capes filled the place. As a baton landed on Abano’s back, he learned that there was undoubtedly a level higher than what the Sons of Kismet had reached: The Father’s of Destiny.