Brandon Van Raily

(This story is from the perspective of one character of many. Highly adult-oriented subjects including but not limited to language, violence and humor below. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised, i.e., only read if you're over 18-years-old.)

Brandon drummed his knuckles on the bar idly, leaning on it as he watched Declan, Elaine, Van and Madeline Cocidius, the foreigner militia and the mystic militia waltz back into the Swaggers. He had already evicted Declan from the property, but with his many friends at his side, the man had apparently found the courage to return.

I know where this is going, he thought, glancing at Fay knowingly, who then unlatched the holster under her arm. But friends or not, he ain't stayin'.

Straightening up, he offered a curt and simple demand: "Out." His eyes were on Declan, but it was Elaine who spoke up.

"Oh really, Van Raily? And on whose authority?"

"Rebecca's." He gave Elaine a brief glance then turned his attention back to Declan. "You and the other Smithies aren't wanted here. Hit the road, jack."

"I'm not a Smithy. Tell me of my crimes and I'll gladly leave, but I have done nothing!" Declan was sure of himself now, but how quickly he was to forget which side he swore fealty to.

"You openly sided with the Smithies against the Company, with that little !!!!! of yours." Pius Valentine watched Brandon as he confronted the lieutenant.

"Another insult, Van Raily," Elaine retorted, "and I'll have you arrested."

"Don't think so, bucko. You enter the Swaggers as a civilian. The militia's never done anything for this Company before now, and so your person is no different than mine when it comes to being a militia. Here, you're civilian."

Elaine grinned. "You're right. I'm an officer of the army, not militia."

"All the same," the captain shrugged, "your authority don't mean !!!!." He turned his attention back to Declan. "Now get out. I won't be askin' again." By this time Fay had come around the bar, unsheathing her pistol and cocking the hammer. The others watched the two on either side of the bar, exchanging glances as though preparing for the worst. The worst would come.

"Have it your way!" With that, Brandon grabbed the saber at his hip and launched himself over the bar, slashing out at Declan. His thigh slid smoothly along the bar, half-empty bottles scattering as he swiped out. The blow cut deep into Declan's leather armor, the following tackle throwing him onto the floor and toppling the stool. Fay had brought up her pistol, cocking the hammer and scanning the others for movement. Declan scurried on his elbows backwards before Brandon brought his knee down on him, thrusting the saber through his side. With a twist of the weapon he stood, leaving Declan in shock and agony as one of the militia ran forward.

"Vas Ort Flam!" Brandon drew his long sword in his other hand, and feeling the air around him crackle and sear, stepped back and brought his swords up in an X. At that very moment, the flash of light singed the hairs on his jaw and he felt the extreme heat through his clothes, and then his feet had left the ground. He stumbled back into the table, falling onto the stools ungracefully and turned on his knees when they reached the ground, standing to and charging back into the fray.

"Kal Vas Flam!" She was bringing her hands up to strike down her assailant when a blinding flash struck her senses. Pius Valentine was now standing, aiding the good captain in his defense of the magician, and the spell went awry, tearing the table in half with an explosive crack. With a growl Brandon brought his hand-and-a-half down on the edge of her shield, casting it aside before swiping out with his saber. The cut struck her shoulder and she stumbled back into the doors, but before she could recover, the sharp pain of cold steel raced through her belly. The door thudded behind her, and she could feel the vibrations against her spine as it echoed through her body into the sword in her gut, then back from the pommel through the steel inside of her.

Her head slammed back against the door from the impact, her hat falling off the side of her golden tussles. As it rebounded forward, Brandon caught her face in his hand, squeezing his fingertips into her flesh before slamming it back into the door. Pinned to the door, she was unable to move and only barely had the strength to stand. Throwing his shoulder back he brained her against the wooden door again, and again.

And again, until the thudding reported a wet smack and her body fell limp. Before he withdrew the sword from her, letting her go slack against the door to fall to the floor, there was a shuddering bang from behind and a split of light, and the captain turned his attention to the bar. Van Cocidius had brandished a hatchet and tried negotiating the bar to reach Fay, but she squeezed Lady Luck in her hand and stepped aside, the bullet piercing Van's gut and sending him unbalanced over the side into a fetal position.

Tayler stepped back, the pistol smoking into the ceiling where it dispersed into a black cloud over the battlefield that became the Swaggers, while Madeline knelt by Declan to check his vitals. Leaping from the stool, Elaine rose at last to engage, and with her the mystic that had drawn his mace. Bringing his long sword up at his side and the saber brandished ahead, he met them in the open space near the door. Elaine thrust her kryss and was parried to the floor by the saber, the mystic bringing his cudgel up in a hack and meeting air instead of bone.

Brandon stepped between them and turned, preferring them in front of him than in a flanked position, and now stood near Valentine by the small table near the back exit. As Elaine charged the mystic summoned a fiery blast of unknown origin, speaking words unfamiliar to the veteran captain. Caught off guard, the projectile slammed into Van Raily's chest with incredible force, the impact wracking his chest with sickening vibrations from his sternum through his ribs. The captain flew back against the table, the edge contacting his tailbone with a sharp spike of pain, before he rolled over the top and crashed into the stools on the other side.

While Elaine pursued, the mystic turned his attention to the man from Moonglow, who met his eyes with questioning firmness. The uncertainty was clarified as the militia swung, a force of ether moving the mace in an arc and slamming it into the bar, barely missing the magician. With calm precision, he summoned a magical force that created distance between he and the mystic, and with a whisper on his lips, spoke the words of power. A bright column of fire erupted from the ground, the boards charring and bending up and back with a calamitous crack, and the man was thrown up and sideways, cartwheeling in the air and slamming into the tapestry behind him while his right leg was sawed viciously at the knee, tumbling in the air away from him. Valentine maintained his posture while the mystic's body tore down the tapestry from the wall as it slid down upon its shoulders, suggesting no further movement at all.

Seeing Madeline swing around her bow and nock an arrow, Fay backed against the shelves, reaching under the slit of her gown with her free hand and withdrawing a short-barreled derringer from a concealed thigh strap. The woman stepped upon a stool to fire down on the privateer, but Fay was the quicker draw: the bullet clipped Madeline's shoulder and spun her over the bar, the interrupted release of the bowstring sending the arrow spinning through the air harmlessly before it bounced off the shelf and scattered across the floor.

As Madeline fell over the bar and landed on the floor with a graceless thud, Brandon pulled himself up just in time to duck back down under Elaine's blade, the kryss shattering a bottle and knocking over a candelabra, dousing it. The long sword had flown towards the hearth and his saber laid where he had been moments before, on the other side of the table. Standing up he rolled over the table as Elaine skirted around the other side, separating the two. He caught the guard in his boot and kicked the saber up to his hand, gripping it in his right hand despite the sword's left-handed design. He backed up, parrying the kryss to the side before stepping in towards her and spinning out with a low slash, bringing the blade across the back of her knee and collapsing her.

As she stammered on one knee to retaliate, his boot met her back with a firm kick, and before she felt the stinging blow from her face against the wooden boards beneath the frayed carpet, the saber broke the flesh of her back. Keeping his foot on her shoulder blade, he wretched the saber sideways and withdrew it two-handed, the leather armor emitting a wet scrape as he unsheathed his sword from her body. Captain Van Raily turned his attention back to Fay, seeing Madeline struggle to stand as Fay held two smoking pistols in her hands, and he raced around the bar.

Before he could get there, however, Fay spun Lady Luck in her hand and gripped the hot barrel, the singing heat strikingly painful against her gloved palm for a brief moment, and brought the butt down across Madeline's cheek. The pistol-whip laid her low with a muffled crackle, sending her sprawling onto her stomach while at the crew's feet Van writhed and kicked as he gripped his wound on his side. With a grin, Brandon sent a kick into Madeline's gut, knowing Van had no other option but to watch and bleed.

Pius Valentine was leaning over the bodies near the entrance, squinting at them through his bottle-thick glasses and nudging them with his foot, ensuring they would not pose another threat. Fay shook her head, looking at Brandon.

"Feck sake, captain," she began, holstering the derringer under her skirt before wiping the blood off of her pistol handle. "Ye shouldn't have done that."

He was walking towards the Moonglowian as he looked over his shoulder at her. "Did what? He was warned." A playful twitch was at the corner of his mouth, and Valentine raised his brow at it. "Finally got to shoot someone."

Mister Valentine smiled and nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Certainly?"

"Well, she did. Nice moves, by the by," Brandon grinned, giving Pius a pat on the shoulder before glancing at the bodies with casual disdain. In the meantime, Van and Madeline had helped themselves up and staggered to the bar. "As for you two," he began, walking behind them as they leaned over themselves in pain. He grabbed them by the collars and yanked them from the stools. Van stumbled with his hand on his gut, and Madeline supported herself on his back.

With a firm thumbing towards the door, the captain declared: "You. are. outta' here!"

Madeline filtered out behind her husband and turned, panting, exhausted. "Rebecca will hear about this..."

"Prove it. Now sod off."

The door creaked shut, and the smell of iron and gunpowder invaded their nostrils. The room was hazy in black smoke, only beginning to filter out through the crack in the doors. Suddenly, it opened, and Brandon who was now behind the counter reached for the dragoon at his thigh. These were customers, however, not militia or thugs to start a fight. He eased up and nodded his welcome to them, gesturing for them to have a seat.

"Welcome to the Swaggers, mates. Excuse the blood and teeth, there was an accident. Now, what can I do ya' for?"

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Park Su-mi

Tuvia was in his office, boots propped up upon the desk as he sat and read the report, wry grin spreading across his lips. It was funny, really. Funny that the insecurity and insanity of an unstable buccaneer had lead so spectacularly to his own, suicidal demise. "Smith" chuckled, leafing through the pages, and recalled how it had all begun.

It had started with a bar-fight, which in turn had started like any other - with a big guy making threats. Admittedly it had finished with much it's own style, as a ninety-five pound little girl had dropped the burly pirate in almost seconds and sent him sprawling for the door with stinging pride and wounded limbs. It could have been a good time to shy away and accept his failure but, alas, the Captain would surely return.

And return he did, driven by his own lust for self-redemption he rolled up with a force of some five of his crew, as you do when hunting a little girl. Their spectacular failure in dropping the eccentric midget sent her springing in giggles about the town and as she skipped her way out of Vesper she set in motion the events that would bring about the carnage to come.

Smith grinned fondly to himself and shook his head, remembering with pride the report he'd read of Faebryn's; how promptly and how swiftly the Caste had wiped away the Blackwind's crew. He smiled again as he remembered dropping the cocky pirate, himself, in a second exchange - chasing the coward halfway round the North before drilling his back with crossbow bolts. It was almost amazing that the fool kept coming back! But a yappy little dog never learns.

Yap, yap, yap he snapped away at the heels of the organization and - perhaps - achieved a minor a victory when Rebecca drummed up the confidence to end her contract with "the Smithies." Just a shame, then, that her face and ribs became forfeit just before her money promptly followed - with not a penny lost from the Black Caste coffers. Money and violence, it was almost like the Higher Being was smiling down on Tuvia 'Smith' Tarski.

This latest report was wonderful, however.

Smith grinned and shook his head at the madness. Apparently Van Raily had utterly lost his marbles, cracked, broken into shards of shattered confidence at his repeated failures at the hands of gangs of 'Smithies.' Snarling and biting in his rage of insecurity he'd ripped into five, random Vesperian citizens and instigated some attempted, murderous bloodbath. What a moron.

Having, perhaps, created something of a an almost Smith-free haven for himself in the Swaggers' Inn he'd just gone and blown it away in a cloud of blackpowder and bloodlust. Now no-one would want him, no-one would take him in. Hunted by the Vesperian army and known the world over as a psychotic, angry little pirrate he was doomed to a life of isolation.

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