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| - I ambled across the waterfront in Bloodstone, busying myself by taking in the rough appearance of the region. It was still somewhat foreign to me, although since I had returned from my ten long years the Spire Albion itself seemed like a visual language I didn't speak anymore. The only familiarities of my life now were Theresa, Garth, Hammer, and of course, Marten, my dog. Now, here I was, here to claim the third Hero, the Hero of Skill. Only, he was a pompous ass that had required me to play a game of becoming popular. I paid the bard on the corner several times to sing of my adventures, and he did a good job, I'll admit. Although, when you were the one tramping through forests and different regions slaughtering bandits and creatures left and right, the happiness and lightheartedness of the song just seemed... Wrong. I didn't respond to Theresa, or make any attempts to raise my renown. I was exhausted. But there was nowhere to go, and I had to stay. The sooner I was able to persuade Reaver off of his high horse and to come with me, the sooner I could defeat Lucien for killing Rose. Rose... I felt that same, numb tingling feeling consume me as it did every time I thought of my older sister, whom I missed very, very much. I still remembered our days on the streets together, fending for ourselves, almost starving... "You, stranger!" My reverie shattered, the glass of my memories falling and revealing reality, the present. I turned to see a grubby looking male. His beard and mustache, that once appeared to be white, were filthy, and an old, dirty hat hid the top of his head. "Are ye uh newcomer to Bloodstone?" I nodded, not bothering to speak, clarify who I was. It was easier and much more productive to let others do the talking. "Aye... I felt as though I should warn ye 'bout uh rumor." When I didn't respond, my vacant expression urged him on. "There is tell of uh witch from the Black City walkin' the streets." Black City? I had never even heard of the place. "Maybe she ain't uh witch, maybe she's really uh warlock man. They ain't from here. Ye'll know uh person from the Black City when ye are 'bout to be'is victim." I made motion to thank the man for the warning, but he cut me off. "Aye- be careful 'round here, lad. Bloodstone ain't like it used t'be." After that, he left, leaving me wanting to know more, and beyond puzzled. I almost wondered if he wasn't bribed into telling me a lie by some other drunk so they could make fun of me. That made me wince. Days of being called Chicken Chaser wafted back into mind. At least, the humiliation did. My thoughts wrapped themselves around the man's words, his warning, really. Could he have been giving me a real warning, or a phony one as I first assumed? 'Only one way to find out, I suppose... Stay in Bloodstone.' It occurred to me that I never made it off of the waterfront. Instead of proceeding, I decided to visit the local tavern that lay just a stone throw away from the waterfront. The decadent building made my stomach lurch at first glance, but it was a place where I could get food. As I approached the doorway, Marten laid down by the door. Pausing briefly, I squatted down and rubbed the top of his head, and then straightened. While making my way inside and sitting down at a table near the corner, I caught a glimpse of a barmaid. At least, I thought I had. After being in the Spire for so long, I think I had become delusional, seeing things that weren't there. But in Bloodstone, being so close to such a place as Wraithmarsh, I had begun to figure I needed to be ready for weird things at all times. Such weird places I had been lately... I craved to have a place I could call home. A peaceful place, one where I could be relaxed, not always on guard or alert. Then the idea of a family crossed my mind. I wasn't big on kids. They were either scared of me or sickly fanatic over me. And I myself either couldn't console them to understand I was not evil or I couldn't get them to leave me alone and grew tired of them almost immediately. No easy in-between. But, a wife alone? The idea was tempting. But every girl in Albion was the same. Or they were lesbian. That had been my first attempt at a flirt... "... Sir?" My head snapped up and over to the voice, feeling foolish. My eyes widened a little. I hadn't imagined her. She was real, and now I was really looking at her. Average height, ivory skinned, crow black hair that was ridiculously long, and the strangest stormy, ocean black-blue eyes I had ever seen. She was out of place in this disgusting world. Her petite figure swam in the barmaid clothes she wore, the cloth belt tied as tight as possible to hold it up. "Ah..." I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, finally making a sound. "I was daydreaming. Excuse me." She chuckled quietly, but not that sheepish little giggle that basically every girl possessed. This one seemed more mild, like a strange herb with a calm spicy flavor. 'What am I going on about up there?' My mind argued with itself. "Well, at least your honest. Around here, it's hard to come by." I could have stared. Besides myself and Reaver, she was the first being to actually speak correctly to me. Nothing involving the slang of ye or the word to lacking its O and being attached to another word... It was pleasant, yet odd. I had just thought of the warning, but she broke my train of thought. "What could I get for you? Food, drink?" I nodded, but she didn't give me that expectant look everyone else had. "We have fish, fish, and more fish. We've got beer, some sour wine, salt water with and without the salt, and we have some pies fresh from yesterday. What would you like?" This girl had me speechless. I was looking at whom I hoped to be a friend. Someone, besides Marten, of course. "I'll have the choice of fish you think is the most anti-life-threatening to eat, some water, and a slice of apple pie, if you've got it." She tossed me a grin over her shoulder, and that settled it. She was a good person. And when she brought my food back, I intended to ask her what her name was. She brought my food to me with not grace, but skill. I don't know if it was just how good she was a worker, or if she really had some insanely natural balance. I tried to imagine her agility and failed. "What's your name?" Before I could ask it, she asked. "Sparrow." She seemed to take an interest in my name. It was rather odd for a man to be named after a bird. "I know. I know. Sparrow seems a little... Strange for man." She looked like she may say something, but the thin smile stopped it from being said. "And your name?" "Phoebe." She replied simply. It was an uncommon name around these parts. It was certainly a different name from the few broads' I had picked up when I was... Gallivanting, you could say. Sure, I wasn't serious about women, but I was a man. Had certain... Urges, every so often. I then asked myself why I was thinking about this. "You seem to think an awful lot," She noted, and for the third or fourth time that day I snapped back to reality. I opened my mouth to apologize, and she cut me off, with barely the slightest motion of her hand. "No, go on. It's refreshing to see a man using his brain around here." I nearly laughed aloud, but I cut it short when someone ran in, breaking the casual chatter with a shriek- "Aye! Ol' man Wayne's been murdered!" Chatter turned to silence, and the silence broke into panics and rage. Within seconds people had piled out of the building and ran after the man that claimed 'Wayne' had been killed. I usually would have been the first out the door, but alas, this time I was a little preoccupied. "Who's Wayne?" I muttered, and Phoebe cast a sideways glance at the door. She seemed distant. "You know him?" She didn't answer me, and instead she moved towards the door herself in a cool step, and the pause and glance to me at the doorway silently invited me along. I arose, my weaponry clanking together on my back. Before I chased after her, I noticed something with absolute astonishment. She was already out of sight.
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