Little more than the rising gale marked Joscelyn’s entry into the port city of Nirav. A gale brought up from over the sea, carrying with it bitter, icy winds, furthered by the chill of night. The “self-titled” ranger clutched his heavy cloak to his body in a desperate attempt to ward off the cold, though it was essentially in vain; the wind was damp; it bit the skin, and it crept to the bone, seeping through cloth and flesh. Despite all logic, all common sense and reason, the very wind itself seemed to move and howl with a malicious will. It was most certainly a superstitious and irrational thought. However, it was a decidedly unpleasant and persistent one, nonetheless… one which Joscelyn was certain was not shared by him alone.

Muttering to himself not only about the terrible weather, but also about a wasted day, Joscelyn sought some refuge from the unceasing wind. His cloak flapped and flailed, tormented by the wind just as everything else was – the few people that were unfortunate enough to have been caught outside, the shutters, eaves and roofs of buildings damaged and, in some cases, torn completely asunder. Even the rest of nature was not spared the weather’s wrath; multitudes of trees were rent apart, their branches and leaves scattered to the wiles and fickle whims of the wind. Yet above all else, beyond any destruction wrought, that freezing, dreadful cold persisted, sparing nothing its grim caress.

The wanderer despised weather like this, wondering at what lapse in judgment or act of sheer stupidity had ever led him to believe coming to this city was a good idea. This city, this very area of land, felt as though it carried some ill omen… cursed, even. Naturally, however, the reasoning behind frequenting Nirav was once again reiterated by Joscelyn’s painfully insistent subconscious: the prices for his wares (furs of various animals, rare herbs and plants, anything found only in the deep forests of Calandae where few but Joscelyn and those like him dared to tread) was much better here than in other cities, Haven and Maloren included. After all, even a man like Joscelyn needed some money.

A flickering light, cast most likely from a window, caught his attention. For a brief moment Joscelyn wondered at the cause of the flicker, until he heard the rather audible sheering and tearing of the window’s shutters. The flicker ceased. He grunted, allowing himself a small measure of amusement and consolation – he was not the only one suffering under the storms malevolent and spiteful will, whether the immediate situation impressed upon his mind that very idea or not.

Furtive glances were cast at the sides of the streets seeking the inviting light of an inn or a tavern. Anywhere at all where Joscelyn could bring himself out of the storm, which baffled in its intensity. The spiteful will had now turned to hate, as veritable daggers of water – a deluge – had now been added to the mix. Though he was unaware of the fact, his late mother had been caught in a storm similar, some twenty-six years prior. The ranger, of course, never gave any thought to this – he wouldn’t even if he had ample time to do so anyway. At the moment, however, Joscelyn’s attention was given in full to the dim light filtering through a doorway. The doorway, to Joscelyn’s profound relief, was directly under the sign marking an inn. The sign, he thought, would most likely not make it through the rest of the night in its proper place.

His attention snared, along with his hope and relief, Joscelyn hurried to the door. A soft click of the door, coupled with the loud wailing of the wind, immediately followed by another click – markedly louder this time – and silence, announced the weather-beaten man’s entry. He found an empty table and sat, noting the existence of a bar as well, savored the warmer air, and allowed himself some measure of rest. A waiter would likely approach soon enough. Joscelyn found, surprisingly, that he needed a drink.

The fine wooden docks of the Silver Bastion were soaked with water, as waves came crashing against the hull of the large ship. The fury of the ocean seemed to enjoy venting its anger on the poor ship. The wind tore at the strong sails, and it seemed that the fierce winds would rip straight through, making it impossible for the ship to get anywhere. But the Bastion wasn't going to give up. Of course, the only person brave, or possibly stupid enough to sail in such weather would be Captain Sezerix, as he liked to be called.

Sezerix loved sailing, and even more so enjoyed a challenge. Of course, this thought of 'adventure' always led him into tight spots, usually dangerous ones at that. The crew of the Silver Bastion, as the ship was called, worked hard to keep the water off of the ship. Yet, none of them complained, knowing that Sezerix had picked them for his crew because he believed that they weren'y weaklings who couldn't take some work.

The Silver Bastion had already started to gain infamousy. Somehow it became labeled as a 'Pirate' ship. Sure, Sezerix had gone out of his way a few times to take some valuables from another ship, but a man needs money, right? Sezerix didn't mind it though. He could really care less of what people thought of him. He didn't have to great of a reputation to start with anyways.

Captain Sez, as his crew called him, stood at the front of the ship, his hand resting on the helm of the ship. A faint smile was formed on the corners of Sez's mouth, as the rain pelted at his face. He did not seem to mind the rough winds and the forceful rain. Sezerix was a hardened man, and could take almost any kind of beating without showing trepidation.

Finally, out on the horizon, the shining docks could be seen. It had been the place where Sezerix had been to many times before, and never lost its beauty. Port Nirav. Now that they were there, Sezerix had to think of a way to dock the Bastion without wrecking it. Sezerix spun quickly, as he called out to his crew. "Drop the anchor! We'll be arriving in Port Nirav in the matter of a few minutes at this rate." said Sezerix, as he saw two men launching the anchor off the side of the boat. Immeadiately, the chain attached to the anchor started uncoiling. The Bastion quickly approached the port.

The anchor caught the ship's pull, and the anchor began to be dragged along at the speeds of which the Bastion was traveling. Everything was going according to plan. The winds were definitely powerful, for they were still traveling at an alarming speed while the anchor was pulling at the rear of the ship. "Pull up the mast!" called out Sezerix. The crew jumped onto the wooden pillars and uncoiled the masts, as they rolled them up and tied them back in place. The ship began to slow, as Port Nirav was not even a mile away.

The ship entered the port, as Sezerix steered the ship into a large docking area. The ship came to a sudden, abrupt stop, and a large crunching noise was made. Sezerix sighed. That would cost a good amount of money to repair.

Sezerix and the crew unboarded off the ship, as a man came running towards them. Sezerix looked at him for a moment, then turned back to his crew. He fished out a small pouch from his pocket, and threw it at one of the crew members. "Find someone to repair the hull. That should cover the cost. And if any of you spend that money on anything else, it'll be your head," said Sezerix harshly. The crew members nodded, and Sezerix turned to the man that had come out to help them. "Where's the nearest inn?" asked Sezerix, in his usual rough tone.

The man flinched for a second, then spoke. "R-Right over there," he said pointing to a large building close to the port. Sezerix thanked him and walked over to the inn.

Sezerix opened the door, and walked in. His hair was soaking wet, as it fell down to his necks, dripping onto the floor. One would think that he was crazy to be out in such whether with not even a shirt or overcoat on. Sezerix walked over to the table, as he noticed a elderly man with thinning white hair covering his chin and head.

"I could use a warm towel," said Sezerix to the man. Sezerix didn't seem to be the most mannerful man, but the innkeeper nodded anyway. After a few minutes, he returned with a towel and tossed it to Sezerix wordlessly. Sezerix nodded and dried his hair and his bare upper body, and returned the towel. There wasn't much in the inn, but it was cozy. Atleast he could stay for the night while the storm passed.

Having found his respite against the storm that continued to rage outside – as it would likely continue to do for the remainder of the night – Joscelyn allowed let his eyes roam the bar. He pulled off his soaked cloak and gloves, which thankfully had received the majority of the first fall of rain.

The inn itself was comfortable, with a seemingly friendly atmosphere. Were it not for the squealing of the wind against the walls and windows, it might have even been peaceful. Few people formed the “crowd” that sat scattered among the tables and stools at the bar. A pair of men on stools at the bar conversing quietly to each other, and four others at various tables who seemed quite interested in their drinks, or at least not interested in anything else – that was all. Including Joscelyn himself, the white-haired old man behind the bar, and the one younger waiter, that made nine people in total.

As his eyes wandered, the waiter caught Joscelyn’s gaze for a brief moment. His soft footfalls broke the otherwise uninterrupted silence – with the exception of the wind, of course. Joscelyn watched the waiter’s gaze fall upon him, while he noted the features of the man: average height, slim build and face, jet-black hair and eyes to match, and the signs of some beard growth – he had probably forgotten to shave that morning. All in all, Joscelyn figured the waiter was younger than him by at least a few years. He also couldn’t help but notice the attention the waiter gave him… more accurately his elven features.

Joscelyn ordered a glass of whisky in a raspy voice, and dropped a pair of coins on the table from a pouch tucked into his wide belt. The coins barely had time to rattle and spin before they were snatched up.

At least he’s quick bringing the drink, as well… Joscelyn thought, as the waiter placed the drink on the table in quite timely fashion. Little pause was given to “savor” the drink. The brown liquid passed Joscelyn’s lips in one single gulp. A single swallow, and a slight grimace immediately followed. That dull, smoldering burn – welcome at that moment – was felt almost immediately afterward. Joscelyn hated the stuff, but at least it did the trick.

A second pair of coins, a second drink, came and went just like the first.

Receiving his third drink, just as the waiter began moving away, the clack of the opening door, and the furious assault of the wind preceded yet another patron into the inn. Naturally, along with all the other heads in attendance, Joscelyn’s turned to view the newcomer. He immediately began gauging the soaked and dripping man, as the bare-chested individual made his way to the bar and ordered a towel.

Silently, the ranger wondered just what it was that would ever convince a man to brave the weather this night devoid of any upper-body clothing. Even someone familiar with the wilds found it to be more than a little foolhardy. The armoring that covered the man’s left arm caught Joscelyn’s attention. Combined with the tattoo, and numerous scars, the man gave the impression of a soldier. A mercenary, perhaps?

Little attention was placed elsewhere for the immediate moment, which included the drink in hand. It was neglected temporarily while Joscelyn studied the man; he also noted that everyone else studied the man, most more openly than him, and most much more suspiciously than him.

Perhaps they were more familiar with the man. Or perhaps it was the reputation the man carried, that Joscelyn was quite unaware of.

The room seemed to shift as a whole as Sezerix turned to see the small number of people occupying the inn. All eyes were on him, as most people stopped at mid-drink. The unusual silence was...awkward to say the least. But by now, Sezerix was used to it. Countless times had he walked into a place only to be greated with a room filled with either fear, anxiousness, or sheer curiosity.

Sezerix only took a few steps before a brave man swiftly approached him. He wore a long, loose black shirt, and a pair of oversized blue pants that were ripped into many places. A black hat sat on top of his head, and a bit of dark brown hair poked through. Swiftly, he kneeled down on the ground, and looked up at Sezerix. Sezerix cocked an eyebrow.

"S-Sir! A-Are you Captain Sezerix Valhalus? I-I've heard so many things about you! You h-have done many outrageous deeds! You must be v-very powerf-"

"Stop talking..." and that was it. The man instantly snapped his mouth shut. Sezerix looked at him for another moment, then continued walking on. Sezerix could feel the tension rising in the room. Some people even started to silently unsheath some of their smaller weapons, as Sezerix could see. Of course, they probably thought he couldn't tell, but Sezerix was trained to notice these types of things.

He stopped in the center of the inn, and let out a slight sigh. "Sheath your weapons," said Sezerix in a calm manner. "If I was here to kill someone, they would have already been dead by now." Some of the tension lifted, but many still had there weapons unsheathed.

Sezerix saw a table in the corner of the inn. He'd just take a drink and head up to his room. As he walked towards the spotted table, he walked past a young man who seemed to have slightly pointed ears and a more shapely face than most. Elven features. Sezerix stopped. He pulled out a seat from the table at which the young man was sittingand looked at him for a long moment.

"You were born around here, weren't you?" asked Sezerix in his rough voice. He didn't seem much of a warrior, or else he would probably be boasting a larger body frame.

[OOC: Had to end the uber long posts somewhere :P]

Joscelyn watched the exchange between the newest arrival to the inn and the somewhat “sailor-esque” individual. The kneeling of the man facing the newcomer was wholly unexpected.

Joscelyn’s eyes widened slightly in an expression of surprise, a rarity that occurred very seldom. The expression disappeared within the following heartbeat, but he was left wondering precisely who this man was, and exactly why or how he warranted such a display of respect and deference… near-reverence, almost. In the silence, however, Joscelyn’s elven ears caught the name of the standing man: Sezerix Valhalus.

Valhalus…?

Joscelyn’s consciousness swam through the waters of his memory, searching for that one little piece of information that related. He dimly recalled a story he had heard years before, about an exiled-slayer. Given the rarity of the occurrence, it was a story – believed to be a rumor, of course – that managed to reach an exile of most civilized aspects, such as the “elven” ranger.

He continued to let his mind mull over the fact, letting his eyes continue to take in the scene. He laughed to himself as the snapping of the downed man’s jaw made a surprisingly audible click throughout the room. Sure, it wasn’t the nicest of moments to find amusement, but all in all, what else did a man on his knees deserve?

Tension rose in the room, though Joscelyn held himself outside of it. There was little sense in engaging in some idiotic brawl in the bottom floor of an inn. Besides, even if Joscelyn were the type to get caught up in a “bar-fight,” he likely wouldn’t have done so this evening anyway; he was tired from traveling, and he dared not risk being thrown out in the street to the mercy of the storm. Weapons were on the verge of being drawn. Like Sezerix, Joscelyn was more than perceptive enough to notice.

Tensions faded, however, as Sezerix diffused the situation. To Joscelyn’s relief; he wanted to finish his drink, and then sleep soundly… not risk being maimed or killed in here. Joscelyn tipped his glass to his lips, and downed another small swallow…

-- "You were born around here, weren't you?" --

The directness of the question caught Joscelyn slightly unaware; he didn’t expect to engage in conversation tonight. His eyes met those of Sezerix’ own, without anything to betray his slight startle, or even any other noticeable emotion for that matter.

“Born and bred in Calandae,” Joscelyn grunted in reply. It was of course the elven features, he surmised. After all, who but a Calandayan would possess the pointed ears – among other traits?

Sezerix nodded, and turned around and motioned for the waiter to come to him. The waiter swiftly walked over to him. "I'll take a bottle of Blue Rum. Put it on his tab," said Sezerix, pointing to the man who was kneeling before him just moments ago. Many of the people in the inn were still cautious, and some were still staring at him. Sezerix had left his broadsword in his ship, and he wished he brought it with him just incase, since magic would just be wasted on the people here.

In just a few minutes, the waiter came back with a rounded bottle of Blue Rum. Sezerix brought it up to his face, and twirled the blue liquid inside the bottle. He popped the cork out, and brought the glass bottle to his mouth and cool blue liquid flowed into his mouth. Sezerix took a long drink, then put the bottle back on the table with a small clink. A fourth of the bottle had already been drained.

"As you've probably heard, I'm Sezerix," said Sezerix. "Though I didn't get your name," he said, while taking a smaller gulp of rum this time.

Suddenly, Sezerix felt cold steel against his neck, and an arm grabbing his arm. "So yer the infamous Captain Sezerix Valhalus, are ye?" said a strange man from behind him. "Well, if ye know what be good fer ye, ye better give up yer ship to us, or it's bye-bye time fer ye!" said the same man in a snake-like voice. Sezerix didn't even seem to budge. It was almost as if he was accustomed to this

"And why do you want my ship?" asked Sezerix in a surprisingly calm voice.

The man twitched for a second behind him. "The Silver Bastion is supposed to be the strongest ship ever made by humans! Now, lemme hear ye say it!" said the man. Sezerix sighed. It had to be the day where all he wanted was a drink and some sleep. But it couldn't be helped.

Sezerix merely tapped on the blade at his neck, and it the whole blade simply decomposed into a metallic ash. It was extremely easy to decompose an element with magic. In a swift motion, Sezerix reached behind and grabbed the man's neck behind him, tossing him straight in front of him into the wall. Sezerix stood up and turned, seeing the man who was talking to him. He dropped his weapon and bolted towards the door, slamming it shut behind him.

"So...does anyone else have something to say while I'm still standing?" asked Sezerix. The people in the inn quickly turned back to their matters, carefully avoiding eye contact with Sezerix. Once again, Sezerix took a seat.

"Hard to find some peace now-a-days," said Sezerix to the very Elven man. "So...what was your name again?"

As Sezerix ordered himself a drink – an entire bottle, no less – Joscelyn took the opportunity to finish the remainder of his own. Under normal circumstances, he might have ordered another; tonight, however, there was a tension and anxiety present, which did not sit soundly with the ranger. The inn now possessed the potential for bloodshed. It had, Joscelyn speculated, from the moment that one Sezerix Valhalus entered the building.

The waiter returned, Sezerix indulged himself in his own drink, and he proceeded to inquire about Joscelyn’s name, to which he immediately replied with silence – albeit, silence not intended as rudeness, but rather to ponder the nature of the barely fledgling conversation. Granted, Joscelyn’s elven features attracted attention from time to time. But barely was that ever more than sidelong glances, or perhaps the occasional blatant stare. His rugged, somewhat unkempt air was more often than not a conversation turn off.

His eyes downcast, Joscelyn failed to see the approach of the dagger-wielding man. Barely more than a slight alteration in the “mood” of the atmosphere raised Joscelyn’s eyes. He was, to say the least, grudgingly impressed with the would-be murder’s aptitude for stealth.

The exchange between Sezerix and the man continued, the end result with the man in departure, and Sezerix returning to his seat. What truly caught Joscelyn’s attention throughout the little incident was the way in which the departed individual’s blade had crumbled at the briefest of touch from the Ex-Slayer (though of course that fact being little more than a vaguely remembered rumor to Joscelyn).

Again, the Sezerix turned his attention back to the ranger, and again inquired about his name. This time, however, distraction free, Joscelyn was able to respond, said: “Joscelyn Gedamos…” in a soft tone.

The curiosity caused by the crumbling weapon would not be ignored, of course. The very witness of such an act compelled Joscelyn to question. “Neat trick you did there with the blade…” Though the words themselves carried no implication of a question – merely a fact stated, the questioning look reflected in Joscelyn’s eyes sure did.

Jescelyn Gedamos. Sezerix had never heard of the man before, yet for some reason, he felt as if they had met before. Sezerix let the thought go, for it bore no importance at all. Only then did Sezerix hear Jescelyn comment on the magic he had performed at breaking the blade into dust. Sure, it didn't sound at all questioning, but the look on his face easily told that he wanted to know.

Sezerix took a long drink from his rum bottle again, and placed it back down on the table. "Magic..." said Sezerix in a whisper, smirking. Whether Sezerix meant it in the childish way or in the actual term, was up to Jescelyn to decide.

Suddenly, the inn door opened once again, as a very ratty looking man walked in. He was skinny, and had very thin, wirey brown hair. He quickly walked to Sezerix. "Sir, repairs on the Silver Bastion have been completed. What would you like us to do now?" asked the pirate, obviously one of Sezerix's crew members. "Do whatever you want, but guard the Bastion. Seems people want to be stealing my ship," said Sezerix. The pirate quickly nodded and trodded off. The wind was steal unleashing its fury on the poor port. A few ships would probably be crushed by the time the storm was over.

[OOC: Short, I know. Sorry 'bout that.]

-- "Magic..." --

Joscelyn couldn't help but grunt gutturally. That as much was relatively obvious, after all. What force of nature could literally disintegrate solid steel into dust? Joscelyn normally maintained a calm exterior almost by no more than a subconscious relfex. Yet it required actual effort on his part to maintain the same serene expression -- to keep from bursting out laughing, even.

The earlier confrontation naturally led Joscelyn to assume that Sezerix himself was in the possession of a sea-faring ship. If the man was willing to threaten the life of Sezerix for it, it likely must exist. The sailor (pirate) who entered and spoke to Sezerix merely confirmed the existence of this "Bastion."

So this man's a pirate, huh? Joscelyn thought to himself. He supposed that would more than explain the animosity, which the patrons in the inn regarded the man with. The thought again stirred the ranger's thoughts, and he once again searched his memory for some mention of this man. It was, however, a rather fruitless search.

Joscleyn risked a gamble, said: “So, it seems those rumors of your former affiliation with the Slayers is true…” The voice came out flat, in a somewhat clipped matter-of-fact tone. Joscelyn himself didn’t know for sure, but one way or another he would be sure to discern whether or not the “ex-slayer” rumors were true.

The ranger, his face displaying none of hsi mind's inner workings, contemplated more on the man's apparent magic. Such questions arose: just how did he come by such an ability; what's the extent of it; what exactly can he do? It left Joscelyn understandably perplexed and hesitant; he was left in the dark concerning the near-total majority of both this man, Sezerix, as well as his abilities. Joscelyn didn't like it.

At the mention of his exile, Sezerix's face instantly hardened. There were many people who had heard of a slayer's exile many years ago, but hardly anyone ever matched his name with the incidence. It was probably one thing Sezerix did not like to show off. He didn't want people to know, though if they did, it was fine as long as they didn't make a big deal out of it.

"Now where'd you hear that?" asked Sezerix, talking in a softer voice than before. He was intrigued as to how this became a rumor in the first place, and why it was being spread around. It didn't bother him too much, but simple curiosity got the best of him.

Sezerix looked out the window for a moment, faintly seeing the mast of the Silver Bastion in the hazed horizon. He brought his attention back to Jescelyn. This man seemed to know a lot. It made Sezerix wonder why he was alone when he obviously inheritted a large portion of Elven blood, judging by his appearance.

Sezerix's fingers lightly drummed rhythmically against the stained oak table. His other hand when to his bottle of rum, as he easily took it down, finishing the bottle. Sezerix raised it up and twirled the empty bottle around, as the waiter immeadiately came towards him, taking the bottle and knowing that Sezerix wanted another. One thing was for sure: Sezerix had a pretty good tolerance for alcohol.

Joscelyn waited until the waiter had finished bringing Sezerix his second bottle. Joscelyn didn’t acknowledge the questioning glance of the waiter. He ignored him completely; he didn’t want another. Instead, the glass sat empty on the table, spun lazily by his restless fingers. It took a moment for Joscelyn to even notice the apparent activity of his hand; it stopped immediately.

It must be the alcohol… yea, the alcohol. But why was he restless – anxious?

Was it this man, this “Sezerix Valhalus?” ...No. No, it wasn’t. The elven-blooded ranger would not worry about any single man in particular – not enough to cause border-line anxiety.

It was the disintegration of the blade that Joscelyn witnessed that had him bothered. It was the man’s magic.

“Rumors, so to speak.” Joscelyn replied calmly. At least his voice did not betray his agitation. That was good. He still held the man’s gaze in a direct stare. How much should he tell him? How honest should he be? The man could obviously already tell Joscelyn possessed a relatively strong elven descent; anyone with working eyes and the level of intelligence possessed by an illiterate monkey could do so. Yet how widespread did elven blood reach in Calandae? Even Joscelyn didn’t even know. He could, in fact, only place strong elven heritage to the nobles and royalty – save the rare exceptions, like Joscelyn’s own father.

Joscelyn was grateful, however, that since his self-exile, he had adopted his father’s surname, an unknown name (or so he surmised).

He hated situations like this – social adeptness was not his forte. Indecisiveness plagued him on what exactly to say, and specifically how to say it. Joscelyn especially despised the way the individuals in the inn had turned to gawk.

Nosey bastards…

He could not keep stalling; he just hoped that some of the language and social education he received in Haven was still ingrained into him.

Softly, said: “I heard a rumor once, in Haven, about nine or ten years ago – roughly – about a slayer that had been recently exiled… though the cause of which was naturally not known.” Joscelyn paused, slightly. “It of course caught my curiosity, and I looked into the matter further in cities such as Maloren as well as here, Nirav. Suffice to say, I found little else but the base of the rumor I had heard in Haven.” It was more effort into a reply than Joscelyn had done so in years...

He left the rest unsaid; he didn’t need (want) to elaborate further on the time in Haven – that it was just after his mother had died, and that it was during his final departure that the rumor had been the “talk of the court” at the time. Joscelyn had found it stupid, of course, though the part about tickling his curiosity had been true enough...

Sezerix eyed Joscelyn for a moment. Damn! He knew he shouldn't have used magic in public. Whenever he did, he always ended up in some sort of suspicion. "Hmm...interesting enough. So I was formerly a Slayer," said Sezerix in a low tone. He did not want to arise any other suspicions or unwanted attention.

As the second bottle of Blue Rum was placed on the table, Sezerix tipped the fluid into his mouth. Placing the bottle back on the table, he looked at Joscelyn. "Tell me. What do you do for a livin'?" asked Sezerix, returning back to his original rough voice. The other occupants of the inn returned to their drinks and conversations as the secretive talk between Sezerix and Joscelyn came to an end.

Sezerix noticed some men leave the inn, mumbling something to themselves. Sezerix paid no attention though; it didn't concern him. Still, this rumor slightly concerned him. He wondered if people were still talking about it, or if they had just dismissed it as a 'fake' rumor. Either way, Sezerix would have to find out, one way or another.

So it must be true…

Sezerix' former affiliation with the Slayers was the most logical explanation for the magic that he obviously possessed. Although, the ever-present possibility that said "exiled" rumour was indeed false, and that this man was a genuine, acting Slayer, still existed. In the short space of the entire conversation, this Sezerix had accumulated far too many "what-ifs" and vague mysteries for Joscelyn's comfort.

In roughly the space of a heartbeat, a multitude of thoughts flickered to life in Joscelyn's mind:

Is he really an ex-Slayer? Despite a tentative sense of surety, there existed a nagging measure of doubt and misgivings…

If he is an ex-Slayer, what was the origin of his exile? It couldn't have been a self-banishment… could it? …No. As little as Joscelyn himself knew about the Slayers, his intuition and common sense told him that an organization that revolved around mystical energies would not likely let its members just wander away and leave; he had to have been cast out… but why?

Just what is the extent of his abilities? The question of potency arose in his mind – what else could he do besides erode and disintegrate metal? Could he have done the same with human flesh?

A sudden nagging compulsion occurred: the desire to learn more about these “Slayers.” It was almost akin to Sezerix’ desire to learn more about the rumour concerning himself. Different directions, albeit similar courses of action.

These thoughts were still present, though were pushed to the back of Joscelyn’s mind with Sezerix’ question: “Tell me. What do you do for a livin’?” Joscelyn eyed him guardedly. It was not that he was intending in any way to be rude, it was just that small talk – idle conversation – was not something that he was good at; and it was seldom something he enjoyed.

Despite that, however, he answered in a soft-spoken voice: “A hunter… a trapper even, you might say.” Joscelyn had a feeling that the conversation was coming to a close. Barring the indulgence of information into each other’s lives, little else by way of civil dialogue could likely be shared. After all, Joscelyn was not one whose life and personality was readily on the tip of his tongue; Sezerix did not strike him as truly different, either. Well, that was to say Joscelyn "hoped" the man was not one for pointless conversation...

So the man was a hunter. That basically meant he was a wanderer, much like Sezerix himself. There was no point of carrying the conversation on any longer, for he was sure neither of them were about to spit out their life stories to complete strangers. Somehow though, this man seemed to be more fitting to the type of people Sezerix liked associating with. Sure, a bit quite and non social, but it was fine.

"Well..." said Sezerix, and he lightly slapped his hand on to the wooden table, and got up. His chair pushed back, as Sezerix turned to exit. "I'm sure we'll meet again somewhere," said Sezerix, as he started to leave. He first stopped at the innkeeper's table.

Sezerix flipped a coin over to the innkeeper. "I was never here, got that?" said Sezerix in a convincing tone. The innkeeper nodded, and started at Sezerix as he exitted out the door.

It was still quite chilly outside, but the wind had died down and the rain wasn't as harsh. Seemed like the storm would completely pass over in a day or two. Sezerix walked towards the docks, seeing the Bastion gleaming in the rain. The hull had been fixed up, and it was ready to go.

[OOC: EXTREMELY short, but I had nothing to say. SOrry.]

“Well, I’m sure we’ll meet again somewhere,” said Sezerix immediately after standing up from the table. Clearly, he was intent on leaving… presumably back to his ship. The conversation seemed to have exhausted itself – at least as far as both pirate and ranger were willing to tread into the matter.

Joscelyn was content to let Sezerix leave quietly. After all, Joscelyn felt that what the man had said would likely prove to be true. Despite the apathy towards Sezerix’ departure, Joscelyn could not help but smile inwardly at his exchange with the Innkeeper. One single coin would not quiet the Innkeeper, Joscelyn was sure, nor would it do anything for the other eyes and ears that were present. All Sezerix had done was waste his money.

Ah well, who am I to care… Joscelyn thought, the sarcastic humor was overwhelming, even in his own thoughts.

With Sezerix gone, there was little else to keep Joscelyn preoccupied; it was about time that he got a good night’s rest. Gathering his belongings – his gloves, cloak, and travel bag – he made his way to the Innkeeper and dropped a few coins on the table for a room. It was just about the last of the little money that Joscelyn had; he would need to make some more fairly soon.

The Innkeeper directed him up a single flight of stairs – second door on the right. The stairs creaked under his feet with each passing step, and it was only climbing those stairs that he realized just how tired he was. His eyes felt heavy and his vision was hazy – almost blurred. He supposed it was the fatigue (manageable fatigue) he had experienced when he entered the city coupled with the alcohol consumed. Either way, Joscelyn was glad when he shut his room’s door behind him, and let his eyes come to rest upon a made bed.

Locking the door, he grudgingly stripped his clothing from him – the pieces that would be most uncomfortable to sleep in: the vest and tunic, and the boots. The mattress was hard as Joscelyn laid himself down. Though it was considerably softer than sleeping on the ground, which he was substantially more used to after all these years.

Not much thought passed through Joscelyn’s mind during his last few waking moments. And the ones that did barely registered as half-coherent, if even that. The slightly abated wind and rain continued to wail and drum outside, almost lulling Joscelyn to sleep. In just a few more minutes, he had passed soundly into sleep, a deep sleep, which would last until morning. Then he would merely continue on about his business. Come morning, Joscelyn would be thankful for the chance to sleep in a real bed.