Deaths' Row

Chapter I - The Beginning

The evening was a cold, rainy one. A grim silence filled the air of the village as the townspeople traversed up and down its roads, muttering politely to one another as they passed their neighbors by. Among the crowd was a tall man seated on a dark horse, whose hooves clopped loudly on the cobblestone as he made his way down the street. He took a right turn and entered a bar by the name "Cloak and Stagger ," his steel gray eyes gazing up and down the medieval tavern. Hopping off his mount, he tied his horse to one of the posts supporting the wall.

He took a seat at the bar. "I'll have a Firebrand Wine," he requested to the bartender, who quickly got to work at the concoction.

"A fine choice indeed," replied the bartender, a barrel-chested man with a chest-length beard, "though I prefer a nice ale to quench the thirst."

A few silent moments passed. The man watched the bartender create the first of many drinks he'd be downing that night with great intent, his ears tuning out the lively song and chatter that filled the warmly-lit tavern. Next to him was a muscular man with shoulder-length blonde hair, a worn brown cloak draped over his armor. His blue eyes glanced over at his new neighbor, who accepted his wine and began to take a long swig.

"Fine night, isn't it?" said the blonde, breaking the awkward silence between them whilst the stranger took a sip of his newly served wine. After a moment of hesitation, he added, "The name's Rolaf."

"...I'm Genevar," the taller man grunted after he finished half of his drink.

Rolaf furrowed his brow. "Odd name for someone around these parts," he remarked, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, just passing through," Genevar replied, a grim look shrouding his eyes, "I'm heading towards Temporal on Guard business."

"I don't care much for the larger cities like Temporal...I prefer the quiet country towns, like this one. Its nice and peaceful, and everyone gets along." A content smile spread across Rolaf's face.

"That's all nice and well for you, but I've got a job to do." Genevar took one last drink from his wine and sighed, tossing a few gold coins onto the counter and beginning to slowly walk away.

"Hey!" Rolaf shouted after him, "You're not gonna finish your drink?"

"Take it..." Just then, Genevar was stopped by a young teenage boy. He growled under his breath as he glared down at the boy, who simply glared right back.

"Stop right there," spat the boy, his icy blue eyes glinting angrily in the light of the bar.

"What's the meaning of this?" Genevar asked, an annoyed look on his face, "Out of my way!"

"You're not going anywhere," the boy calmly replied, "I need you... And that man over there."

"Eh? What about me?" asked Rolaf, who was leaning back in his chair and watching the event in confusion, "What could a tiny boy like you need with someone like me? 'Cause if your looking for a mercenary, I'm not the man to ask."

The boy closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not looking to hire a mercenary, I'm looking for a team. A team to rival all others. And you two seem like the right people."

"Sorry, but I've got a job to do. Besides, you haven't even told us your name!" Genevar argued.

"I'm Lucious Farendite Grimm, and your leader. Most call me Lucifix though," said the boy with a wry smile.

"Well, Lucifix, get out of my way!" Genevar growled, pushing the boy aside. Right at that moment, a tankard flew across the room and hit Genevar in the back with a dull thunk. He froze upon the impact, whipping around to see who had thrown the thing at him.

"How about you pick on someone your own size?!" Rolaf shouted angrily, and a slight smirk flashed across Genevar's face. He was familiar with situations like this, drunkards picking fights with him and not knowing what they were dealing with.

"Well..." Genevar replied, casting off his cloak, revealing a set of gleaming steel armor, "If it's a fight you want, a fight you shall recieve." Then, as he expected, Rolaf lunged at him, and Genevar sidestepped with ease as the northerner crashed into a table, breaking several glasses in the process. "Is that the best you've got?" Genevar taunted, raising his arms to his sides in a challenging manner.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet...!" Rolaf growled, climbing back to his feet. Quicker than any normal man could, he then threw a sucker punch that hit the taller man square in the stomach, knocking him to the floor. Almost immediately, Genevar got up and laughed. "Laugh this off, you idiot!" Rolaf thundered, picking up a wine bottle and throwing it at Genevar like a dart.

But, surprisingly enough, Genevar caught it. Just as it was about to collide with his face, he snagged it out of midair and murmured, barely audible above the excited crowd that was now surrounding them, "So, it's going to be that way, is it?" As easily as if he was picking up a quill, he then unsheathed his sword at held it out in front of him. "En garde!" he challenged.

"All right then..." Rolaf replied, loosing his own blade from its sheath, "May the best man win!"

As though they were answering a call, they flew at each other, their blades became whirling harbingers of doom. The crowd of tavern guests roared in entertainment, some cheering for either side and others even placing bets on who would win. The two men battled it out, sword clashing against sword in a flurry of metal. Just when it seemed to be a stalemate, Genevar suddenly gained the upper hand, tripping Rolaf and taking his feet from under him.

"So it ends," Genevar sneered, but just as he brought his sword down for a final blow, his blade hit another with a sharp 'clang!'

Genevar cursed in shock, glancing up to see who had blocked his attack. To his surprise, it was Lucifix, wielding a giant scythe.

"There's always a time for fighting," he snarled, "but now isn't a good one!"

"Let me be, boy!" the Guard Captain spat, shoving his sword so that it broke free from the scythe's entanglement. Just then, a young woman with long black hair angrily strode into the tavern, her eyes glaring holes through the three brawlers.

"Kid!" she shouted in pure fury, "What in the name of the gods is going on here?!"

"W-Well..." Lucifix shot back, an airborne chair narrowly missing him, "I tried to persuade these two men, and they, er...declined."

Quick as greased lightning, the bar tender began to holler at the top of his lungs, "Out! Out! I will not have anyone trash my bar this way! Out, all of you!"