Thieves' & Assassin's Guild Hideout

[Guest]

(OOC: Pop pop goes the sound of forum's RP cherry, which goes POP.)

The folks were rather relaxed in this hidden haven, drinking to their merry fill with not a care in the world, in these dark and damp tunnels spruced up with the rare paint of red and a couple of other lanterns. The air was thick and damp with humidity, among many other gases that intermingle with the vapor of smoke swirling in the air, as everyone is a fond smoker. Already polluting a series of tunnels filled with noxious fumes. Many lesser people in the hideout seated in the many assortment of tables spread around the wider carved space of circle coughed wildly. Whereas the others with a smoker's lung were able to fathom such air, with some notable figures around seated in the general area. In the corner was the Air Captain, Livus. Drinking one ale after another without paying his tabs, much to the chagrin of the hostess. Many alcohol were untouched on his table, despite ordering in such excess, which so forth fuels her irritation of the wily man.

He found himself in this place out of his search for his damn tobacco pipe some bastard took. He came across here as he should know, and he has been in search of him ever since, this place bore the symbol of the organization he worked for. Apathetically eyeing everyone with his cyclops optic, seeing many colorful characters, such as a dwarf, some hairy man, Scarlett the assassin, and what have you. Yep, the perfect place to lay low, as there are way too many people around here most likely wanted as criminals of sorts. So... one question itched Livus's brain. How the Hell did he come here? That came as a mystery to him, seems a bit cliché something big may happen in a quasi-tavern hideout popular with the shadier characters.

"Reminds me of the times I was over at Haven." He says to himself, taking a swig off his mug o' ale with relative impunity.

[Rodrigo Salazar]

Rainwater that had fallen outside was gathered into a single place, dripping along the stony ground of the Yataris mineshafts, a hive of darkness and chilled air to contrast the burning sun that usually hung in the air. However, today the sun had been obscured by rainclouds, and a singular individual unwittingly left drops of water that fell from the rim of his huge red hat as he hobbled forward. Every step was an evident struggle, with a huge 'clop' sound ringing through the caverns at every touch the ground got of the wooden peg leg of one of the most infamous and feared pirates in all the Southern Seas; Captain Rodrigo Salazar de Golpejera. His face, however, was one of bitterness. His title was now Ex-Captain Rodrigo Salazar de Golpejera, ever since the accident. His journey on the seas had been long and punishing, the crawl to the nearest settlement also. However, he knew that he only had to start again; he had done it all before, he could do it again. And there was only one way to start it, thought Rodrigo. With warm beer in your belly.

So his laborious footsteps guided him to the vague directions given by a passer-by. Anywhere one could go and get so much beer for so little coin? The Yataris Mine Shafts, the answer was, with its million of seedy bars in the black caves. Perfect, thought Rodrigo. So he marched for a tiny door that was now ahead of him, a scarlet paint coating it, a small knob and a smaller peephole as its only features. Rodrigo's hand clasped the handle and very violently forced the door open. The tavern rang with the huge clap as the tall man stood by the doorway. The noise screeched to a halt, though started again a moment later as everyone turned back. Rodrigo's emerald gaze shot from corner to corner as he hobbled in, his peg-leg slamming against the ground louder than every other sound as he got to the bar. His eyes pierced the hostess, the type of brassy, round and dirty woman so typically found in these places.

"Narr me lady, ya wouldn't 'ave summa tha' fine Yataris beer I've 'eard so much about." He said, his volume somewhere between a bark and a shout even though he was speaking in his personal usual tone. The hostess bitterly looked at him.

"I don't understand you." She briefly said. Rodrigo's lip curled slightly as he snarled.

"Beer. Drenk. Ar want sum. Comprende?" He said in a voice not unlike a hound's in its garbled roughness. The hostess looked to him with an annoyed glare.

"Can you pay?" She asked. Rodrigo didn't answer for a second, until the hostess stopped still, hearing a sword slowly draw an inch out of Rodrigo's scabbard with a foul hiss. The pirate wore a hideous smirk on his face, sitting under the moustache that curled with every motion of his mouth, a smugness running through his voice unlike anything she had ever heard, but it wasn't a boast or even a threat. His face seemed to convince her that whatever threat he was going to suggest, he could provide it.

"Ar'll pay ya by breaking stuff, 'ow's about that? Or you rather I don't pay?"

"... don't pay." She hissed lowly. Rodrigo smiled, letting her go on her way as he put the Southern Dragon back and sitting down on the nearest seat to him. The table was already occupied by a one-eyed man, but Rodrigo did not concern himself with who was already there, but the beers that he had amassed. His fingers clapped around the handle of one of the flagons as he nodded to him.

"Ya not using this one, arrrrr ya now?" He asked, before curling his neck back and downing the entire pint in one mouthful.

[Guest]

To Livus, such barks were a hush to him, such talks of the Rodrigo de something went by unheeded when he dabbled and trifled with the stone fisted hostess, which by the way, Livus admired her... assets. Though there was far too much chatter in the background to actually pay heed to one scoundrel's boisterous display of intimidation. Or was it a fuzzy show of affection? Livus could never tell the difference between those two, usually he is intimidatingly affectionate. BAH. He is not that sober to make sense of things yet. Taking another chug of one of the unfinished ale on the table, yet he was too far from the count of actually finishing his drinks. Goodness, had he drunken all of them, he would have fallen unconscious from getting too drunk off his ass. But then again, who the Hell gets drunk off of ale? He needs them rum.

Then he felt an itch, inclining such irritation with a scratch to his crotch before using same said hand to scratch his chin in empty thoughts. Staring out into the teeming masses of crowds, at the stupid looking assassins, the fancyhat swashbuckler sitting in front of him, the thieves that pickpocket even in this den of scoundrels, as well as mercenaries that are paying off the prostitu-- wait a minute. Where did mustachio with the fancy hat come in and why hasn't he noticed him sitting down. Shaking his head, the mumbles and gargles that were usually blurred out by ignoring has come to make sense...

Reading what he actually says from his lips, he lethargically shook his head. Before his eyes widened, realizing the greatest and worst folly the man had indulged in. An expression of shock settles into his face. Superstitious fear had gotten towards the disgraced man, as his lore of what earns bad luck and terrible curses comes to mind.

"Rebelspit! Drinking from an Air Captain's ale is years of bad luck! Bloody misfortune would be fall you with a hex of deadly barbies taking you down the jolly!" He picks up the first ale he has in front of him, still filled and full with the beverage, and flicks the contents over to his right, setting the empty ale mug down on his wooden table. "Good grief mate, I saved you a hardship that would otherwise had driven ya to ruins."

The crowd would soon hush. As a giant brute of a man rises out from his seat, drenched in ale, with the nastiest scowl he can muster. His predatory eyes swinging left to right, looking for the culprit in soiling his good raiment with booze.

"Which one o' ye knobknockers ruined mah good piece 'ere?! I will count to three, and if none o' ye come out clean, I will clobber yer teef out." The giant demanded, stretching three fingers out, yet Livus seems to be ignoring the man, waving over his face as he was rife with superstition, "Three... two... one..."

Everyone looks at Livus and Rodrigo's table, the hostess hides behind a counter, saving their skins as the stupid giant got the hint. Pacing his way over there as he seats himself on the chair, his hands reach out for the ale as he chugs it down in one gulp greedily, finishing the load at an alarming rate. Looking at the both of them with a grin barely containing his burning malice, "Now wat do I see 'ere? A pansy hat rug face, and an unwashed n' smelly one eye. *Points to giant stain on his clothing* See dis 'ere? You both will be paying for it, AND for mah ale. If ye have a complaint, den take it to mah complaining department, which be my FISTS."

[Rodrigo Salazar]

Rodrigo watched in bemusement as the cycloptic man's singular eye filled with horror. "Rebelspit! Drinking from an Air Captain's ale is years of bad luck! Bloody misfortune would be fall you with a hex of deadly barbies taking you down the jolly!" He shouted, though Rodrigo merely shrugged.

"If ya b'lieve in horseshite, then maybe." He wryly commented; even as a pirate he had no time for superstition, only facts. And he knew for a fact that he was going to get drink tonight. He watched with curiosity as the man before him took an entire pint and flung it over his shoulder.

"Good grief mate, I saved you a hardship that would otherwise had driven ya to ruins."

"Ah appreciate t'a thought." Rodrigo sarcastically drawled, his greedy hand already reaching for another flagon until he heard the silence overtake the room once more.

"Which one o' ye knobknockers ruined mah good piece 'ere?! I will count to three, and if none o' ye come out clean, I will clobber yer teef out! Three... two... one..." Rodrigo's gaze pinpointed the source of the voice; a beer soaked giant, who stood with a great suppressed rage. As the giant also glanced to him, he began to march towards the table, the patrons of the tavern all shakily shifting as to get behind cover. He reached forward and grabbed himself a flagon and finishing it it a singular gulp, before slamming it down to get the attention of the seated men. "Now wat do I see 'ere? A pansy hat rug face, and an unwashed n' smelly one eye." He pointed to his stained shirt. "See dis 'ere? You both will be paying for it, AND for mah ale. If ye have a complaint, den take it to mah complaining department, which be my FISTS."

Rodrigo didn't answer for a moment, simply looking back at the man in a bemused daze. He then began to drink another pint, purposefully ignoring the large man, before Rodrigo very slowly and deliberately drew his sword, a loud hiss echoing throughout the tavern. Rodrigo brought the blade to his fingernails and began to clean them. The Southern Dragon gleamed harshly in the light, causing an array of colours to dance around the darkened bar.

[Guest]

The cyclops took a sip of his ale, brandishing with his free hand the grip of his semi-automatic Gracewalker. Hovering over it menacingly, and subtly too. Whilst keeping his cool as to grab another of that mug o' ale to take a swig of it, along the man whom vaguely seems familiar, especially that sword, some lore is behind it. As if his reputation preceded him, though it were hazy at first, no thanks to the devil's drink. Except there was a problem. Why was his drink spilled? And why was he drinking an invisible flagon which oddly has no taste? And now he looks at it with one eye... that kind of solves everything. Yep.

"BLOODY IN DEPTH PERCEPTION!" He cursed in his brain, scowling. Right, after all these years with one eye, he STILL has to set his mind at it and judge distances himself, body and instincts can be a tad bit too unreliable when he seems to be lacking an extra optic at hand.

The giant was mad pissed at this point, if he could raise his temperature as much as how angry he was, he would be steaming the booze off him, as well as the newly spilled one on his lap no thanks to Livus. Gritting his teeth at Rodrigo's impudence, and Livus's incontinence. His fist hammered the table, splitting it in half angled towards him and pouring the booze all down on him this time. Drenching him in the stinging scent of alcohol. Livus gave a glance at Rodrigo which was but a wondering of his intent, and back to the infuriated brute gorilla.

"You two pissers are SO DEAD." The giant stood up, towering over the two with eight feet of pure muscle mass and fat wedged there. Flipping the halved tables at the two with a hand each, hulking about as he swung his arms in a mad rage with mountainous force behind each. Livus threw himself off his own stool, ducking underneath the killer arm with his famed pistol drawn out, rolling away from the giant to his right until his back was nicely presenting itself for his iron sight, his body facing up with some bit of dust on his nice black jacket. Closing his eye behind the eyepatch out of instinct if anything for a good aimed shot.

[Rodrigo Salazar]

Rodrigo remained quietly calm as the scene got more and more dangerous for him; the bumbling cyclops opposite him repeatedly drenched the brute in even more beer, but Rodrigo knew that he had survived far worse than whatever this man had to throw at him. Even splitting the table clean in two seemed to end with the man getting drenched in beer. "You two pissers are SO DEAD." He bellowed, and Rodrigo looked to the cyclops.

"If it's any consolation, Ah'm rrrrouting for ya." He remarked, then his head turned. One of the clumsily swung fists was aimed straight for him. Rodrigo immediately slid forwards, his head ducking past the fist and his peg leg crashing into the brute's foot, giving an audiable 'crack' that echoed across the tavern. He pushed out, his chair sliding him back; now he had space and time to stand up, hoping that the cyclops would keep the brute occupied. The Southern Dragon was dragged along the ground slowly, the odd spark flying off it as it shaved the cobblestone floor, a singular line left in its wake as Rodrigo rose the blade and readied it in his right hand. "Ah wouldn't be playin' rrrrough with me if Ah wa' you."

[Guest]

Impressively, the peg leg compressed the giant's foot hard enough to warrant a crack of his largest toe. The giant roared in pain, sending the patrons knowing of this fight that happened out. Swarming until only the Eternity Dogs remained, the giant's mercenary cohorts. Snarling as they drew blades and autoguns alike, training it at the two. The brute regained his stature, shaking his head, one with a new hole straight from his leftmost lobe, a sketch of gore, shattered skull and a lack of visible brain matter. The gun with the smoking barrel quickly aims at the other Eternity Dogs, with the wielder, Livus, getting off his back as further gunshots ensue, destroying large fragments of the table and whatever cover the Eternity Dog mercenaries procured with the revelation the abhuman was shot in the head.

"BLASTED COCKMONGER, EAT LEAD." The Captain barks in a loss of patience, although taken by some surprise of the giant's great resilience in that spur of a glance he took of the abhuman. The enemy still stood tall, back and all towards the cyclops, looking sternly with enraged bloodshot eyes and a face dyed with blood at the biclops Captain Rodrigo.

The giant rubbed his exposed scalp, feeling the blood as he started snickering, laughing hard in a burst with anger in it. Unleashing his own sword from a huge scabbard of human leather, held a hand more akin to a slab of steel than a sword. A cleaver-like instrument, brought to bear at the speaking red hat pirate. Gravitating to such a speaker threatening him. His other arm clumsily reached for the other cleaver, lacking his left arm's dexterity, unveiling a second one. The ground shook from the dropped cleaver, he couldn't bear to hold that one, but he founded no problem in using only one.

"HAH, ye pissers didn't fink ye can kill me by shooting m'brains out, did ye? M'brains ain't inside m'craineyawm, they'z be inside m'chest, ye sniveling dog are SO DEAD." The giant named Helgar clenched his fist, waving for the rest of the boys with a symbol well known to them that even in the dust filling battle ensuing between them and the cyclops, they had the time to understand. Some of them least injured (those with limbs attached, or whatever bodily appendages given the high caliber bullets shot at them) were sent running into one doorway behind them. Not the sort of exit near the pair unwittingly taking part in a battle, one unreachable unless one wants loads of bullets in them. The giant swings his cleaver with deadly speed deceptive for his size with the cleavers several times, easily bifurcating the stools cleanly with vertical slashes he came across, all would be aimed at Rodrigo whilst the other mercenaries are kept at bay by the other pirate.

[Rodrigo Salazar]

Rodrigo smirked as the panic spread across the small tavern, the patrons blindly rushing towards the door and barging past each other to escape the ensuing and inevitable carnage. Only a small collection of the patrons remained now, all of them being subordinates to the brute who now drew their own weapons, a collection of swords and firearms. Rodrigo's left leg tapped the bar behind him, and he looked back. The hostess was cowering behind the wood, crouched down. He grinned.

"Where be thar drink Ah asked for, wench?" Rodrigo asked, then he turned back; the cyclops was firing upon the gang with his gun, leaving Rodrigo and the thug to fight each other. The southern pirate's pegleg remained pointed towards the gigantic man, his attention still on the hostess who began to pour beer into a flagon with shaky hands. Rodrigo's opponent began to laugh with a hint of malice, drawing two large cleavers but dropping one. He raised the one he still held, the blade gleaming, ready for blood. The tip teased the Southern Dragon.

"HAH, ye pissers didn't fink ye can kill me by shooting m'brains out, did ye? M'brains ain't inside m'craineyawm, they'z be inside m'chest, ye sniveling dog are SO DEAD."

"Rrrrrrrrrrrreally? Ah thought you just didn't 'ave a brain." Rodrigo remarked, grabbing the flagon that he was served with a lazy confidence. His reply was met with a barrage of strikes from the cleaver. Every single piece of effort that could possibly come from a man was directed into each swing of the cleaver. Rodrigo yawned widely, each of his motions easily parrying the various swings with little effort as he took a long swig of his beer, letting the alcohol run down his throat. Not even moving, the pirate simply waited until, for a split second, an opening was made, and like a charging horse he struck for Helgar's armpit, slicing skin as his blade eased past. Then he pulled it back and struck for the left knee, all in the blink of an eye. His sword swished and stabbed at the speed of light, striking for the unprotected joints of Helgar. Blood was drawn from every seam made as the Southern Dragon cut through flesh and bone, peppering the brute with cuts, until Helgar saw the chance to strike once again. He rose his arm and prepared an almighty strike, but Rodrigo swung his whole boy back, his cutlass drawn across his body, deflecting and pinning Helgar as he fell from the lurch forward to strike the shrinking target. His gaze was drawn to the fellow pirate.

"Cap'n suspicious! Catch!" He bellowed, before throwing Helgar into the path of Livus's gun. "Shoot forrrrr 'is chest, bring tha' fat bastard down!" He then slouched lazily back and took another sip of his beer. "Hmmm... Ah could get used to a beerrrrrrrrrr such as this." He mumbled to himself

[Guest]

The giant's fire of confidence dimmed down for every hits he was assured to cleave the pint sized feather head in half, was rather parried instead by a toothpick like blade in the eyes of the beholder that be the brute. Groaning lethargically in pain, bemoaning the wounds inflicted unto he, his skin turning red with rage, with sprinkles of blood thrown across, slices all across his body, tearing through his skin, making nicely angled cuts through his body. Blood flowed down like a calm and tranquil waterfall, especially from the armpit and his knees. Shocked that this frail and puny 'normie' human managed to use his own momentum against him, sending him towards Livus's way as the giant hovered over the smaller cyclops.

"Cap'n suspicious! Catch!"

"Hrm?"

The one eyed man glanced at the bearded man's way with a raised eyebrow, his guns were clicking as he pulled the trigger madly, the rest of them mercenary lot were in cover, too many well shot bullets from a half-drunk man got them suppressed. He was out of bullets though, and that moment of peace (and by peace, as in bullets that aren't whizzing past the either of them) would be short lived.

"Shoot forrrrr 'is chest, bring tha' fat bastard down!"

"REBELSPIT!" The cyclops gasped, taking two large steps in an evasion to see a giant thrown past him, crashing at those mercenary chaps as the door starts opening up with more of them bursting through, reinforcements hailed from earlier by one that happened by outside. A LOT MORE of the Eternal Dogs with lots and lots of guns. Livus glanced at the other Sky Pirate and says, "Screw this all to bloody Hell, I'mma Hella outta here."

With that, the Captain Livus divorced himself from the mercenaries, as they brought their arms to bear at him. He sprints the other way, at the opposing open door at the end facing the initial "reinforcement" doorway that didn't bustle with mercenaries pouring to shoot the pair down with a hail of bullets. Sprinting through the tunnel and away outside the makeshift guild hideout/tavern/whatever-the-Hell-function place. Soon, a hail of bullets unleash at the pair. The optically disabled's premature tactical "advance in a different" direction tactic helped with not having bullets riddling him with enough holes to make him into Sabrian cheese. The unlucky waitress was riddled with bullets, they were firing madly all over the tavern, as the occupants were separated into two sides literally.

[Rodrigo Salazar]

Sadly, Rodrigo's forte is not speed. He only just saw the cycloptic captain run away as Helgar pulled himself out of the doorway, letting the rest of the Eternal Dogs burst into the tavern and open fire with every single bullet in all their guns. The sea captain didn't have time to dodge; he was lazily hanging on the bar, and even if he was prepared his peg-leg just made him too small. However, his wits did some work for him; his sword immediately struck the nearest table which he used to yank himself out of the way of the gunfire. He pulled himself across the floor, his eyes drifting to the hostess behind the bar as she was peppered with bullets, and he decided that he didn't want to end up the same way. He then saw the door Livus had escaped through, and began to scramble along the ground, before noticing the silence. He stopped still as a metal blade teased the back of his neck.

"I'm gonna enjoy this..." Helgar said. "I really am." Rodrigo didn't laugh, though the corners of his mouth began to curl.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, boy." Helgar nearly spat in rage as Rodrigo rolled onto his back, a huge grin plastered onto his face as he looked up and the Southern Dragon's hilt in his left hand. Helgar raised his cleaver into the air.

"OH THAT DOES IT! I'VE HAD IT WITH YOU!" He barked, ready to drop the great weapon.

CLASH! SHWWWWING! CRACK!

The giant had to stop for a second to register what had happened. One moment, he had Rodrigo right under his heel, and had plunged his cleaver to slice the feather hatted man in two. Now he was on one knee, only half of the cleaver still in his hand, the other half embedded into where his right eye used to be and poking out the other end of his head, and a singular, great slice from his groin to his chest, looking as if he was about to fall apart. He then remembered what had happened; in a singular, hard slice, Rodrigo's sword that cut through the cleaver that was about to kill him, and he caught part of the shattered blade, ramming it into Helgar's face by hand. Next came the sword to the groin, but it didn't merely cut through but literally sliced him open, as if he was a bit of cheese; any further and he would've split in half, his organs and gore spilling onto the floor without relent. Finally, a singular boot to the knee that dropped him to the floor. Rodrigo stood up calmly, not a drop of blood visible thanks to the colour of his coat as he easily brushed a kidney off his shoulder. The Eternal Dogs were horrified as he smirked to Helgar.

"Sorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry, but that fight earlier? Ah wasn't using my good hand! HA!" Rodrigo laughed loudly, stepping backwards. He looked to the other Eternal Dogs who all were struck dumb and still. "Any of you landlubbers follow me, you get the worrrrrrrst of it!" He shouted, before forcing his way out of the door. Helgar didn't move for seconds that seemed to be years, stunned by the agony that rushed through him and coughing up from blood, before looking back to his men slowly.

"WHAT ARE YOU LOT WAITING FOR?! KILL THEM!!!"

Rodrigo was oblivious, walking up to Livus at a slow pace and a huge grin stuck to his face. "Arrrrrrrr, ya big baby!" He brushed his own lapel. "That's how a real pirate fights, not ya and ya pithy fleeing! That'd get a man flogged on the Golpejera," he boasted, completely oblivious to the Eternal Dogs bursting out of the door some twenty feet behind him, aiming their guns to the two.

[Guest]

One clicks sounded off with a fresh magazine loaded with new bullets, fingers were inserted into the trigger socket, spinning the mechanical instruments of death as if they were toys. It was enough a moment, a good sum of time to prepare. Aye, and Livus was in his Sunday's best. Then again, he always wears the same attire. Blowing out a humid vapor of a breath from his mouth, fogging up his front, his sprint down to a slow stroll, ears peeled of moist sounds made vivid by feet pressing down on the soil, he turns with his gun pointed at the floppy hat guy with the peg leg. Raising an eyebrow to see that he had company and guests. With an easily adjusted aim, he fixes his pistols, the both of them, past the peg leg guy, square at those mercenary dipshits.

"Arrrrrrrr, ya bi--"

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

A chorus of lead sung to the dance of doom, muting that talkative floppy hat's proclamation of whatever he was talking about, exploding out of the barrel bullets whizzing past Rodrigo and towards the mercenary marks, blowing flesh and whatever sinews that held them into diced fragments, spraying that narrow doorway into a threshold of life's very expiration, dying earthy brown with crimson. Trigger fingers pulled at a lightning frequency, inducing a machine-gun like hail storm of lead at the pursuers, accuracy astonishingly accurate as it reduced whatever leftover hordes of these men to a paltry sum of a few injured men with blown up limbs, those bullets blew past them in a neat line of dominos, save the fact said dominos involved ignoring obstacles and just blowing through them. The rest had huge holes blown into their bodies, leaving behind the weak and the aghast survivors too traumatized by what appears to be cannon fire, only to see that were in fact two pistols that has done all that. The muzzle smoked, bringing the both to his lips, he blew out them out, before holstering them each into his... holsters around his belt.

"I am dreadfully sorry, but I couldn't hear you yammering over MY BLOODY KILLCOUNT." He says, turning around and proclaiming them filth with a simple walk away from the area towards his originally intended "tactical advance opposite direction from enemies" path, going along his pace as he curses under his breath in a foreign tongue, wishing for a smoke from his favorite tobacco pipe, "Hrm..." He was thinking, where the Hell is the next pub anyways? Ah well, he thought along those lines, he remembered a couple of Yatarian ones anyways should be surface side, just this one was one of the more... cheaper ones. DAMNIT, he has to buy new bullets now, best mug a rich bloke or two for that anyways.

[Rodrigo Salazar]

Rodrigo's expression as a nonchalent one as hell erupted around him. Lead bullets slashed the air beside him, creating great whistles as they moved past him and into the bodies of the Eternal Dogs. Red blood splashed onto Rodrigo's back, the stains hidden by his overcoat. Livus' shots were precise to perfection, though Rodrigo wasn't showing any reaction, simply out of a force of habit. He kept walking over to the one-eyed pirate, ignoring the dying screams and moans behind him as Livus finally stopped shooting.

"I am dreadfully sorry, but I couldn't hear you yammering over MY BLOODY KILLCOUNT." He indignantly shouted, before turning away to think. Rodrigo kept hobbling forward, his peg-leg causing a loud boom to echo across the cavernous mineshaft with every step. His eyes danced upwards, looking upward. The cavern was a great spiral leading up to a gaping crater that to them seemed to be a mere pinprick, as if a sky made of rocks had been pierced. This effect was achieved only through the devastating size of the shaft, duantingly empty, wet and black, with only the white ray of light accompanied by the rain. Rodrigo bit his lip. He couldn't find his way around this, not to another cheap tavern. However, the cyclops seemed to know where he was going, so Rodrigo did the first thing that came to mind; he gently used the Southern Dragon to knock Livus' wallet from out of his pocket, who was hopefully distracted by his thoughts to notice.

"Well!" He shouted, heartily slapping Livus in the back and nearly knocking him over. "Ah need a good place to find some cheap rrrrrrrrrrrrrrum, and you need me to educate you in how a real sea-dog pirate works." Rodrigo illustrated his point by holding up Livus' wallet and handing it back to him. "Ah mean, yurrrr good, I'll grant ya that... bu' ya not on my level. So, do you accept my proposition, me hearty?"

[Guest]

Like the angel of death, he finished off most of his opponents when his whims wanted him to. His handicap was not much to get in the way of his gunslinging sharpshooting skills that would one say, match up to a certain Cyclops of the North's prowess. Eerily similar are the guns with a reputation too for being powerful shots. Fitting the whole description. And it wasn't like the Cyclops didn't notice the Southern Dragon either. He fully recognized him... amused by the fact the both of them are now shipless Captain. One belonging to the chaotic airs where no rules apply, and the other at the sea where rules do apply, with conduct and what have you needed. Air pirates were a whole lot of different breed than sea pirates. Actually it baffled him those relics of the past still existed, given superior advantage air ships have over sea ships, but then again, leave it to the man he actually recognized as THE Rodrigo, to have made it so far in his career as a sea captain.

The wallet was gone from his pocket, the air pirate wasn't quite indulgent to actually bother noticing his pocket swung a big load out, something a regular person would bother with, but not he, the wallet would be found to be empty of money. The only presence one would count barely fitting the role of currency is a half-starved crazed moth that was imprisoned into the folds of his wallet. If opened, it would fly away in desperation, screaming out, "FREEDOM!" That is if it could scream out.

"Well!" He felt a smack on his back!!! Staggering over a couple of foot steps ahead as he regained his balance, "Ah need a good place to find some cheap rrrrrrrrrrrrrrum, and you need me to educate you in how a real sea-dog pirate works." He turns around, his lungs were braced for talking, but instead, all he did was receive something it looks like he "dropped", taking his wallet, eyebrow raised and all. This marks the ninetieth time someone took his wallet. He'd begin to wonder why he bothers taking it at this point, if all that is in his money holder are a couple of pictures, mementos, and an oxygen deprived moth. "Ah mean, yurrrr good, I'll grant ya that... bu' ya not on my level. So, do you accept my proposition, me hearty?"

"HAH! It's I who has to teach you about air pirating and gunning, Dragon of the South." He says, finally giving recognition. That sword of his was far too unique to merely dismiss as an interesting looking trinket, pirates would hear tales about it, and he was famous back in his days either ways, a Southern counterpart to the Northern Cyclops, "I'll kindly decline that offer, after all, it is hard for you to teach someone far above your level of course. I don't fancy the idea of having to lower myself to a sea captain, we're two different breeds mate, but the only proposition I'll settle for, is... you paying for my booze. You owe me quite a few drinks, probably three, until that tub of meat interrupted us. I know another cheap tavern somewhere loaded with the finest wenches and oldest devil's finery money can buy, diseases and fun times await those who dare." He says, turning about and marching his way ahead in the path, as he exits these catacombs to ascend up to the surface... to behold the myriad of buildings that compose a Yatarian city. Turning around to gesture for the sea captain along.

[Rodrigo Salazar]

"HAH! It's I who has to teach you about air pirating and gunning, Dragon of the South." The other pirate remarked to Rodrigo, who was quite literally stunned still by the statement. Him. Having to be taught. He didn't move or react for a second, and the pirate continued speaking. "I'll kindly decline that offer; after all, it is hard for you to teach someone far above your level of course. I don't fancy the idea of having to lower myself to a sea captain, we're two different breeds mate, but the only proposition I'll settle for, is... you paying for my booze. You owe me quite a few drinks, probably three, until that tub of meat interrupted us. I know another cheap tavern somewhere loaded with the finest wenches and oldest devil's finery money can buy, diseases and fun times await those who dare." With these words, he began to walk towards the exits of the catacombs, but Rodrigo was yet to move, a huge grin curling underneath his moustache.

"Pffffffffffffft BAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA!" He hollered, laughter booming from his gut. He didn't even know there were people who knew his name and still considered him below them. And, to make things better, he was an air pirate, a profession Rodrigo considered the easy way out of sailing, like climbing a tree with a rope. For all that the air pirates tauted the difficulties of the winds, there was always an easier way out. If you wanted to avoid rain you simply flew above the clouds. If you wanted favourable winds, you simply descend or ascend to your preference. And even then, you only had the air to contend with. Rodrigo was a man of the sea, a cruel and hatefilled mistress from which no escape was possible, and the winds threw everything they had to aid it. He had fought air pirates before anyway; Port Victory was primarily a seaport, but they knew airships well, and many a time did they hope Rodrigo would not look to the skies. All of them were sunk with a few cannons and consumate ease. And this air pirate thought he was above Rodrigo. Rodrigo didn't stop laughing until he noticed that Livus was leaving ahead of him, and he hobbled after him.

"HA! Airrrrrrrrrrrrr pirates! Yarr a funny lot!" He shouted, catching up. Ah'll grrrrrrant that werrrr different breeds, like how horses arrrrrrr different breeds. Say, in this example, yarrrrrrr an Avelan horse; flashy, expensive, stupid and useless, and Ah happen to be a Savannah breed; harder, wilder and better in everyway. Besides, I don't pay for things anyway, so yarr don't have to worry about buying yarrrrrr drinks. He partially unsheathed his blade, the Southern Dragon, and tapped the metal of it, gesturing that he was just going to pull the same stunt as at the previous tavern. Suddenly, he found himself at a rock he couldn't raise his pegleg to ascend over. "S'cuse me, Avelan horrrse," Rodrigo said. His arm very suddenly clamped around Livus's shoulders, his hand making an audiable 'slam' before he threw himself up onto the rock with a slow strength that could've brought an ox to its knees. Rodrigo was tougher than he looked. Standing on the rock, he offered his hand to Livus to help him up. "Keep making me laugh like tha' and when Ah find a new ship to called the Golpejera, Ah'll see if yarr got a place; get some real sailing in your blood and keep a laugh in mah throat."

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