He thought back to those days, long ago. Those days where he had been aboard the mighty "Madman's Mercy" and seen the elegant shape of the "Jailer's Glory" on the horizon. He'd been a young man then, a fighter. He'd served his Captain through thick and thin. Been one of those... things. He shivered at the thought of his previous life. Not many can say they had been a part of the crew who had changed. Most had died or killed themselves after the ordeal. But not he...
The light danced in his eyes for a moment more.
I am one of those that remain. I, Hannibal "Demonbreaker" Manhire, was one of the few.
Looking about his hovel at the inn, he sat down comfortably in his chair by the fire. There on the wall was the Lustrian Map. In the drawer by his bedside, there sat his pistol, given to him by the mighty Chackja. Looking at his mantel he saw the last artifact of the proud "Doc" Crawford. It had taken months to recover in the dense jungle, but he had eventually found it. The cleaver was stained in the blood of... who wanted to know. The runes of warding etched into it was only just visible, after so much sharpening. Manhire thought back to the first encounter he had ever had with "Doc", all those years ago....
....The sun shone brightly on the wharf as Manhire moved through the bustling crowds of men, dwarf, and so many others. He kept his hand near the butt of his favorite pistol as he moved along, his eyes peered for those that were hunting him. Stealing from the Acropolis of Luccini is usually a way to get yourself killed in Tilea. They hadn't found him yet, and his was determined to get himself on to one of the ships bound for... well anywhere, before they found him.
In all of his years as a man of Luccini, he had never once been to the farthest reaches of the wharfs. Today was the day he would break that. As he strutted towards the shadier parts of the wharf, the patrons of the various inns and taverns started to change from the fat merchants and busty serving girls to... something far more sinister. There was a group of shifty eyed scoundrels flipping knives and throwing back tankards of Araby fire-wine. A tavern by the name of the Broken Keel came into view, and just as Manhire walked past, a hulking ogre burst through the door, launching a rather drunk Eastern man out and over the wharf. Manhire could hear the brute grumbling something about his mother as he walked back into the tavern.
Things continued to get stranger as he walked along the length of the docks. Hobgoblin raiders for hire there, a bunch of silent and brooding Elves in cloaks here, and one towering creature in a cloak with a huge staff seeming to float past Manhire there. When it passed, Manhire stopped for a moment in shock at the sudden chill he felt as the hooded figure passed him. He spun to look at it, but found that not a soul stood there. Hannibal moved to go, but bumped into something very solid and looked up to see his path blocked by a rather imposing man bearing the crest of the Royal Guard of Luccini.
Shit.
By order of the blah blah blah BLAM
The sergeant looked startled for a second at Manhire, then at the smoking pistol in his hand, then at the gapping hole in his chest where the blunderbuss pistol had borrowed through him. The docks grew quiet for just a split second, broken only by the loud thud of the guard falling over on the wooden planking, and then all hell broke loose.
The Hobgoblins let their wolves loose on the thieves; the Elves launched themselves towards the Broken Keel as a group of Ogre Maneaters threw open the doors, large clubs in hand. The hooded figure appeared again, only this time he was escorting a gorgeous woman. Manhire was struck by her beauty and only came out of his trance with the help of a shout from the remaining Royal Guard.
Double shit.
Manhire sprinted through the melee, running from the clanking forms of the guard in their plate armor. There were flashes of color, fur, steel, blood, magic, and all sorts of terrible and dark things. Then the world started to spin with a loud thud.
Gods damn you! Would you get the hell out of my way you incompetent and idiotic.... who the HELL are you?! Manhire felt himself being dragged up by his hair, and felt cold steel press against his throat. You best be answering me before I slit your pretty, cultured throat. Manhire opened his eyes, but immediately wished he hadn't. Aside from the cleaver pressed up against his throat, the view was disgusting. There stood above him a man with teeth so bad, clothes so rank, and putrid cigar hanging loose from his mouth, and a crooked top hat - a man that was obviously in no mood to hear any excuses. I said, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?! His breath was worse than he looked.
Before Manhire could say anything the guard had them surrounded. Manhire looked over, only to be struck again by the pale beauty of the mysterious woman. Lucrezzia Belladonna, the disgusting man spat. The woman merely smiled. There was a glint to her smile, like something was fundamentally... wrong. The way she smiled was wrong. Charon? Will you please dispose of Mr. Crawford and his thieving friend please? The hooded figure rose up to its full height, blocking out the sun over the pair of them. A clawed hand emerged from the folds of the robe, and Manhire shook as he felt the heat draining out of him. The blackness was all consuming, except for a single pinprick of light: the smoldering end of Crawford's cigar. A deep chuckle rolled out of the man. Not today bitch. In a blinding flash of purple light, Crawford extended his hand and launched a stream of purple fire at the creature known as Charon. An earth-shattering keening erupted from the creature as it flew back, and Lucrezzia spat a curse as she threw herself out of the way of the engulfing fires. Run you prick! Run! And so, Manhire ran.....
... It was getting late in the day. Manhire stood up from his place by the fire, his bones cracking as he did. He cast one more look at the cleaver situated on the mantel, smiling wryly, and spat in the fire. Bastard didn't hardly know or care who I was, but he saved me when only a moment before he'd tried to kill me. An enemy of my enemy I suppose.....
With that, Hannibal Manhire walked out of the room, quietly humming.
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me......
