Eliot

Eliot walked through the gates and stopped, savoring the smell of freedom. Stretching out in front of him was the small town of Barm'th. He scratched at his eye patch and mentally made a note to get one that wasn't so itchy. Drawing his scarf higher up to protect his nose from dust and adjusting the twin blades on his back, he walked into the town. He was very ordinary; the only reason why people noticed him was because he had an eye patch, a completely bandaged left arm, and the big twin swords on his back.

He had a big, ground eating stride and wove his way through the crowd like they weren't there. His face, or what the townspeople could see, had a scar running down under his eye patch. He was tall, but slender in a muscular way, and the only good piece of clothing he seemed to have were his boots, which were of high quality leather. And only very observant people noticed that his eyes were sweeping over the crowd, like he was searching for something.

Eliot was walking when someone stumbled into his arms. He looked down, and saw a boy trying to yank off his moneybag, which was securely threaded into his vest. He reached down, lifted the boy off the ground, and set him behind him. He handed the boy a coin from his bag, then walked off, ignoring the boy's astonished look. And the look wasn't too surprising, as Eliot had given him a gold coin, which was enough to buy bread for a week.

Eliot finally reached his destination, a lone inn that happened to be the only inn in the town. He pushed through the doors to be greeted by a pretty serving girl, who smiled at him and said, "Can I help you, sir?"

He said, "I'd like a room for one."

She smiled again. "We are completely vacant. Choose any room."

He nodded, then handed her 3 silvers, enough for 3 days. Then he trudged upstairs and shut himself in the room.

Eliot took off his swords and set them down on the bed. He pulled off his coat and began unwinding the dirty bandages on his left arm. He winced when he saw the designs that were carved into his arm. Even though it had been nearly a decade since that day, it still bothered him to look at his arm. He redressed his arm in clean bandages and donned his cloak. Then he picked up his swords and murmured something. Two seals appeared in the air in front of him, and he pushed the swords through them, the swords disappearing as they touched their seals. Then he called two more seals and reached his hands in. He pulled out two short daggers, easily hid under his cloak. He called up one more seal and pulled out a wrist sheath, concealing a small stiletto blade inside his sleeve. He secured the daggers onto his belt and slid the wrist sheath over his hand.

He walked back out of the room and exited the inn, waving at the serving girl, who giggled.

The only notable feature of the small town of Barm'th was the mercenary outpost set up at the south district of town. Two licenses could be obtained there. One was a license to become a mercenary, which gave the owner the ability to accept mercenary jobs. The second was for a freelance bounty hunter, allowing the owner to freely travel throughout the world, including the dangerous breeding grounds scattered throughout the land. Eliot was aiming for the freelancing license. He pushed open the doors of the outpost and strolled in.

The main doors opened up to a bar. The tables were occupied by huge men and voluptuous women. Most men could be either a freelancer or a mercenary, but most women tended to be a mercenary, as they hunted down human targets, and their assets made it easier to take them down. Not to say that women weren't freelancers. Some rare freelancing jobs had humans for targets, and the pay was better, along with better reputations.

Eliot walked past scowling men ,who thought that he was a joke because he was smaller and had no weapons that were visible. The women thought he was cute and blew him kisses as he walked to the bartender. He pulled out a stool and sat on it, then called the bartender over.

The bartender, who was a big, hulking man with scars all over, leaned on the countertop in front of Eliot. He smirked and lit a cigar. "Whaddya want, scrawny?"

Eliot said, "I'd like to get a freelancing license, please."

The bartender laughed. "Yeah right, scrawny. You ain't got what it takes." He gestured at the men in the bar. "Now these men here, they have proven themselves, and they ain't soft."

Eliot merely smirked and said, "Wanna bet?"

The men oohed and laughed harshly at Eliot.

The bartender gave Eliot a folded piece of paper. "Do what it says on the paper, and I'll consider giving you a license."

Eliot unfolded the piece of paper. It said, take out every person in this bar.

Eliot started laughing. "Damn!"

The men tensed, wondering why he was laughing.

Eliot jumped up onto the counter. He yelled, "I have to take you all out. Prepare yourselves!" He spun around and kicked the bartender in the head so hard that he flew backwards into the wall. Eliot unsheathed his daggers and adopted a fighting stance. "Lets get this party started!"

The men yanked their weapons out and immediately charged Eliot, roaring in challenge. The women hung back, waiting for the men to finish.

Eliot sprang into the mass of men. Immediately, cries of pain started ringing out. The fight was on.

Rosalie

Rosalie walked out of the south district. She had finally received directions to the mercenary outpost. She could finally get a license!

She walked up to the heavy wooden door. Faint cries could be heard through the door. Rosalie heaved open the doors to find a full scale fight in process. Huge men were picking themselves off the floor and throwing themselves back into the fray, but there were even more bodies piled around the room.

At the center of all the fighting was a slender man in a coat and an eye patch. He was holding twin daggers, but he was only using the flat of the blade and the hilt to strike his opponents. As she watched, the last man fell to the floor and failed to get up.

Rosalie ran at the man and kicked him up. He flew up and made a crater in the ceiling. In a bemused voice, still stuck to the ceiling, he said, "And who might you be, little lady?"

Rosalie (five feet two and a half inches with high heels) yelled, "Shut up!" and kicked a chair up into his face. His arms a blur, he chopped up the chair into small pieces before it hit his face. He pulled himself out of the ceiling and dropped lithely to the floor.

"Why was everyone attacking you just now?" Rosalie was tensed, ready to move at the slightest sign.

The man sheathed his daggers and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I attacked them."

"Why?"

"Because that's what I need to do for my license." The man jumped up and backwards and perched on the only remaining stool. He pulled a flask from the inside of his coat and took a long draught of the contents. "And who are you, missy, who attacked me without even knowing my name? Eliot, if you must know."

"I attacked you because you attacked everyone here. And my name is Rosalie, you bastard."

Eliot hopped off the stool and pulled a plastic card off of the bartender's unconscious body. "I got my license now, so I'm leaving." He started walking towards the door.\

Rosalie rushed forward. "You aren't leaving yet, bastard!" She rushed forward and drew the sword on her back. She lunged and stabbed at him.

He made no attempt to escape and the sword stabbed through his back up to the hilt.

Rosalie gasped. She thought he would dodge it. Blood started to drip and in the silence, it seemed loud.

Eliot coughed and said, "Bitch, don't you know that hurts?" He walked forward and pulled himself off the blade. He spat blood to the side and said, "And this was my favorite coat. Because it's my only one." He pulled it off and chucked it to the floor.

That's when Rosalie saw his arm.

Flashback to the past:

"Daddy, whats wrong? Why are you mad?"

"Rose, girl, I want you to hide in the hidey hole in your room. Don't leave it no matter what."

"But Daddddyyy..."

"No exceptions. GO!!!"

"Okaaayyy..."

Rosalie scurries back to her room and flips the carpet away. She tugs on the floorboards and slips under them. She huddles there for a long time. After a while, she hears a drawn out scream.

"Daddy?"

She heaves herself out of the floor and rushes to the kitchen.

"AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!"

She stops to see Daddy standing with a sword through his stomach. At seven years old, she knows what death is like.

A man with an eye patch and a glowing bandaged arm stands behind her father, holding the sword. He yanks it out, and her father slumps to the floor, blank eyes staring at her, blood pooling under his body.

Rosalie backs away, but in a flash, the man is right in front of her. His eye stares at her, then he turns away and escapes through a window.

Rosalie totters back and collapses next to her father's body. "Daddy, Daddy, DADDDDYYYYYY!!!!!"