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[Zeph]

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A cool and mostly calming western breeze blew over New Haven on this night. It was almost peaceful, if not for the various moans and groans emanating from the nearby undead-infested ruins of what the town used to be. But it was a fine night, all the same, and the locals took right advantage of it by sleeping in a fashion not unlike a log. All except for the patrons of the Lion's Den tavern on the west side of town, that is.

A right rowdy and rambunctious crowd had landed there and all of the hubbub was centered around one table, and one odd traveler. He was of average height and athletic in build. By the looks of him, he was likely to be fairly strong, and fairly quick on his feet. He wore (with great pride) a set of old battered leather armor, and had a well kept katana sheathed at his side. The flashiest thing about the fellow, was his long crimson hair which was tied into a ponytail.

"So I'm sitting there with this old fella, and he gets up the gall, y'see, to say to me that I'm what's wrong with the world and my morals've run off." The crimson haired patron spoke loudly, and seemed quite offended by the recollection of his story. He shook his head and continued, "MY morals've run off! All because I told that old geezer that I'd marry his daughter!"

The crowd chuckled, and the general consensus about the place was that this scarlet haired fellow was some would-be womanizer from across the sea.

One of the more burly of the patrons then shouted out, "WELL! Didya marry 'er, didya?!"

The traveler replied with a question of his own and promptly took the liberty to answer it, "Do ya see a ring on my finger, there, Pub rat? No!" The lighthearted snicker on the man's face had promptly faded to a cocky grin before he continued,"There's no woman beyond the sea goddess herself that can tame the Scarlet Swordsman! Like a brisk zephyr, I am... Coming and going when and where I please."

"Scarlet swordsman, huh? Sounds like ya made that'n up, t'me!", shouted one of the patrons, and rather loudly.

The traveler flashed a toothy grin and said, "I sure didn't, that gem is the invention of one fine lady in the City of Honor." He laughed as he leaned forward on his knees, looking at the fellow who'd questioned the authenticity of his nickname. "I'm pretty handy with a blade, you know," the traveler spoke in a low tone, "I could show you if you really want."

The patron (who was quite large compared to the traveler) stood up, cracked his knuckles and said, "I'm 'onna ring yer neck, pally." The large man had an equally large, but grimey and almost hoarse voice; as if he'd been yelling too much.

"Aw, siddown, Borus!" shouted a nearby customer.

The large man, who was apparently named Borus, shouted back, "Stuffit, ye swine! I gotta bone 'ere ta pick with this'n!" He took the opportunity to crack his knuckles again, and followed up with cracking his neck.

The swordsman cringed at the last loud pop before offering a dismissive wave at Borus. "Borus, huh?" he spoke in a soft and almost gentle tone, "I meant that I'd show ya a demonstration out back, not that I wanted to fight ya." The swordsman then offered another cocky grin to anyone who happened to be looking his way.

Borus replied, "Eh! I been wantin' to clean yer clock since ye walked intah this 'ere place!" He then cleared his throat, reared back his head, and spat a rather sizable wad of saliva directly into the swordsman's right eye.

The crowd gasped, and looked on at the traveler as he sat there with a half disgusted, half shocked, and quite odd look on his face.

"Borus, my friend..." He said lowly, as he wiped his eye off. The swordsman promptly grabbed a handful of gruel from his plate and tossed it at his assailant. The wad of gruel splattered into Borus' face, prompting a nasty growl from the large man. "Gwwwwuaaaagh! Yer gittin' it now!", he yelled as he grabbed his side of the table between the two, jerked it up, and sent it flipping over at the traveler. Sparing no time, the swordsman had sidestepped (or sidejumped) the table, and had his hand firmly on the hilt of his blade.

The swordsman spoke in a gentle tone again and said, "I like to be on a first name basis at times like these, Borus. You can call me Zeph, everybody does." He released the hilt of his blade, raising his hands up as if he were a boxer. "I'll brand my name on your forehead... And when I'm famous, your head'll be worth thousands!" Zeph said, as he cocked his head to the side and offered another overly confidant grin.

Borus growled with anger and stormed forward with a long swing of his arm, his fist aimed square at Zeph's head.

"Never!" he shouted, as he ducked, and threw his own fist into Borus' stomach. "Show!" he yelled again, was he pulled his other fist back and punched the same spot. "Your opponent!" he continued before springing up, and shoving his knee into Borus' midsection, prompting him to fall to a knee. "Never show your opponent such an obvious attack," he spoke gently again as he stepped back, placed his hand on the hilt of his blade, and said, "especially from so far away." Just as he finished his showy lesson, he jerked the blade forward and smashed the pommel into Borus' forehead, sending the large brute crashing backward onto the floor.

Zeph then turned to the crowd of quite shocked tavern-goers. "Well, then." he said, as he retrieved a pitcher of ale from a nearby burly merchant's table. Zeph paced back over to Borus, and raised the pitcher of ale up to take a long swig before pouring it out all over Borus, who was now quite out of it. He looked down at Borus, clicked his tongue and shook his head before saying, "Well, tonight's entertainment was free." Zeph promptly looked back over at the crowd, pointed down at Borus, and said, "This here, is the only fella who didn't laugh at my jokes."

All of the patrons looked on as the swordsman quickly grabbed a roll from a plate and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. He planted a (roll?) kiss on the cheek of the lady from who's plate he stole, and promptly paced over to the door, kicked it open, and waltzed out of the tavern. Not to be seen again that night.
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Z. Lochlann