The city of Skarn was a large one, and indeed the pride of anyone whom was

lucky enough to call it home. As not only was it large, but prosperous as well! Not
a man, woman or child went wanting, and luxury was common place. There was a
place for any soul that called it home or wished to call it home, even those who
had little use of luxury, or of a dense population.
On the outskirts of Skarn, just barely within the city's considerable limits, lay a
bar that seemed to be an exercise in isolation. Dubbed, The Fringe by its less than
illustrious owner, Hank Fringe. It offered a quieter, down home feel to those who
were feeling overwhelmed by the daunting size and populace of the city proper.
There were no other buildings around it for a good half a kilometer, and it
managed to be a large establishment, while still offering that down home, rustic
feel. True to it, bar fights, rough housing, and general rabble rousing were
common place here. Many were surprised, when, despite expectations to the
contrary, the newly appointed Senator Haskins, allowed it to stay open.
Self appointed experts were quick to point out (assume) that this was due to
Haskins being a former military man, a simple man! Who would obviously
appreciate such an establishment. Of course, such speculation fueled rumors like
wild fire, that Hank Fringe, the portly (some would say slovenly) owner was old
campaigning buddies with Haskins. Upon being bombarded with questions by his
drunk customers regarding his presumed relationship with Acuff Haskins? He
would neither confirm nor deny. Just a small smile that caused his double chin to
ripple, and a furrowed brow which wrinkled his bald head.
The short stout middle aged man had a business to run! He knew if he tried to
confirm the obviously untrue rumors regarding him and the senator? It would be
far too easy to prove that it wasn't true. Hell, even one of his regulars – Atticus
Ross, he loved nothing more than shutting down wild claims people put off as
true. So too, if Fringe was to just admit that it was untrue? Business would drop,
of that he was certain. True, something new and interesting would happen at his
bar soon enough, and business would pick back up... But. But! If he was to
neither deny nor confirm such things... Why, it merely fueled speculation!
Fringe, surveyed the early crowd that appeared right around dinner time,
absentmindedly cleaning a mug with a rather filthy dish rag, when a voice from
his side gave him a start!
“So. You and ole Acuff aye Fringe?” The voice had startled him, so focused and
intent was Fringe on the cleaning of his drink ware (or...from falling asleep while
both working and standing, multitasking he was!) But Fringe knew the voice
without even having to turn around, and despite himself? Grinned. There were
times he felt he should and would hate young Atticus Ross, but damn him for a
fool, but Fringe always kept liking him. Ross's voice would always betray him.
Least of all how, in Fringe's mind, Ross had the only voice he had ever heard that
could manage to always sound cocky! Not arrogant, no... Arrogant was a fault of
ignorance and bullheadness. No – Cocky was definitely the word. The smarmy,
conceited notion that you always had something over who you were talking to.
Always one step ahead of them. True or not, that was definitely what Atticus
thought of himself.
Another facet of Ross's voice that gave him away? His accent, a damn peculiar
one he had – That was for damn sure. Ross had never heard any accent similar to
it, nor had any idea where such an accent originated from. He had asked Ross
before many a time where his family came from, and the most he ever received
was “North.” The words he had spoken to Fringe had came out, to Fringe's ears,
Soh Yous and oles Acuff, aye Fringe? Fringe was rather short himself, and though
Atticus was too, he still managed to be a head or two taller than Fringe. Atticus
had hair that managed to be a wild mix of brown and blonde, his hair lay flat
against his head, just long enough to be brushing into his eyes, he combed it to
the side to avoid just that, yet it always managed to fall apart in a mess on him.
He was surprisingly thin, his light weight surprising if for no other reason then
after putting in his four years into Skarn's military, he spent everyday without fail
at Hank's bar, The Fringe. With as much alcohol as Atticus had downed... Think
he would at least put on some weight!
“Atticus.” Hank offered as a curt acknowledgment, “You're here a bit earlier than
usual, aren't you?”
“Aye, butcha know what dey say 'bout early birds, don't cha?” Atticus offered with
a small smile.
Despite himself, Hank laughed a bit at the bizarre way that Atticus spoke, and
turned to face him, nodding his head. “Oh I do Atticus, I do! The early bird gets
the beer, right? So! What will it be for my best client?”
Atticus smirked at Hank, “Ach! Ya be saying that to every customer, ya ole
swindle. I's be having a stout, as I be a man a clout! An' a ale, as I be lookin' a
mite pale!” Atticus closed his eyes, and raising his hands, as if awaiting
celebratory applause at the end of his rhymes – Instead, Hank made a scoffing
sound, it akin to a bulldog's snort, and turned to what was on tap... Filling up one
glass with a stout, a dark amber liquid with a foamy and lighter head – Then
another glass, a darker hued beer, with far less foam on it. “There you go, you god
damn drunk.” Though the words were venomous, Hank spoke them
affectionately and kindly enough, and gave Atticus a pat on the shoulder as he set
the two glasses down in front of him. For his part, Atticus eyed between the two
cups, then settled on the ale, and took a swig... A considerable one, nay even a
heroic one! He had nearly downed the entire beer before he set the glass down –
Wiping his clean shaven face with the sleeve of the battered and tanned duster he
wore. The rest of his clothes were appropriately matched with the duster. He had
on a long sleeved black shirt that the duster covered most of – It was open and
and went down to about the middle of his thighs. He had on blue jeans that were
as faded as his coat, tan colored boots adorned his feet. A western style hat, that
some had nick named a cowboy rested on the empty bar stool next to him. He let
out a deep “Ahh” of appreciation of the beer had he nearly downed. He eyed
Hank as Hank attempted to look busy. Atticus had warm brown eyes, quick,
clever ones. He was well tanned, and the warmness and lightness of his brown
eyes seemed to contrast with his skin. Thin eyebrows, and thin lips seemed to
give away some of his personality. A cock sure satirist, just clever enough to think
he was brilliant, and only be half wrong.
With his eyes scanning the mostly empty and dimly lit bar around him, Atticus
seemed satisfied. Hank had been doing much the same as Atticus, scanning the
room (albeit with a far less analytical eye) – and upon seeing it mostly empty,
gave up the pretense of working and plopped his hefty self down on a chair
behind the bar to face Atticus – Whom smirked at Hank sitting down and giving
up on his work.
Many people thought Hank Fringe a damn fool, but Atticus knew better, despite
his disagreements with the man. Hank liked people thinking him a fool, and
played on it. But the hard truth of it was? If you wanted to know something,
anything that went down in this city, or even it's outlying territories? Hank Fringe
was the man you talked to. IF he trusted you. Hell, there were times awhile ago
when Hank had been telling some fantastic goings on in Defiance, the farthest
reaching territory Skarn had dominion over... Atticus hadn't been interested in it
much, but...
He had a sense of things, Atticus did – And he had a feeling something interested
was near imminent. Strange enough things had already happened. He had been a
part of Skarn's city guard (the somewhat pompous name they had for their
military, after your four years were put in you could have a position within the
police, the Skarn Constabulary)... And well, he had enjoyed it well enough. The
physical exertion of it. The combat training, and indeed... Important things
seemed well on their way to developing. A man who was quick on the rise to
power within the Skarn City Guard, Acuff Haskins. He had made quite a name for
himself, as the word went his military mind was genius, and his martial skill!
Unparalleled! There were talks that territorial disputes Skarn had had with the
closest city state to it – Pall – Would actually reach war! Such an idea was
atrocious to some, but to those in Skarn's military (including Atticus) it was
welcome! Actual warfare, military disputes... Nothing like that had happened in
the known world for such a long time that it may as well have been the stuff of
legend. Pall had a military as well, which was a rarity in the modern world... And
while it was well trained and maintained... Skarn's was superior, and not just in
numbers. Not to mention, with the talk of Haskins in charge...
Then not only did the territorial disputes seem to vanish overnight, suddenly
their figurehead leader of their city, Senator Smith... Resigned. Abandoned his
position. Now, the official word was that he had left to live in a much smaller
location. That the job was stressful, he needed a break. Most if not all believed
that. Atticus? He did not. He had a suspicion there was a reason no one had ever
seen Senator Smith again since he resigned. Then suddenly, Acuff Haskins,
whom was on the fast track from his current rank of colonel, to general... Was the
new senator. Not only that but everyone just seemed to kind of glaze over the fact
that the senator was now a position of unparalleled power and authority within
Skarn. Curious. Curious indeed. That... And how Haskins had been seen many
times meeting with a strange man. A man whose voice never changed but who
looked differently every time. Definitely...curious.
So. Atticus's sense of something interesting happening? He decided to feel the
situation out, and see for himself. “Hank, me good man, what's been going on?
Rumors an' such?” 'ank! Mah good man, whatsh been gone on! What was said, and
what Hank heard... That accent that Ross has. Hank shook his head, smiling a
little, and gave a show of looking back and forth to make sure no one was
listening. Which earned a scoff from Atticus, the damn theatrics! Hank glared at
Atticus, as if to say, You don't like my style, go hear about this from someone else! Oh
right! You CAN'T!
“Oh I've got some juicy bit of gossip for you my boy, juicy indeed. Have you heard
that our newly and duly appointed senator, has been working mighty hard with
local artists... To put up wanted posters for two criminals. All over the place.
Interesting enough on its own, sure, sure! But the real juicy part? The crime these
two committed? No one is aware of. Now! Ask yourself this my dear boy, why is
he offering twenty five million worth of good hard Skarn money, for two criminals,
barely older than you. That much money?! You'd think these two had started a
genocide! Yet... No one knows who they are around here. Well... I mean, until...”
The story sounded ridiculous and outlandish. But Atticus believed him, and
damn his impatience but Atticus was riveted by it. Ross had friends within the
guild section of Skarn, a commercial district, and several artists within it had had
their presence immediately requested at city hall, to meet with Haskins. They
must have wanted their skill to help make these wanted posters, sketches of the
men that Haskins wanted!
Atticus Ross was impatient to hear more... Which was unfortunate, as Hank
Fringe sure liked to draw things out – excessively so. He breathed out, slowly,
exasperated – Finally, Hank finished what he was saying.
“That was until... Well! I happen to have sources that even the mighty Haskins
doesn't. I happen to know that two young men have been seen entering the city...
That uncannily match the description of these two mystery criminals. Perhaps
even headed this way.” Hank leaned in close as he finished with this, as if
expecting Atticus to be amazed with this little nugget of information. And for
once? Atticus was appropriately impressed. “Ach, how's in the hell you even find
this stuff out man?” Ach! How's in da hell ya even find dis stuff out man?!
Hank opened his mouth to give a no doubt sly response, when the double doors
to The Fringe opened up, and the typical dinner rush came in. A lot of regulars...
But then two strangers. They had been holding the door open. One did so silently,
giving small nods to the few that thanked them – The other? Dramatic bows,
gestures, and laughter. He seemed as if he was doing his best to get his
companion across from him to laugh... Who for his part held out for about half a
minute before his body too shook with laughter. Atticus and Hank could only tell
from the shaking of their bodies due to how bundled up they were. Not for
warmth, although the evenings and nights cold get a bit chilly here – But for
privacy, as hoods obscured much of their features. After everyone had walked
into the doors they had been holding open, they both walked in side by side.
Revealing that one was slightly taller than the other, a bit broader in frame too it
looked. Finally, as if he was angry from how long he had been wearing it, the
taller one all but ripped off the hood he had on. Long, near shoulder length hair
of an odd color spilled out. It looked like a worn out black. Faded. Bright green
eyes showed themselves, as did thin, black arched eyebrows. A tight lipped smirk
seemed all but glued on his face, and it was only after a double take that Atticus
realized his mouth was scarred that way.
The other somewhat shorter man looked at his companion and with a shrug, took
his own hood off, albeit in a much less angry and more calm way than him. He
took it off, and Atticus felt that this man's face revealed far more about him then
he realized. He had hair that was similar in color to Atticus's own, that dirty mix
of blonde and brown. But while Atticus's hair was straight to a fault, this man's
was thick and curly, forming a bit of an unruly mess on his head. He had thicker
eyebrows than his companion, and seemed less... Rigid. As if this man's
expressions were rapidly changing and adapting.
His eyes were a startling shade of intense blue. They seemed to offer consistent
merriment, with laughter hiding in them at all times. Atticus noted, more than
anything else, the sort of glassy sheen this man's eyes had. True, it could just be a
natural and remarkable distinction... Or it could be what Atticus suspected, a tell
tale sign of this man being on drugs. Which ones? He couldn't say. Atticus took in
the rest of him, as he had always had the hobby, nay, near obsession with
studying people. The man had a thin lipped smile, that constantly seemed at risk
of breaking into a full one, or of laughter... A comedian, but he had the feeling he
was a lot more than just that. Both men were dressed pretty similar, Atticus and
Hank could both see that now. Jeans. Boots. Black tee shirts, the shorter one had
a dark shades of plaid unbuttoned long sleeved shirt over his tee shirt, the taller
had nothing over the tee shirt, but the hood he had had on seemed to be part of a
much larger piece of cloth. Perhaps a traveling cloak of some sort. It was
comfortable in the inn, perhaps a bit of a draft... Despite that, Atticus noticed
beads of sweat on the taller one's forehead... And the slight shivering from the
other one.
They both walked up to the bar, the taller of the two with the faded black hair
sitting next to Atticus, the shorter one the left of his companion. The taller one
spoke, his voice having the bizarre mix of accents that the people from the middle
region to the south had. It was like... Nearly having the “twang” so often
associated with people from the west, but as if it was consistently suppressed,
only managing to break out occasionally with certain inflections or jargon.
“Evening, gentlemen. Hope the night is treating you well.” He gave a nod to
Hank, and then turning slightly, a small one to Atticus, who returned it with a
nod of his own. Hank smiled, a full one. Half due to it being his fake business
persona to appease any customer, half from genuine glee. Glee that, not only
were there new customers, whom Hank loved to gossip with... But these two new
ones were the gossip!
“The evening is treating us just fine young man, just fine. I'll be happy to take you
and your friends orders, but I've a rule! I only serve once properly introduced!
I”m Hank! This fellow to your right is Atticus.” The man with the faded black hair
seemed taken aback, his scarred mouth seeming to near collapse in his surprise...
Then just like that, he recovered, and his mouth pulled up fully, revealing a
surprisingly charming smile. “Manners like that are rare Hank, and are welcome.
I'm Kal, this is my friend Kharth. A pint of whiskey for him, a pint of gin for me.”
His smile remained, then he seemed to reconsider, a slight tilt of his head as if it
was an apology. “...or scratch that last order and make it rum if you've got it. Or
vodka. You know what? Anything besides whiskey.” He finished the last bit with a
nudge to his friend Kharth, who shook his head in pitying bemusement. Atticus
glanced at Kharth, and now that he was sitting... Atticus just barely spied the hilt
of a knife from one of his pockets. Curious.