Midnight-Day Eight of The Bountiful Month, Year 1589 AA. Steedsborn City Outskirts of the greater WUE.
"Holy shit." A rotund man wearing heavy dark robes and stacked pendants muttered as he stepped into a bar. Or at least what was once a bar.
"Watch your mouth, Durand." His travelling mate replied as he stood at at least seven feet tall and wielded a great-sword with frozen edges. He was still as the ice there. Stalwart as any Knight-Hunter ever has been.
"Ho] about you lick my taint, Knight-Hunter." Durand replied with a bristle of his massive twisted mustache.
The Knight-Hunter was speechless.
Not because of Durand's foul mouth but because of the state of the bar.
The Black and Burning. It was a quaint and homely bar at the edge of the city created by a well loved Firemage known for his killer spiced ale. A local hangout spot for the cities Hunter population. Now it was trashed. Hunters of all Rank's, Guild affiliation and gender were beaten into a bloody pulp. Some were smashed through tables. Others were tied together or completely absent of clothes. It was a mess. The smell was awful.
"They were supposed to be celebrating the slaying of that Demon-Lord….. what was the bastards name?" Durand mumbled.
"Brannos Beezelus. Or Lord Beezel. Rank Five Demon-Lord. The only ones more dangerous are Rank Six World-Eaters which haven't been seen in cent—"
"Hey, hey, jackass, I don't need a lesson on nightmares. I live them." Durand said.
"Speaking of nightmares….. this paperwork is going to drown us. You think we can call for help from the Lawmancer's? Like before a Guild-War starts?" The Knight-Hunter asked.
A toilet flushed from the bathroom.
The Knight-Hunter drew his massive glacier-blade in a crystalline flash.
Durand sighed. The temperature change of the room caused his breaths to be visible. "Dammit…."
"What?"
"I should've known….." Durand replied as the women's bathroom door opened to the right of the bar.
"Should've known what?" The Knight asked.
"You're new here, so I'll keep it simple, rookie." Durand started, "There won't be a Guild-War. Actually, we might finally get a guild alliance. All guilds of the Western United Enclaves against one man."
A man stumbled out of the women's restroom.
He was six foot even in height and lean in build— almost on the wiry side with broad shoulders and big bruised hands. Blood stained his silk navy blue button-up and splashed against his tanned skin where it was torn. His dark and silver-flecked hair was medium length and tussled into a shadowed mess.
He was drunk.
He was past drunk. A fact made obvious as he turned around and watched the door close.
The women's symbol faced him.
"Well.... I hope none of you ladies will need to pop in for a touch-up any time soon…" The main said before burping as he turned.
He eyed the unconcious bodies, "Oh….. maybe more than a touch-up."
"ERHM-erhm..." Durand cleared his throat intentionally.
The man looked up with blood-shot eyes. His face was lined with stubble and his pierced ears shined in the waning light.
He grunted, "Grandpa….. come have a drink."
Durand didn't budge.
The man turned around and approached the bar table, "Sir, I'd like three shots. For me and my friends."
Silence followed. Obviously. Because everyone was beaten into a pulp.
So, the man hopped over the counter, tripping and falling with an explosion of shattering glass and pots and pans.
Sluggishly, he stood up with a bar-server apron on and a half finished bottle of spiced ale, "Of course, sir. Right away."
With blurring speed that shouldn't have been capable of a drunken man, he poured three shots.
Then, he hopped back over the counter and drank his.
The Knight-Hunter watched beside Durand with visible discomfort, "Who's this lunatic?"
"Salazar Shade." Durand replied.
The Knight-Hunter's hands trembled and he dropped his sword.
Before it could hit the ground, a dark whizzing spiral opened in the ground with Umbral electrical pops and dark-fire spasms.
The sword fell inside.
The whole reappeared at the table Salazar sat at.
The sword fell upward.
He caught it and flipped the sword upright to stab it into the wood floor.
Ice spread.
He tapped his shot glass to the iced edge and cooled the drink before taking a final swig.
"Mmmmm." He groaned in satisfaction.
The Knight-Hunter removed his helm, revealing a young scarred face with eyes that blazed with veneration. "Salazar Shade as in…. The Shade-eater?"
Durand nodded, "He's fallen from grace as of late. Don't give him any props. He's a nuisance."
The Knight-Hunter shook his head in disbelief, "Don't give him any props? Salazar entered his first Lord-Hunt at age fifteen. That's the youngest of any Hunter by almost a decade."
"Yea… and he almost died on that Hunt." Durand replied as they watched him pour himself another shot.
"Well I guess it's a good thing his father gave him his powers then, right?" The Knight-Hunter asked.
Durand side eyed him in disgust, "His father?"
"Yea…. Samuel The Survivor of Shade."
"That's not his father. He swindled a whore into conceiving just to continue his sick experiments." Durand spat.
"But it worked!" The Knight-Hunter replied, "Samuel was able to successful Hex an embryo and begin mana synthesis and evolution nearly at conception."
Durand looked appalled, "You dumbass! Samuel accidentally found a dimension-world comprised of dark-energy variants and instead of sharing it with the world, he colonized it! Then he burned a gateway— the only gateway, into it on a baby's inner-brain!"
The Knight-Hunter lowered his head.
Durand grabbed him by the chin and made him look up, "No, look at your great hero. The Shade-eater! He was born a weapon. He can't hold a job. He can't form meaningful connections. All he can do is kill, drink and repeat. Do you see success when you look at him?"
The Knight-Hunter replied, "I—"
Something screeched outside the bar doors.
Durand and the Knight-Hunter stilled as they met each others eyes.
"Rabid Wood-Elves?" The Knight-Hunter asked.
Durand shook his head, "With all the blood and violence here, it's surely a few Red-Goblins. We'll handle it and then put ol' Shade-water in the slammer."
The Knight-Hunter looked back at Salazar. He was out cold with a drink in his hand.
"Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. He practically lives here."
Durand and the Knight-Hunter stepped outside to handle business.
The Hunter of legend slept like a baby.