I The Author I
- Quote
- Report Post
- Posted: Fri, 25 Sep 2009 23:30:18 +0000

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXL a n c e
"The nearest way to glory........,"
The bar's doors opened wide as Lance stepped into the small building, the bag containing the slain Behemoth still clung onto his back while being held with his right arm. Lance took a quick glance at his surroundings, looking for his client who he assumed would be in the bar. From the very back of the room, his client walked towards him, clapping his hands and smiling. He seemed to be extremely impressed that Lance was able to slay the Behemoth that bothered him and his home. Lance dropped the huge sack and revealed the Behemoth's decaying body. His client said a word of thanks, handed him his reward of 2,000 gil which was concealed in a bag about the size of his head, picked up the bag containing the Behemoth and, with another word of thanks, walked out the door. Lance gazed upon his reward and smirked, not realizing the group of sober men surrounding him with intentions of crime.
By the time Lance picked up his head to look at the men coming around him, he was completely surrounding on all sides with no chances of escape. Lance's eyes narrowed as he gripped his sheathed broadsword's hilt and put his sack of money is his right pocket. The men uttered a few words, asking him what was in the sack, and then, before Lance could even open his mouth to speak, one of them attacked. Bad mistake.
The first unlucky man to lash his fists out at Lance ended up with a scar across his left eye and a nasty-looking bruise on his right cheek. That man was now laying on the ground, bobbing his head from side to side as he watched the rest of the men glare at him.Lance snickered and said one simple word. "Next." Then it began. At that very moment, two men revealed a small revolver, cocked it, and pointed it towards Lance. Swiftly, Lance snapped his fingers, creating a steel wall that rose from the ground and stood in front of him. Just as he did this, the two men shot their revolvers. Unfortunately for them, the bullets ricocheted off the wall and struck them.
Lance watched with disgust as they bled and slumped against the ground, rolling back and forth on the ground and grunting in pain. The rest of the men took a step back, grabbed the critically wounded men, and sped out of the bar. Within seconds, they were out of sight. Lance shook his head and stepped towards the door, apologizing to the bar owner for all the violence. Hey, at least none of the furniture was broken. With a sigh, Lance stepped out the door and headed towards the nearby inn that which his room was reserved and owned by him.
".....is to strive to be what you wish to be thought to be."
-Socrates
-Socrates

