From a distance, Gladius seems like something of a medium sized city. Not too big nor too small. It should hold a relatively decent-sized population. Unfortunately, that population doesn’t include the visitors who live on ships within the port. It is because of these numerous visitors that the streets are packed with bodies.

[Nobles], [Merchants], [Traders], [Gamblers], [Mercenary’s], [Captains], and any other manner of acceptable class and job prowl the streets in constant search of profits. And profits there are many to be made.

But before that, there is the matter of information. Ignorance is all good and fun, but they rarely result in huge profits.

A plump short man raises a finger and points at a tavern called the Screaming Sword. “That one looks like a good one.”

Myers looks at the name and frowns at the peeling paint of the tavern and lack of windows. “Why there?” he asks.

Just then, a man is yeeted out of the front door with such force that his body bounces twice before sliding to a stop in the middle of the road. To only Myers and Clay’s surprise, the body is ignored and people continue on their way.

“That’s why.” Cillian says with a grin.

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous.” Myers starts walking behind him.

“A little, but that’s why we have Nepenthes.”

“I will devour all that dare raise a hand upon my clan.” The monstrous multi-legged Phytonid threatens while Clay giggles at the threat.

Upon entering inside, the tavern's residents turn towards the new entries. They sneer at the old man, plump human, and child, like wolves who smell easy prey. Then the metaphysical manifestation of a bear in the form of a Phytonid enters with the steely gaze of a predator. Immediately, the prey have just become far too dangerous to even consider. The threatening gazes leave the group, all to the disappointment of the Phytonid who hungers for an excuse to enact violence.

The group arrives at the end of the room where the [Barkeep] shines a glass. The man is tall, fit, and quite muscular. He’s got a dirty gray beard and wears a stained tank top. He also just so happens to be a Buxon.

As they take a seat at the counter, the [Barkeep] leans down, opens a bottle, and pours a red liquid into the glass he was shining. He then pushes the glass in front of Clay.

“Juice,” He says before moving his attention to the others.

“What’s your poisons?”

“Information,” Myers says. His answer has the Buxon frowning.

Cillian clears his throat, “What the old man is saying is that I’ll take something strong and he’ll have something that’s not going to kill him.”

The Buxon nods. He then glances at Nepenthes. “And you?”

“Meat,” the Phytonid hisses while making eye contact with everyone else in the room.

“How do you want it prepared?”

“Raw.” She answers.

The Buxon has the slightest grin before he leaves.

Buxon are easily the most physically adept of all other species. They are stronger, faster, and generally smarter. This can be seen by the Buxon carrying an entire skinned carcass of a pig-like animal in one arm and a tablecloth in the other. The entire room is silent as he spreads the cloth on the counter in front of Nepenthes, and then slaps the bloody carcass in front of her.

Without missing a beat, he brews up a drink for Cillian and a much weaker one for the old man.

By the time he places the drinks in front of them, Nepenthes rips off a leg and bites into it. The sound of bone crunching under her maw sends a shiver down every spine except for the Buxons.

“How's the meat?” The Buxon asks.

“It is nutritionally dense and surprisingly soft. What animal is this?”

“Young repugnans boar. It’s a Buxon favorite. They can't produce adrenaline until they are older, so the meat is always soft.”

Nepenthes takes another bite, to the grimace of the crowd.

“Normally I charge extra for information- but you all are an odd group,” he glances at Nepenthes, “with a member that actually enjoys Buxon cuisine.”

Cillian nods while watching Nepenthes take a third bone-shattering bite. “I can’t argue with you on that. By the way, can I get a refill?” Cillian wiggles his empty mug.

The Buxon stares at the empty mug in surprise for a moment. He takes the mug and refills it. “What’s your name?”

“Cillian,” the scot accepts the full drink. “Yours?”

“Ragnar.” The Buxon pours himself a drink. “Ask your questions.”

Cillian grins. “I hear there is a great deal of coin to be made- more than the usual gambling.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“The Gangs don’t play fair,” Ragnar warns. “You’re more likely to wind up dead than rich.”

The Scot chuckles. “The upside is always better when your life's on the line.”

Ragnar slowly nods. He takes a sip of his drink while Cillian takes a gulp. “That’s true enough.” Leaning off the counter, Ragnard strides to the back and returns with a blank black card. Whispers throughout the building rise up upon sight of the card, only to quickly go silent from the Buxons glare.

He slides the card to Cillian without removing his fingers off of it. “You’ve got the look of someone who’s played with big boys and survived.” Ragnar removes his finger, allowing Cillian to pick up the card.

“At night, you’ll find alleys guarded by armed [Guards]. Show them the card and they’ll let you pass to the undercrust.”

“Neat.” Cillian pockets the rectangle.

Ragnar shifts his gaze next to the old man. They lock eyes. “What's your question?”

“Fallantine. How does the kingdom fare?”

“General information coming from the crown is that other than increased pirate activity, it is doing very well.”

“And information not from the crown?” Myers asks.

Ragnard looks the old man up and down. What the Buxon sees is not a frail human, but something akin to a roaming leviathan. “Fallantine is in turmoil. The [Prince] lacks the skills necessary to keep the economy running adequately. The [knight] orders still loyal to the crown are predominantly a ground force. They lack the levels to properly counter the growing [Pirate] threat in the skies. Recent sanctions from Lapis on military goods doesn’t help either- though many believe it to be a pretext for a future war. Lastly- the political situation may once again become inflamed from some recent rumors going about.

“Recent rumors?”

“Yes. Though just rumors, so take it with a grain of salt, but apparently the [Crown Princess] may have been recently sighted in Memphis prior to the attack on the city.”

Myers grimaces first, and then grows confused. “Attack?”

“You haven’t heard? Well, it’s still pretty recent and information is only coming in. [Pirate-Prince Captain] Valentine attacked Memphis and single-handedly disarmed the island.”

Myers leans forward with a bit of panic. “How? The city’s defenses should be adequate enough to counter any single ship. Even the Bone-Leviathan can’t withstand a contracted engagement against such a port.”

Ragnar shrugs. “The attack just happened, so the information is only now coming in. You’ll have to wait a bit before then.”

The old man squeezes his cane tightly in agitation, only for Clay’s arm to rest on his palm. “Grampa?” the child questions.

And like that, Myers regains control of himself. He releases a sigh, and then grimaces when he remembers a woman's face. “What's the death toll?”

“High if you were at port or on a ship, low if you were in the city.”

Myers slowly nods. He reaches into a pouch and gives Ragnar fifty Tris. “Thank you.”

Ragnar takes the money and then turns to Nepenthes. “Have you any questions?”

Nepenthes swallows, her feast half complete. “Yes,” she hisses. “You are a warrior, a combatant. I see it from your form, your body, and the dense skeleton under your skin. You have slaughtered and killed- dismembered foes with arms alone. What is your story? What is your greatest kill?”

For a moment, Ragnar is taken aback by the odd Phytonid. He is already intrigued by her form that mimics Insectoids and her desire to consume raw flesh. Granted, he knows Phytonids can consume nearly anything, but few ever would publicly do so. Only Insectoids and Buxon have no qualms about such things. And now, a Phytonid that looks built for physical instead of magical combat asks to hear stories of his kills? Absurd! But very intriguing.”

“I used to be a [Gladiator]...”

__________________________________________________________________

“Miss Irmgard, maybe we should go to another store? This one is creepy and people might enter.”

Irmgards saber inches closer to the panicking man's neck. The man, a [Shopkeeper] of a store hidden in an alleyway inches his head slightly from the woman's blade. “No! I swear they aren't fake. They’re legitimate quality crystals.”

She moves the cutlass closer. “My companion is a [Runesmith]. Do you expect me to take your word instead of hers?” She growls. “And I know they’re not fake. The problem is that they are of crap quality which you tried to deceive me over.”

“I-I-”

Just then, two-burly men enter the store with arms and armor ready for battle.

“Help! Please. This woman is crazy!” the man pleads.

The two men stare at the scene for a moment. They look at Irmgard, Emma, and a masked staff wielding [Mage]. Then they notice the wall crater where a [Guard] was blasted by magic.

They glance at each other. “It seems you’re busy. We’ll come back later.” The two leave, ignoring the crying pleas of the [Shopkeeper].

“Now,” Irmgard returns her attention. She pushes the bladed edge towards the man, “where were we.”

“Please…”

“Irmgard,” Auranta places a hand on the woman's shoulder. “I know you’re angry and you plan to kill the man for his lies,” the [Shopkeeper] squirms ,“but he may provide us with the information that we seek.”

“Whatever you want!”

Irmgard tilts her head but doesn't release the pressure she applies. “We need supplies for our ship and quality crystals for runeing. Where's the cheapest place to obtain such goods.”

“T-the undercrust. Blackmarket with no tax and the best prices.”

“Yea? How do I get there?”

“Guarded allies at night. You’ll need a card.”

“What card? Where?”

The man glances behind his counter. “My safe. I have a black card inside. If you let me go, I’ll give it to you.”

“Emma?” Irmgard calls.

The Gemma leans down behind the counter and pulls up a runed box. “I found it. It’s locked.”

“The cards inside. If you let me go, I’ll open the box for you.”

A hissing sound burns from the box. When Irmgard next glances, the box is open while Emma holds a stylus. The [Shopkeepers] eyes are wide open. “You destroyed my safe! I paid a fortune for that!”

Emma frowns. “Really? But the rune is so simple…”

Irmgard chuckles. “Is the card there?”

Emma raises a black rectangle up.

Seeing the card, Irmgard removes her cutlass from the man's neck and then pushes him to the side.

“Good. let's get out of here.”

Emma nods. “Ok. But should we take anything else from the safe? He has a lot of Tris.”

Irmgard shakes her head. “Of course not. We’re not thieves.”

The three girls leave the small shop and the wide-eyed [Shopkeeper].