TEN YEARS LATER

The mercenary that was once Keyna but was now simply named Shield walked into the clubhouse hoping to have a polite conversation. She felt the dirty looks of the gang in her direction but she didn’t care. Rusk said these lousy fucks would know more. Let’s find out. She went to the closest gang member, a young man with a big nose and a tattoo on his face in the form of a Griffon’s claw. ‘Ever seen a woman with a big axe around here?’ The man just grinned and took a sip from his beer. ‘I don’t know shit abou-’ The wooden shield crushed his nose to a bloody mess as she interrupted the old gang member mid-sentence. ‘What about now?’ The man mumbled a curse, both hands holding his broken nose. Their little interaction had drawn the attention of the other members of the gang, who now slowly circled the stranger that had entered their clubhouse only a few minutes ago. Their leader, a heavy-set man with long black hair stepped forward. He patted his wounded friend on the shoulder, then held up a hand to indicate that he sought no harm. ‘Easy with the shield there. What do you wanna know?’ Shield spun the shield in her hand. ‘I’m looking for a woman. Has a big ass war axe and wears leather armor. I’ve heard she’s a contact of yours.’

A visible tension took hold of the clubhouse. The Broken Wings were notorious in Tower City. They were griffon riders who engaged in violent robberies and arms dealing. Not exactly the sort of people anyone would want to mess with. Now twenty of them stood before her. They didn’t have to look at their boss to know what time it was. It seemed her inquiries about the woman were quite sensitive around here. The sound of unsheating daggers and the scraping of wooden clubs against the floor made her spine tickle. Behind her, the barman closed the entrance. Fuck. Her eyes darted towards possible exits. Nothing sight, except for a small glass-stained window picturing a prancing griffon, high up on the wall. Too high to reach with a jump. ‘Lady, sometimes you gotta know when to shut your mouth. Go asking the wrong questions around town and who knows what might happen? Now, normally we would have let you off with a warning. Nothing big, just a threat so you shut up and leave this city right now.’ He juggled with a dagger while looking at her with a false kind of pity. ‘But you just crushed Orwald’s nose here.’ Orwald spit on the floor right before her. ‘So, why not have some fun?’ He grinned and stepped towards her with his dagger. The crowd around them went wild, cheering and hollering with vicious excitement. The gang leader lunched forward to stab her but Shield swiftly glided to his left side and pounded the side of his head with her shield. ‘Hi there, my name is Shield. This here is my weapon and my main form defense, also called shield. I asked twice, the third time won’t be as friendly. Nice to meet you.’ She saw the rage in his eyes as he recovered from the blow to his head. He punched her in the stomach. That hurt! He grinned like some beast when she stumbled back. She ignored the pain and came right back at him. The rim of her shield connected to the point of his knife. He removed it but kept on stabbing, hoping to break the wooden surface. Thank you mother for your craftmanship. The moment he tried to stab again, she pushed the shield towards his face. The heavy shield pushed his knife away so that it fell to the ground. ‘Fuck!’ he said. Then she punched him right in his larynx with the rim of her shield. All of the color went out the gang leader’s face as he stumbled around looking for breath. ‘So, now we had a little warm-up, who can tell me more about the woman with the axe?’ A few seconds of silence followed her question. Then the clubhouse burst into chaos.

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For Shield, fighting was dancing. Two steps backwards to dodge the wooden club inches from her face. A big arm gesture to arrange a meet-up between her shield and some ugly bastard’s face. A pirouette as she engaged in close combat with four gang members at the same time. As she ‘danced’ she forgot the reason she was here. Some asshole punched her in the face and she punched him right back. A couple of men tried to pin her down but she kicked one of them in the crotch and bit the other man’s nose. ‘..uck you affhole!’ she mumbled while she spat a piece of nose back out. Then a big fellow gave her a bear hug, meaning to slam her down onto a table. She gave him a backwards headbutt. He cursed and let her go. She turned and slammed her shield into his stomach. ‘Before we go on,’ she said to the couple of members still standing, ‘let me ask my question once again.’ A scar-pocked woman tried to stab her. ‘Woman.’ She crushed her head with her shield. ‘Big axe.’ Three members tried to grab her shield. She took two of them by their hair and clashed their heads together. She broke the third guy’s hand and punched him in the face. ‘Leather armor.’ The last dregs of the gang now circled her. She roundhouse kicked one of them against the wall. Another assailant met the rim of her shield with his balls. ‘Contact of yours.’ Shield looked around at the groaning gang members around here. ‘Can anyone help me?’ The gang leader tried to stand up. She hadn’t even noticed she had knocked him unconscious in the heat of the fight. ‘Fuck you, bitch!’ Shield knocked him on the head once again and kneeled before him. She took the collar of his leather jacket with a firm grasp and brought his face a couple of inches towards hers. ‘Listen here, mister president. Give me a name or something! Or I fuck you up right here and now. Understood?’ He spat some blood. ‘Forget it. We –‘ Her shield came down on one of his hands. He screamed. ‘Pretty please?’ His face was red, all tears and sweat. ‘Don’t know her real name. We all call her the Collector, please! Just let us alone!’ Shield raised her shield. The man flinched. ‘She does business in the port. That’s all I kno-‘ Her shield turned his mouth into teeth and blood. A fitting ending for a short and polite conversation. Shield stood up and took some time to gather herself. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her short blond curls gave her something divine. Her skin was riddled with scars: reminders of her time in the Forgotten North. She inspected the white shirt under her leather green armor. Not a drop of blood spilt. At least none of her own. Her face had taken some blows, her head throbbed with pain and she had a slight limp but all in all, she was quite happy with how things had gone. She winked at herself, hung the shield on her back and left the clubhouse. Time to find the Collector.