-The Goons and the Master

In the loud crowds of Neverdark, moving past in a quick and agile manner, a man covered head to toe in a cloak hurried past the lines of people on the street's sides.

Through the many people, he pushed past, uncaring to the dozens he nearly knocked aside, he seemed focused strictly on whatever lied ahead for him, uncaring for the rest.

Stopping at an intersection of the busy streets, he came upon a large three story building, situated against the far wall of the large cavern Neverdark called home.

From its sign he read the simple words "Tavern" and moved to the door, pushing aside a group of drunken fools who were smoking pipes and drinking alcohol.

-Crash

With one shove, he sent one of the men flying to the floor, knocking his drink down and shattering it on the stone floor. Of course the other men didn't stand idly by, as they all, seeing this lone man's actions, moved to intersect him.

"Hey! What the hell was -"

That's when something, no one surrounding him had expected, happened before their eyes, like something only heard in tall tales.

With one swift motion of his arm, pointing his hand out to one of the men, rang out a loud bang, and with a flash from his wrist, the fool was shot back, a bloody whole dead in his head.

-Bang!

"Ahhhh!"

Instantly, the surrouning people could tell the man was dead, and immediately ran away, screaming at the sight of a murder, in the center of Neverdark.

The men, who were once so confident in defending their friend, now seeing one of their own lying dead on the ground, killed with nothing more than a simple movement of the wrist, hesitantly moved aside from the door.

"W-We didn't mean…anything by it. P-Please."

-TikTikTik

Contrary to their fear, the man moved swiftly into the bar, seemingly not wanting to deal with any more interruptions in his travel, the man entered the tavern.

Inside, not a word was spoken, not a sound was made, and the only sound that could break the silence was the sound of a lone mouse scurrying across the floor.

The bar was empty, the building abandoned, and the people who once filled the tables and the bar, aside from those passed out drunk, had fled at the sound of screaming and death.

Moving swiftly past the tables, and climbing the stairs, the man broke open the third floor door, with only one kick of his foot.

Taking a long panning look around the seemingly empty floor, the man spotted a group of three seated near the far window, all quiet without a sound.

Passing by several vials, shelves filled with files, and couches that didn't look to belong in a tavern, he paid no attention to one of them, and moved to the three, slamming his hands down on the table, jolting them from their trance.

"What the fuck was that letter you little shits."

No one of them said a word, two standing in fear next to the third, seemingly the leader, who sat with his arms crossed and a calm look on his face.

After a minute of pure silence between the two, the third man spoke introducing himself as the leader.

"My name is Alan, and I'm the leader of 'The Baren Hunters.'"

As Alan spoke, the man could instantly feel the seething confidence just pouring from his words at the mention of his group.

However, the man was anything but impressed.

"I don't give a fuck who you are. Explain the contents of that letter. Now."

With the stern harshness in his voice, he drew the line the men should honor and not cross, demanding his much deserved explanation.

Holding his hands up to quell the man's anger, showing that he meant no harm, Alan began to speak, instantly causing the man to shut up and listen.

"Calm down. I wrote you that letter because I know what you do. And most importantly, I know where you get it from."

"What do you mean by that?"

Unbeknownst to Alan or his group, the man had let his right hand fall to his side, drawing out the weapon he had used to kill the miner at the front door.

A small silver ball the size of his palm, with one long but short pole rooting out from the tip of it. Where the silver ball and the pole connected, a small trigger rested, his finger tensing on the edge.

The man had no reason to kill the miner at the front door, but given his anger at reading the letter he found delivered to him specifically, he was in no mood to deal with a few drunkards.

'If it wasn't for that letter, I would have never risked showing this thing in public.'

The fact that he was so hesitant to use this weapon meant only one thing. No one else had it. In fact, the weapon only operated because of mana, and no matter how much the man tried, he could not mass produce them, or create any larger version.

The amount of mana needed for this weapon was contributed to its side, and due to the fact that the mana he could draw from his summons was so small, meant that this weapon could only be attuned to him specifically.

Even given its crude design.

____________________

A/N: If you're wondering what this weapon looks like, think of a Knuckle Duster ring pistol, but on a contraption similar to Professor Moriarty's wrist pistol, in sherlock holmes.

____________________

Snapping the man from his worries, were the next words of Alan, who had regained his confidence, or, from what the man could see, he had never lost.

"What I mean is that, we know what you do. But don't get me wrong, we're not here to harm you, after all, how could we?"

The man reached out his hand, gesturing to the man's hooded face.

"You, Sir Wallace, own the city."

Silence settled in at the sound of the man's name.

Smiling from under his hood, Sir Wallace retracted his hidden weapon back up his sleeve, and upon removing his hood, sat down at the table, opposite of Alan.

Sir Wallace could be described as your typical and average looking man. He was neither too handsome nor was he unattractive.

With black hair, and blue eyes, no scars adorning his face other than a small silver line, long since healed over, positioned in the corner of his left eye.

The average looking man. Yet it was his average appearance that set Alan on edge.

Knowing full well who this person was, and just how powerful he was in Neverdark, Alan could have been said to be anything but shocked at the fact Wallace had met with them alone, and in person.

But as he remembered the contents of his letter, Alan secretly smiled to himself.

He had the upper hand.

"Tell me then, Alan, how did you discover this information?"

Now locked in on the conversation, Alan believed he had roped Wallace in, allowing his confidence to soar. Therefore, he held nothing back.

"We paid off one of your workers, someone high up in the chain. I think they were some sort of executive incharge of overseeing shipments to and from the mines?"

Alan looked to Wallace for confirmation, but the man said nothing, and showed no signs of surprise or shock. Instead, he quietly sat there, pondering over his own thoughts.

'So he bribed Old Bill. I'll have to pay him a visit later then.'

As Wallace was deep in his own thoughts Alan spoke once again, drawing the conversation back to its original topic.

"We have it on good word and information that a group of people will be entering the mines, and threatening your spice development."

Unbothered by his words, Wallace took interest in something else hidden in his warning.

"So you know about the spice. White Spice that is. Impressive, however you have no need to tell me of this. There isn't anything that can harm my spice shipments."

Standing up, and seemingly fed up with the conversation, Wallace made a motion to leave.

However, at the sound of Alan's next words, he froze in his place.

"Even if the threat happens to involve your beloved Silver Tail Spiders, and their connection to White Spice?"

Instantly, Wallace whirled around drawing out his hidden weapon, and in one fast and quick leap over the table, he planted the weapon's barrel directly between Alan's eyes.

However, he stopped himself from pulling the trigger. His reason? Because the tips of two swords were lined up exactly opposite each other, criss crossing against his neck.

"Someone seems eager to kill me? Did I hit a soft spot?"

Taunting Wallace, who could no longer make a single movement for fear of death, Alan stood up from his chair, and stepped back.

With the motion of his hand, the two men took their blades away from Wallace's neck, and sheathed them.

"I told you before Wallace, I mean you no harm. I just wanted to tell you about the criminals in your midst who want to intrude on your perfectly legitimate business."

Alan raised his hands smiling a crooked smile.

"You're mocking me aren't you?"

Retracting his weapon, not wanting it to be out in the open any longer, Wallace stepped down from the table.

"Oh no sir. We simply believe that we have a common goal between ourselves."

"And what would that be? What could you possibly gain from working with me? Access to the underground? A mention in my book of favors? Spice? What is it?!"

Smiling, Alan reached into his coat pocket and drew out a medallion.

Seeing its carvings, and the symbol embedded on its face, Wallace's eyes grew wide for a moment, before he easily calmed down.

"The Dark Guild. So you're also from the underground. An underground guild at that."

Putting away the medallion, Alan nodded his head in agreement.

"Correct. We're one of the same Wallace. Both of us are people that live in the shadows."

Scoffing, Wallace sat down on the edge of the table, resting his arms across his thighs, and taking a long hard look at Alan up and down.

"Shadows are one thing, boy. They have a hint of the light in them. Which is why I don't fear you. Because, like me, you have a bit of the light side in you, something not many in this war torn country have anymore."

Sighing, Wallace looked out the window, out beyond the flashing lights of stone buildings.

"So what do you want? What does your little 'Baren Hunters' want with these intruders of mine?"

The smile vanished from Alan's face, replaced by a scorn look that was filled with disgust.

Seeing this, Wallace couldn't help but smile, as his lips curved upwards.

'So even he can lose his cool. Guess he isn't as good as I thought.'

"I'm guessing then that it's bad?"

Catching himself, Alan quickly put back on his calm composure, though this time, he didn't bother to look confident.

"The criminals heading into your mines as we speak have…as you could say, caused problems for a few of my associates. It's an embarrassment that I would have preferred to avoid."

"An embarrassment?"

Intrigued by the topic, Wallace pushed further, hoping to get more information.

"If it was such an embarrassment, then why haven't you dealt with them yourself?"

Silence. Alan made no movement to make any form of sound, and his associates avoided Wallace's gaze. Their faces, shadowed by shame.

"So you can't? Then humor this old man, and let me take a guess. You were the instigators."

Once he said that, Alan instantly bit back with his own words, careful not to upset Wallace, whose face was shrewd with warning all over.

"Those fools have already been dealt with, but the embarrassment they gave us cannot be forgotten. So we must remove the thorn where it lies, and cover the wound."

Gesturing to Wallace, Allan made a rash decision, hoping the risk would pay off.

"I'm certain you could understand. Only the heavens above know that bodies we've buried to keep our business out of the limelight."

"It seems as though the 'heavens' aren't the only ones who know of the bodies I've buried."

Flinching, Alan shut his mouth before he let anything else slip. It was always best to have a few cards saved in negotiations, in case things went south.

"So then, you want my help in getting to these people, and you'll get rid of them for me? Is that what you're saying?"

Taking the words right out of Alan's mouth, the man calmly spoke, his mind already turning gears, calculating the wins and losses he would have to face.

"You're exactly right sir. That's why I think we should work together. Get rid of the thorn in both our sides."

Scoffing, Wallace stood once again, pointing to the ground at Alan's shoes.

"I can deal with a thorn in my side. Unlike you, I can live with one. It's when it grows that it becomes a problem."

Sighing, he stroked his chin, where his beard used to be, before he was forced to shave it for appearances.

"But you're right. With a thorn like this - as you describe it - it will inevitably grow. And the losses I would face would become worse than I could possibly imagine if left unchecked."

Smiling, his confidence regaining, Alan almost rejoiced at this small victory over this powerful man.

"That's exactly why I think -"

But, contrary to what he thought, Wallace spoke out once again, interrupting Alan and reminding the man of his position.

"However, I cannot get directly involved in this issue. Access to the mines is all that I can grant you. And if the problem shall arise in your endeavors, I will provide you with my assistance."

Raising his hand, he pointed sternly at Alan, his voice reasoning the seriousness of his words.

"But only if it requires me to do so. I cannot step in directly otherwise this will not end well. So do not involve me in this little endeavor of yours unless it is absolutely necessary."

Gulping from the pressure exerted off of Wallace, Alan simply nodded his head.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening, alerted Alan's subordinates, who drew their blades at the interruption.

Entering the room, the intruder's boots as they came in contact with the floor, was the only thing that betrayed the deathly silence that had settled in.

-Thump -Thump - Thump

Slowly the man made his way over to Wallace, and it was here that Alan and his subordinates were able to get a better look at him.

Taking off his hat, and placing at his side, the man looked from Wallace to Alan before moving back to Wallace.

"Hello there, Sheriff. Can I help you?"

The man, now identified as one of the many sheriffs in Neverdark, calmly spoke with a sigh escaping his lips.

"Wallace, sir. Do you mind not shooting a man in the middle of a crowded street? Honestly, it causes a lot of paperwork."