A Bed. A Bartender. A Broody Swordsman

Bagwis Sitan woke up with a groan that sounded of pure indignation. He squinted against the morning light that poured through the tavern's broken window, cursing under his breath at the bed he had just endured.

"I mean the bartender said the bed wasn't the best," he grumbled to himself, "but I never expected that by 'bed,' he meant a pile of hay that had seen better days—like, maybe during the last clan war."

He swung his legs over the side and inspected the mattress—a sad, sagging heap that looked like it had witnessed more nightmares than his first life. "Maybe this bed is cursed or something," he muttered, "because if I had to fight that thing in a dream, I'd surely lose."

After a moment of contemplation, he decided he needed to face the day—or at least face the bartender who had given him this delightful experience.

He donned his best 'I'm100% a totally well-adjusted young man' expression and walked down to the tavern's common room.

As he reached the bar, he was greeted by the sight of Rigor, the grumpy bartender from last night, still looking like a man who had just rolled out of the wrong side of his bed.

"Morning, sunshine," Rigor said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How'd you sleep? Or did the bed try to eat you whole?"

Bagwis smirked, leaning on the bar with exaggerated casualness. "Oh, I had a lovely sleep, alright. I felt like I was cradled in the embrace of a cranky porcupine. What's on the menu today? More food that make my stomach question my life choices?"

"Only the best slop in town," Rigor replied, pouring a suspiciously dark liquid into a mug and handed it over. "Guaranteed to keep you on your toes. One sip and you'll be running straight to the loo faster than a man being chased by orcs."

"Perfect!" Bagwis replied, feigning enthusiasm.

His playful demeanor shifted when he spotted the swordsman from the previous day—the one with the familiar looking sword that had him puzzled. Curiosity nagged at him like a mosquito flying all over his head, and as he concentratedb and tried his very best to recall. Finally! The memories from his past life surged forth, recalling the knight's identity.

This was no ordinary man; he was Alab Kampilan, a notorious rogue expelled from knighthood for killing his fellow knights—a fallen knight in its truest form.

Bagwis eyes glimmered in delight. I found him. My very first slave—I mean member!

Bagwis's mind raced as he recalled the tales of Alab. His reputation was as fierce as the sword he wielded. In the past life the man had one of the highest bounty on his head however, countless bounty hunters had perished under his sword.

He was a man addicted to strength so much so, that he grew to be called a Habagat because he reached the level of Archknight before regretfully meeting his demise under the hand of a major clans pursuit. He was labeled as the Manic Swordsman.

However, the current Alab wasn't the infamous Habagat he knows but a freshly banned knight who was still a Haraya.. an adept adventurer. Granted it was still quite impressive since he was only in his early 20's. 

"What's up with that swordsman?" Bagwis lightly questioned Rigor while sipping the questionable beverage the bartender poured him which tasted as questionable as it looked.

"Ah, you mean the guy in the corner who looks like he's constantly plotting someone's demise?" Rigor raised an eyebrow. "I hear he's about as friendly as a rabid animal."

"I can work with that," Bagwis replied, grinning. "All I need to do is schem—I mean, get acquainted..." and maybe have a few random coincidences, he silently added.

As he took a sip of his drink, he once again glanced at Alab who was sitting at a nearby table, polishing his sword with a focus like he was planning murder.

"There he is, my future meat shiel—companion. I mean companion," he whispered to himself, stifling a laugh.

Taking a deep breath, he casually made his way towards the swordsman. "That sword is quite the beauty!" he said cheerfully, plopping down across from him.

"Go away," Alab grunted, his eyes still on his sword.

"I wanted to, but I can't! I'm drawn to your aura of doom," Bagwis replied, grinning widely as he leaned on both hands. "It's like a dark cloud of brooding and untrustworthy vibes. Tell me, do you use that to ward off potential comrades, or is that all natural?"

Alab looked up, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't need comrades," he said coldly. "And I don't appreciate your... whatever it is you're trying to do."

"Come on! I came here all alone, and I noticed that you were also all alone. Doesn't that mean there might be some fate between us two?" Bagwis shot back with a toothy grin.

Alab stared at him, and just when Bagwis thought he was going to be told off, he simply pursed his lips sheathed his sword and walked away.

'What are this young man's intentions?' Alab wondered, feeling a tad bit irritated. 'he moment he waltzed through that door yesterday, he grabbed unwanted attention. It's like an ignorant sheep has made its way toward a wolf's den. Look at him. He's practically glowing with enthusiasm and ignorance. What's he hoping to accomplish here?

He's too eager. No one strolls into a place like this with a grin plastered on their face unless they're up to something—or they've never had the misfortune of being around real danger. He acts like this place, which was filled with criminals and run by former criminals, is some light stroll. 'Oh, look at me! I'm here to make friends!'

The last thing he should want is to get involved with someone like me. I don't have the patience or the time to babysit a starry-eyed dreamer who thinks loyalty comes cheap. People like him get hurt, and I don't want to be the one to explain why the world is not all rainbows and sunshine.