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Message: <blockquote data-quote="mmu1" data-source="post: 2570997" data-attributes="member: 319">Logan's StoryBTW - I don't know if this is the place for it (if not, let me know, and I'll edit it out, or we can move it) but I figured I'd post Logan's story while we're on the subject of the surly little cuss:         With one quick motion, Logan drew his dagger from its sheath and across the hand of the thug blocking his path. The man let go of his blade and dropped to the floor gasping in pain, but Barret the wool merchant had already used the delay to waddle out the back door with his remaining bodyguard in tow, and was screaming his head off for the guard. Logan made to follow, but now Mathis the barkeep stood in his way. "So eager to make yourself an appointment at the gallows, boy? Get the hell out of my house, unless you aim to kill me too."Logan stared at him for a long moment, then quietly turned around, planted a solid kick in the stomach of the man whimpering over his bloody hand, and left through the front accompanied by the sound of retching and a few jeers from the braver members of the morning crowd. The guards were slow these days, but not so slow he could get to Barret before they would - it was time to head home, and see if his father would finally make good on his often-repeated threat of throwing him to the wolves...             This wasn't the first time he was going home to be berated, but it might be the last. A rich merchant's son needed the help of a temple last night to get his guts back in, and things have only been getting more complicated. The young fool, dressed like a minor noble with his pretty jeweled toy of a sword ought to have known better than to draw it - he couldn't use the damn thing any better than one of the dirty peasants Logan compared him to. If he had spent half the money he wasted on the finery on a decent teacher, perhaps he'd have recognized the blade Logan carried, and wouldn't have ended up with twelve inches of his own sword stuck in his stomach.             Logan stopped for a moment to look at the dagger Jorun gave him, and ran his fingers over the intricately carved handle.  His own teacher had been a survivor of the Pohjola fighting pits, and a living warning to any would-be fighter. Blind in one eye, missing several fingers, and barely able to walk some days – but unlike other teachers he might have gone to, willing to teach a twelve year old boy in exchange for a few silver and a steady supply of strong liquor – and able to teach not how to make pretty forms with a foil, but how to fight – and kill.    Not that it earned him much respect in his father’s eyes… The man was practical enough - a leftover of his supposed adventuring days, Logan thought - to recognize a useful skill, but if you couldn’t put it down on a sheaf of paper, it didn’t impress Alistair the bloody Coal very much.  Not since his wife had died.  Although his skill with a blade did get him out of Teamsburg a dozen times, once his father realized he was likely never going to learn a trade, very handy to have along on a dark road, and too much trouble to be left to his own devices in the city.    The last was true enough, he reflected. His older brother was good at keeping his temper and staying out of trouble… Which is why Adric was now learning magic in the Academy, busy as a good little drone, and he was dodging the guards. After Logan stuck the little merchant bastard, the boy’s father had the bright idea to send half a dozen thugs after him, to leave him broken and bleeding in some alley.  They at least knew what to make of Logan’s scars and the calluses left by hundreds of hours of sword practice – but were too greedy, or too confident to let things be, or perhaps they thought he was still as drunk as the smell suggested, and so two of them died - one before he even got his club up for a swing.  Another lost some fingers, yet another… He thought about the feel of metal grinding on bone, and shuddered. Jorun, if he were still alive, would have probably said something about having enough bits around for a necklace. Those men had cousins, and brothers… the docks were swarming with them. Which meant more would come, and he would have to kill some of the damn fools again. For the first time since he ran the fop through over a day ago he felt ill, and had to take several gasping breaths to keep his breakfast down. Perhaps it really was time to go to his father, and see what the world outside of Teamsburg had to offer…</blockquote>

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