Legend of Ransera

17th of Ash, 123

Leon's body unfurled like a tired beast, his sinewy arms reaching skyward, stretching to chase away the lethargy that clung to him like a stubborn shadow. The night had been a relentless companion, a relentless ordeal of rifle tinkering that left him drained, as if some unseen force had drained the wellspring of his creativity. He yearned for a spark, a flicker of inspiration, something to banish the haze of exhaustion that clung to his thoughts.

With a reluctant sigh, he finally conceded defeat and threw back the tangled sheets that clung to his legs. His hand slapped his unruly hair, as if trying to shake loose the inspiration hidden within his stubborn thoughts. "Damn it, cooperate for once, will you?" He muttered, his voice laced with exasperation, as he rapped his knuckles lightly against his temple.

Leon shuffled across the room to a weathered oak cupboard, its wood bearing the scars of countless disappointments. He yanked the door open with more force than necessary, revealing a row of empty containers, their hollowness echoing his frustration. His lips curled into a sneer. "Seriously?"

Desperation propelled him to ransack the cluttered drawers, his fingers dancing over mementos and knick-knacks that held fragments of memories. His quest led him to a long-awaited discovery: a crumpled pack of cigarettes nestled amidst the chaos. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived as he realized there was only a solitary, slender stick remaining within the pack.

His angular face twisted in frustration, and he sank into the chair. Fingers trembling, he extracted the final cigarette, its cylindrical form a fragile comfort in his grip. With a flick of his silver lighter, the ember sprang to life. He drew the first drag with a deep inhale, allowing the smoke to curl and weave its tendrils around his thoughts, coaxing them into a semblance of tranquility.

The room, bathed in the dimmed light filtering through heavy curtains, bore the weight of midday. Outside the window, the world seemed to move at a pace entirely different from Leon's internal chaos, as if time itself had chosen to disregard his struggles. Leon's mind crackled with the urgency of his need. He muttered a curse under his breath. Shit, hope that geezer's still got some stuff. I need to restock.

With a swift, practiced motion, Leon snatched his revolver from its resting place, deftly loaded it with a sense of purpose, and tossed a pouch of ammunition into a knapsack slung over his shoulder. His apartment, bathed in the faint glow light, seemed to sigh in relief as he hurried towards the door.

The bustling streets of the city greeted him as he stepped outside. Leon's keen eyes scanned the passing carriages. He hailed one and, with a gruff determination, barked his destination to the driver.

"Edge of Northside."

A flicker of hesitation danced in the driver's eyes at the mention of venturing so close to Trashtown. Leon, undeterred, produced a glimmering silver aven, its gleam coaxing reluctant agreement from the driver. As the carriage clattered into motion, Leon's fatigue-ridden body finally surrendered to slumber, and the rhythmic clop of hooves merged with his fading consciousness.

Moments later, he was roused from his restless nap as the driver halted a few meters from the imposing bridge that marked the tenuous boundary between the Northside and Trashtown. Leon groaned, the ache of interrupted sleep gnawing at his bones. With a reluctant sigh, he reached for another piece of silver aven and handed it to the driver, whose grip on fear loosened in the presence of gleaming wealth.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Leon stepped onto the worn cobbles and squinted against the sudden brightness of the day. He pushed onward, crossing the bridge with the steely resolve of a man driven by necessity. He stopped in front of an alleyway near the bustling harbor.

“Ah fuck, it’s that geezer’s fishing day.” Leon groaned as he saw the closed door of his supplier’s shop. He looked up to the sky and raised a finger to specifically no one. Yeah, whoever’s toying with my day, just fuck off already. A creature of habit, Leon felt around his pocket and another crumpled pack of cigarettes. He quickly opened it to find a single piece.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he mumbled as he brought the cigarette to his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled the aroma of unburnt tobacco. The first win of the d- his celebration was cut short as someone ran into the alleyway and bumped into him. Alas, victory once again slipped through his fingers onto the muddy ground. He almost reunited with his fallen piece of cigarette on the muddy ground, but he regained his composure rather quickly. “Motherfuck-“ he looked at the figure that had bumped into him. A young woman, younger than him perhaps. He instinctively knew that the woman wasn’t a Gelerian. Aside from her sun-kissed skin and scales. Scales? He shook his head. Maybe it was the sleep-deprived that had him hallucinating. “Damn foreigners,” he cursed in Kathalan. He observed her bewildered face, messy hair, uneven breathing, and her grip on her bag, then noticed two other men behind her, almost out of breath, too. He got the gist of the situation. It was Trashtown, after all. The strong preyed on the weak, especially foreigners.

One of the guys took a step closer, “Hey brother, we’re only here for her.” He spoke in Kathalan as he saw that Leon looked like a local. As the guy came closer, Leon could see the knuckles imprinted on the guy’s face red. He looked at the woman, the man, then back at the woman. “Hey kiddo, you owe me a pack of cigarette.” He whispered to her and motioned his eyes at the crumpled cigarette on the muddy ground.

The two guys had called their friends during their pursuit. Two other guys appeared from behind them. One of them pulled out a knife and walked toward Leon and the woman. “Come on, don’t be stubborn and we’ll perhaps let you walk out of here alive.” The man with the knife threatened him.

Now, Leon was irritated. It’s as if his day couldn’t get any worse, and he had to go against some nameless thugs. “Who’ll let who walk out of here alive?” Leon asked as he slightly pushed the woman aside and stepped forward.

The guy with the punched mark on his face moved closer, “You basta-“

BANG

“ARRGGGHHH!” the guy shouted as blood began streaming down his right shoulder. He looked back at Leon and came face to face with the revolver barrel.

BANG

“ARRRGGGGGHHHHHH. FUCKERRRR!” the guy shouted as another stream of blood came from his left shoulder. One of the injured guy’s friends stepped forward to help, but Leon pointed his gun, and the friend retreated slowly.

“Don’t be stubborn and I might let you walk out of here alive.” Leon threatened.

The guy with the knife raised his knife and was about to rush at Leon when a giant figure grabbed his hand and broke it.

“WHO THE FU-“ the man shouted as he looked back and faced one of the Skullcrusher ogres. The ogre looked at Leon, “We even now. Gun.” The ogre greeted Leon as he swung the man like a rag doll against the wall.

“I can handle……..” Leon protested.

“Boss said gun no shoot. You shoot, lots of corpse. Police not happy. Boss not happy.” The ogre looked at the two unharmed thugs. “Run home.” He ordered. The two thugs quickly drag away their injured friends. “Gun, no shoot, boss happy.” the ogre repeated.

“Yeah, no shoot.” Leon replied.

And just like that, the ogre also disappeared into the bustling harbor.

Leon looked at the woman. “Well, welcome to Trashtown. Sorry you have to see that.” He said as he holstered his firearm. “You better be off staying at Northside or Southside for the meantime. They aren’t the forgiving type.” He stopped as he picked up his knapsack. “….and kiddo, you still owe me a pack of cigarette.” His stomach grumbled in unison, “And I guess you owe me lunch too. There’s a good place in Southside.”

It was fortuitous that the young woman crossed paths with him in that alleyway—a case of serendipitous timing for her, and an unfortunate coincidence for her pursuers. They had stumbled upon him during one of his less-than-stellar days.

"Grandpa?" Leon chuckled, noticing her quick glance over her shoulder to ensure they were no longer being trailed. "Don’t worry, they won't dare," he reassured, a wry grin spreading across his face as he deftly loaded his revolver with two caster shells.

"Consider it my good deed for the day." Deep down, Leon understood that his assistance wasn't purely altruistic. Like many who called the grimy streets of Trashtown home, he was, at his core, selfish. For him, helping Eve was a means to release his pent-up frustration on some nameless thug, all while securing himself a meal and a much-needed cigarette, the cost of which was two caster shells.

"Well, Eve, you're welcome to call me 'gramps' if you'd like," he replied with a hint of humor. "But the name's Leon."

As the two of them approached the bridge, Leon spotted an unoccupied carriage nearby. With a silver aven in hand, he signaled the driver, who eagerly vacated the vehicle.

"To Wintergarten Circle," Leon instructed the driver as he courteously opened the carriage door and assisted Eve inside.

"So, what brings you all the way to Gel'Grandal, Eve? Business or pleasure?" he inquired, a habit ingrained in him from his days as a Jaeger. Regardless of how one looked at it, Eve didn't seem like a native of the Northern cities or their neighboring regions. Could she be from across the sea? He pondered this as he discreetly shifted his gaze between Eve and the passing scenery beyond the carriage window.

Leon couldn't help but chuckle at her remarks. He had no intentions of seeking a reward; instead, he was more inclined to blame her for the untimely demise of his last cigarette, which had tragically landed in the muddy ground. Well, not entirely her fault, he conceded internally. The real culprits were those thugs who preyed on the weak. They had already received more than their fair share of punishment, and by some standards, they were fortunate to escape with their heads still attached. After all, Leon had done far worse for far less. So, in his mind, helping her was merely settling a debt, the debt of his lost cigarette.

He resisted the urge to pose further questions when she mentioned that she was neither there for business or pleasure. Instead, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow and wore a puzzled expression. "Ah, I see. Probably here for the papers, then. A foreign ship, I'd wager, since the regular ships understand that even in Trashtown, there's a certain 'way' of conducting business." He mused, his hand instinctively reaching for a nonexistent pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "I forgot to buy some from the cigarette girls on the bridge." He shook his head in mild frustration before resuming their conversation. "So, how are you finding the city so far? Quite a stark contrast from the Commonwealth, I imagine," he prodded with what appeared to be innocent curiosity.

Leon's gaze lingered a bit longer on Eve, not with any malice but rather genuine intrigue. "As for me, it's both business and pleasure. This place is a haven for both, but I wouldn't exactly call it home," he admitted before turning his attention to the passing scenery outside the window.

His amusement was evident when Eve produced a book and began sketching. "And you're an artist too, it seems. You remind me of my younger cousin, the artistic one in the family," he commented with a warm smile. "Oh, by the way, have you had the chance to visit the Valtoris School of Fine Arts?"

Right, I need to take a quick look on the manifest of the ship she was on. On the crew as well. Hopefully none of the families made a move on them yet. It would be a bit bothersome. I need a captain, ship and crew that’s not affiliated with the Fatherland or any of the families if I want to make my move. He thought to himself.

Leon couldn’t help but notice the change in her eye color as she answered his question. Playful yet wary. At least he knows that she wasn’t an enemy. Not yet at least. As his former CO told him, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Leon chuckled awkwardly, He already deduced that since she came by ship to Gel’Grandal, a slim chance that she would be from the Northern cities, since it would be more efficient and safer to travel by air, because passing by Zythura on sea would be a death sentence. Especially with the skirmishes between the Zyth pirates and the Imperial navy. If she was from the neighboring regions, she would have arrived by the train station that’s in Southside. Judging by her response Leon got a feeling that he was right. “Gut feeling, I guess.” He gave a quick grin. Leon noticed her discomfort as she switched her gaze between the carriage door and his holstered firearm. He took a deep breath and switched his gaze outside, “I agree, it is not nice to assume.” He hinted at her action.

"Well, I really don't understand fine art that much either," he admitted. "All those artists at the Valtoris School of Fine Arts felt like they lived in a different world than mine." He sighed, glancing at her sketch. "My cousin used to say that you don't need to study art formally to create art. I guess she was right in a way. There are always certain standards and features that are the norm in the arts produced by those from the School of Fine Arts. Sometimes it felt like they began to lose the true meaning of art—freedom of expressing oneself without adhering to a certain set of standards or something."

Leon recalled the first time he learned his swordsmanship as well as gunsmithing. There’s always a certain set of standards. As the carriage came to a halt at Wintergarten Circle, Leon stepped out and tossed the driver a silver aven. Turning to Eve with a welcoming gesture, he said, "Well, welcome to Wintergarten Circle. Have you ever tried Reiger's? It's one of the best restaurants in the whole of the Imperium." He extended an invitation to join him for lunch at the renowned establishment.

XP: 10 XP, not usable for magic

Loot:

Injuries/Ailments: N/A

Comments:
That’ a great start in a new city. Looking forward to more adventures!