Michael was sitting at the bar watching the rest of the people there. He saw at the corner of his eye people exchanging money and shaking hands. This was a normal site in a place like this, so he paid it no mind. In fact, he himself had made some shady deals in the past. It’s not like it was always for bad things, illegal things yes, but not bad….. probably. It didn’t really matter to him though.
“I wonder if he’ll show up.” Michael said out loud to no one in particular. He had been waiting for someone that was supposed to give him information about a certain group of mercenaries. He hoped that the fellow wasn’t planning on being a no show, especially after going through the trouble of “borrowing” money from his brother, Julian.
One moment, not there, the next, suddenly it seemed that he was in the room. Tossing a pair of sheathed swords over the counter, where they were caught by a shimmering emerald hand. Nodding his head towards the wraith, Jegun’s icy gaze scanned the room, noting the usual collection of drunks, dealers, and overall criminals, and then one that didn’t quite match. Narrowing his eyes, he moved forward.
“If who will show up, sir?” Drawing another chair around and seating in it, the man studied the speaker intently. Dressed casually, a underarm holster visible over his shirt with the butt of a magnum jutting forward, he almost seemed innocuous, but for the presence he seemed to carry around him.
Michael rested his hand on his gun as the man approached him. However, this was just a precaution. He had no intentions of actually shooting the man unless he had to.
“I’m not sure that it’s your business,” Michael answered.
“Fairly certain it is, considering you’re on my turf.” Glancing lazily at the gun, Jegun raised a brow. “And if it came to hunting a bounty on my turf, I’d have to beat your ass out the door. I happen to accept the current company. Keeps me informed, you could say.”
His gaze went behind the counter for a minute, shaking his head subtly as he seemed to catch the eye of something there. Emerald hands rose into view as he turned back, polishing a shot glass with a rag.
Michael relaxed and removed his hand from his gun. “Well, there is no need to worry about a bounty. I’m only here for information, but it seems that my contact seems to have taken a sick day. But, I still have the money that was supposed to be the payment. Perhaps, I can change the recipient, if you have the information I need. What do you say?”
“Depends on the nature of the information you’re asking for. What’re looking to find?”
Leaning back in his seat, Jegun eyed the man.
Michael smiled. “I’m looking for information on a group of mercenaries said to be recruiting new members. Know anything about them?”
“I might.” Smiling, Jegun leaned forward again, his gaze serious. “One might say I know a great deal about them, you might say. After all, you did just walk in the foyer, so to speak. What exactly were you looking to know?”
Michael’s face got a bit more serious. “Are you with the police?”
“Not my department. What I handle, the police are about as helpful as bringing a toothbrush to a gunfight. And before you continue, it ain’t mercs you’re looking for. It’s Judicarius.” The smile was gone, in its place calculation. “And you found them, alright.”
Michael softened himself. “If that’s the case, than maybe I could ask you how I can join.” He smiles, “But first, how ‘bout a drink?”
Nodding his head, Jegun glanced over at the bar. “Molk, a Mountain, if you would.”
The wraith’s hand gleamed as it grabbed a bottle, tossing it through the air to the man. Catching it in hand, he expertly slapped the head against the table, popping the top and then bringing it up for a swig in one smooth motion. Somewhere in the course, the bottle had acquired a frosted patina. “Go ahead and order. First, there’s a few questions, then I test your ability. I give you the expectations, and we’ll see if everything’s cut and dried.”
Michael eyed the drink with interest. “Maybe I’ll try the same thing, just a little differently. Molk, Mountain as well, please.” Molk tossed him a bottle. He caught it in his hand and the lid flew off with a loud pop as steam poured from its mouth. Michael sipped it and smiled, “Not bad.” He looked at the man in front of him intently. “Now, what kind of questions did you want to ask?”
“First, we have a bit of a code. If it’s idiots robbing a bank, we don’t interfere. However, a dragon raining hell over somewhere, then that’s a problem we take. What the normal law enforcement can handle, we leave to them. But what they can’t, that’s when we act. We also provide security for the reopened Gambit’s. Lethal force isn’t used unless there is no other choice. Think you can abide by that?” The man quirked a brow.
Michael leaned back a bit and pondered the question. “I can abide by that.” He took another swig of his drink. “Anything else, or shall we start part two of my admission?”
A crooked smile at that. “Cocky, I see. A few more, then we get to the test.”
Taking another pull from his bottle, he cocked his head at the man. “Why do you want to join the Judicarius?”
Michael set his drink on the counter and looked at the man. “In truth, I’ve been alienated from my family for being….. different.” He made flames dance between his fingers as he wore a somber look. He closed his fingers and took another drink from his ale. “Because of that though, I’ve grown restless and irritated with being shoved into the corner.” He looked closely at the man. “Is that enough for you?”
“So, looking to prove that you’re worth more than the black sheep of the family.” Looking pensive, Jegun nodded again. “You obviously can tell we’re not always on the clean side of the law, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
“Final question. If you had to name it, do you have a preferred style of fighting?”
Michael took a liking to the new subject of the question. He gave the man a smile, “Isn’t it obvious,” he said while flames flared through one of his hands. He finished off his drink and set it on the counter.
“A pyromancer then. A simple enough test, ironically, but all the more challenging given the factors involved. Molk, pyromancer ball, if you will.”
Once more than hand shimmered to life, in its clutch from behind the counter a simple pendulum of an oddly hued metal. Setting it on the counter, it made a distinctly deep thump as he slid it down the length, Jegun’s outstretched hand catching it with a minor wince. Hefting it, he rolled it in his hand for better viewing.
“This is a solid slug of admantium, high grade. Your test is simple. Melt the ball.” Rising he strode across the room, drawing odd glances as he reached up, attaching the ball’s chain to a hook on the ceiling, then setting it on a steady swing.
“While in motion, I should add, and at range. Normally, you only see this stuff come out of dwarven hands. Their forges reach the heat necessary to melt the raw ore, or repair the damage to manufactured weapons.”
Michael smirked as he eyed the ball. “You sure you want to do this inside?”
“The point is demonstration of tight control, and the power to reach those sorts of temperatures. Please, leave my tavern and its patrons intact.” A wry smile.
Michael gave a nod and turned back to the swinging orb. He focused in on it, his eyes flashing. His hand became engulfed in flames and then quickly focused and condensed into a molten ball the size of his fingertip. He shot it straight at the orb, melting straight through and coming out the other side. It was about to go straight through the ceiling, but it suddenly curved back around and penetrated the orb again, then again, and again until the whole orb was nearly destroyed. The molten ball suddenly dissipated and Michael looked back at the man. “How’s that?” He asked cockily.