Kenma sipped his drink slowly, savouring the burn that took away the pain of his past. His heavy-booted feet rested on the worn wooden tabletop of the small tavern. The establishment was very unlike most of the rest of the city. It was wooden, it was dirty. Most of all, it was old. Most of the city was not even twenty years old, the aftermath of the war made sure of that. Another sip, another burn, another memory momentarily shrouded.

He idlely fingered the hilt of the blade that hung limply at his side. It had shed far too much blood these twelve long years.

The memory of his first kill resurfaced. His first kill in the sandsea desert of the Westlands, where even the air seemed bleached dry by the constant sand. Where the the very spirit of the place seemed to greedily want the spilt blood.

Kenma washed the memory away with another gulp before it could completely resurface.

The war, terrible though it was, had only been the beginning of the killing. Twelve cursed years of barely surviving and constantly being hunted. Was he much better now, though? He looked down at himself, and was greeted by standard-issue Kamarean military armor and the longcoat he just couldn't let go of.

A mercenary.

A hired killer.

The door to the tavern slammed open suddenly, which in itself was hardly noteworthy as many-a mercenary lacked the manners to walk into somewhere at a normal pace. What was noteworthy, however, was the person who entered.

She entered with a warrior's caution, scanning the area briefly and entering with a graceful economy of movement. She wore the same armor as Kenma, sans the coat, and had a similar sword strapped to her hip. The woman marched directly to where Kenma was sitting, and after saluting, stood at attention.

Kenma looked at her with a pleasant smile on his lips and returned the salute almost sarcastically.

"Yo, Aphia, what's up?" he drawled carefully around his obvious inebriation.

"Permission to be seated, sir." she seemed to ignore his drunken state and continued to scan the tavern.

"Of course," he gestured toward the other seat at the table "So, what's on your mind?"

"Sir, I just received a report from our scouts that the Citadel has dispatched a Paladin."

Kenma's eyes suddenly cleared and he was fully alert, his boots came off the table and came to rest on the wooden floor with slow deliberation. His accelerated metabolism kicked in and processed the alcohol in his blood instantly as his palms pressed down on the table and he leaned toward his subordinate. Aphia cleared her throat and seemed taken aback for the first time since she had walked in as she took in Kenma's intense gaze.

He spoke in quick, clipped sentences. "What rank?"

She began to regain her composure. "Black."

Kenma groaned. "How many are with him or her?"

"Five, one silver Paladin and four Templars."

"Hmm, that's not so bad..." he leaned back and steepled his fingers before gazing at Aphia again, "Who's the black Paladin?"

This was evidently the question that Aphia did not want to answer. She raked her fingers through her steel-gray hair and met Kenma's gaze. "Artemis."

Kenma closed his eyes and downed the rest of his drink at once. The bartender, who had been watching, winced as the mercenary drank the concoction.

"Why in the nine Hells would Crusade send Artemis? He's a loose cannon, completely uncontrollable." he gestured wildly as he spoke, "He can't handle the fragile political climate around here, he'll ruin relations with the Citadel."

Aphia simply nodded at the appropriate moments, she always got swept away when Kenma got worked up over something. She wondered if he had once been in politics, he never spoke of his past...

"Are you even listening!?" he was inches from her face. Although he hadn't raised his voice, she could tell that he was very irritated with her.

"Y-yes, of course."

"Good, let's go," he got up from his seat and tossed a coin at the bartender without looking. As Aphia also rose, she noticed that that all the tavern's patrons were watching Kenma. She held her face in one palm for a moment in embarassment and followed her superior out the tavern doors.

They were barely fifty paces down the rain-drenched cobblestone street when she felt something. She drew her falchion without thinking and slashed down directly in front of Kenma. A rosewood arrow with a silver head clattered to the street in two pieces.

She growled once and ran toward where the arrow had come from. A man stood on a rooftop and nocked another arrow.

Kenma had felt the arrow, and was preparing to dodge when Aphia had disposed of it for him. He grunted irritably before Aphia took off running toward the sniper on the rooftop.

"Ignis!" the shout rang from the rooftop and echoed across the streets, an arrow wreathed in fire screamed toward the street where Aphia had already reached the foot of the building where the archer stood. She simply rolled forward and the arrow exploded on the cobblestones harmlessly. She came out of the roll, using her already coiled legs to propel herself into a prodigious leap straight upward.

The archer on the roof muttered an almost-audible curse and drew another arrow. "Aer!"

Kenma spotted strange waves of distortion around this arrow and knew that it was compressed air. Aphia simply twisted in the air and cut the arrowhead off, shutting off the elemental power. She simultaneously grabbed a windowsill and pulled herself farther up, far over the edge of the roof and several feet above the sniper's head.

The archer swore again and drew a gladius from the small of his back and held it reverse-handed to block Aphia's descending strike. He apparently hadn't counted on how strong she was, since the force of the blow sent him skidding across the roof, although Kenma had to give him points for keeping his feet.

Kenma got a better look at the sniper's face and the distinctive pauldrons he wore.

It was Artemis.

Aphia was angry.

The little pissant Paladin had managed to block her so far, although he held his gladius normally now and was breathing hard.

"Is that all it takes to get the Black Fist these days?" she taunted.

It had the desired effect, Artemis flushed with anger and stood straight. He held his short blade vertically before him and pressed his left palm against where the crossguard would be on a broadsword. "Light," he began, his words echoing with power, "bless this blade with the power to cut through evil, and stab into the heart of darkness. Amen!"

His gladius began to glow golden, the blade grew threefold, a crossguard sprouted and the handle extended to accomodate two hands. Artemis held a golden, glowing broadsword seemingly made of pure Light energy.

Aphia whistled approvingly. Now that was certainly a new trick.

Her opponent charged forward, blade raised high. Aphia raised her falchion accordingly, she was starting to get into this.

An armored hand clamped onto her wrist, stopping her mid-strike. Artemis' sword clanged against the scimitar held by the other armored hand. It was Kenma, and he now stood between them, his long coat billowing behind him in the breeze. He looked coldly toward the astonished Paladin. "Why?"

Artemis recovered quickly. "Because you are a lycanthrope, an abomination in the eyes of the Light."

Kenma seemed on the edge of a biting retort when a new voice intruded.

"Paladin Artemis!" a man in full plate armor stood on the rooftop now. He had the same pauldrons on his shoulders, only while Artemis' had the Golden Cross on the right shoulder and the Black Fist on the left, this man had the the Cross and the Silver Fist. A subordinate two ranks lower.

The Black Fist Paladin turned his head toward the Silver Paladin. "What?"

"Sir, the Inquisition is here," the man seemed breathless. Whether it was from the rush to the rooftop or with the shock of the news was not readily apparent.

Artemis disengaged from the bladelock with Kenma and his gladius returned to normal as he sheathed it. "To the embassy, then."

Kenma watched astonishedly as the two Paladins simply ignored the mercenaries and left the rooftop. He turned to Aphia to comment on it and noticed the change in her. Her face was lowered and she had a dark look in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to ask, but thought better of it.

He knew well that there were parts of the past that were best left there.