"A brigand of the sea." The clarification came strong and biting -- more an accusation than anything else. With the alcohol heavy in his head, it took Faris a moment for the words to sink in, and then longer to realize that it wasn't the knife-wielding coward who threw them. By the time that Faris turned his head to pinpoint the insult, his abuser had already walked past and taken a seat at the empty bar. 

This man looked different from the others Faris had run into in this strange kingdom. He wore leather armor over a loosely fitted green shirt. Leather gloves reached his elbows while leather grieves flared out about his knees. His cape brushed the floor as he perched on the nearest bar stool. The ends of it were pulled together around his neck like a scarf. Over all, it wasn't the oddity of his dress that most shocked Faris, but its familiarity. So far, Faris hadn't seen anyone looking even remotely similar to himself, and yet he wouldn't have given this man a second look if they'd passed on the streets of Tycoon or Karnak. Sure, the man looked like he belonged more in a castle than anywhere near Faris or his crew, but even a snooty reminder of home was better than nothing. Apparently Faris wasn't the only one to see the resemblance. 

"Y-You're one too?!" the knife-wielding local said. With the newcomer's sudden appearance, Faris had almost forgotten about him, but a glance proved that his attacker was still tightly pinned to a wall. The coward looked more terrified now than when Faris had changed job classes, and that was saying something. In fact, between the darting eyes and delusions, he looked like he was having some kind of fit.

"I've no idea what madness has taken you, but throwing accusations at a whim will only lead to more trouble," the newcomer said. Faris tried to keep the two voices straight, but his head was too heavy for this. That was the problem with bar fights: you were always too drunk to remember why you were fighting in the first place. 

"If you're done battering the weak, join me for a drink."

Well, that was a suggestion Faris could get behind. He leaned in close to the delirious brawler and gave him a warning look before releasing him from the hold of the dragoon's spear. The man gasped as the pressure was relieved from his neck. He looked up with wide eyes as Faris spun the spear's weight onto an armored shoulder. "Get off with you now, and don't get into any trouble you can't handle." The man darted out the door before Faris could finish, but that might have been because Faris wasn't talking the fastest now anyway. The pirate stretched out the tension in his shoulders before joining the newcomer at the bar. His dragon armor clanked with every step, and gave a metallic clink as Faris fell back on the bar stool. 

"Looks like the bar's all empty. A shame, it is." Faris looked to the lone barkeeper who had stood his ground in the chaos. Faris hadn't seen him before, so he'd likely hidden underneath the counter to avoid the action. He looked shaken now, but still poured out a clear liquid into the newcomer's glass without batting an eye. Faris admired his professionalism, and ordered something for himself as well. "Get me a tall draft of beer," Faris said. Without anyone to impress, it was time to slow down a little, and he didn't mind something a little weaker. 

"What's your name, if you don't mind my asking?" Faris said, and then because he'd recently scolded a man for rude introductions said, "Mine's Faris. My ship went down about a week ago now, and I washed up on shore without heads or tails of where I am. From the looks of it, you're not from around here either." With the buzz of alcohol alive in his brain, Faris couldn't help himself from talking. He took a sip of the beer once it hit hand. "I come in here trying to forget all that, and some dim-witted lout starts going on about how I'll kill them all." Faris took another drink and let it dull his sense of anger. "The gutless cur should've known better than to pick fights with a Warrior of Light," he said moodily. His spear leaned against the counter as proof. 

In the lowest sectors of Torensten, there was talk of a mysterious young man who had appeared suddenly only a week prior. He was an alarming sort with dull violet hair and dressed in some kind of medieval-style tunic and a scarf. When he'd first appeared, his hair had been tangled in ratty thickets and his clothes had smelled deeply of saltwater. When asked, he said that he had been shipwrecked on a beach a day's walk from town, that he was from some distant land beyond the sea, and that his name was Faris. "Captain Faris Scherwiz, if a name be so important to you." He never said where he was from and could only guess what had left him stranded. "Hit a storm, I reckon. Or maybe another sea dragon!" he laughed heavily at this, though no one had ever heard of a sea dragon nor of anywhere beyond the ocean on Zephron's Western border. By day, the man could be seen wandering the city's river-walk, taking comfort in the spray of water. At night, he could be found at shady pubs, challenging the locals to drinking contests. So far, he had never lost. 

Faris' throat burned as he downed another shot -- whiskey this time. It tasted like fire and tar, but he swallowed before it could hit his tongue. His stomach burned with heat. "There!" he said, slamming the shot glass back onto the counter. The rim cracked on impact. "Now, which of you lads can match me?" The room spun a little as he scanned it. That was his eighth shot in less than hour. 

There were takers, of course. They were all men, bigger and sturdier than Faris himself. But Faris was stronger and had more experience poisoning himself than anyone in this whole city. He was an expert in pretending that he didn't feel the dizziness that naturally came stronger to him. Most of the game could be won with a strong will.

"Just who are you?"

The question came from a broad-looking scoundrel a table away. He wore the same strange clothes that everyone did in this kingdom, but his pants were ripped, and his jacket was askew. He'd been watching Faris for a while, but only now did he speak. 

"What kinda man'd go around asking a name without giving it first?" Faris said. The man squinted his eyes threateningly.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" 

"What're you blabbering about?"

"One of those super-powered freaks that dropped from the sky. I heard one slaughtered about two dozen soldiers at the World Sight and another took out a bunch of police officers in Provo."

"That's no business of mine," Faris said. Super-powered freaks dropping from the sky? That was madness if he'd ever heard it. The man rose to his feet. Faris matched him. Standing, Faris barely met this man's shoulders.

"I've heard about you. You show up from nowhere the same time they do, looking like that? How do we know you won't be next?"

Faris' head sloshed heavily. "If you're looking for a fight, I won't be backing down."

The bar went strangely quiet. Everyone had turned to look at them -- at least everyone close and sober enough to know what was about to happen. Some men looked nervous, others excited. Across the bar, a pair laughed loudly and slammed their fists on the table. The man looked between the expectant crowd and then back at Faris. He'd gone a little pale. "I'm not waiting for you all to go crazy," he said. 

"You've got brass, talking like that. But can you back it up?" Faris gave the man a knowing half-grin and settled into an easy fighting stance. The man lunged at her with a knife. Faris hadn't been expecting it, but hardened battle instinct kicked in before he could think. With his senses dulled by alcohol, Faris only barely had time to dodge before the knife made impact. "Lily-livered-!" Faris rolled back on the heels of his boots and stumbled into the bar counter. When he came to, the grin hadn't left his face. "You're nothing but a coward, bringing a knife to a fistfight."

Faris felt for the power of the crystals. It burned inside him as hot as the whiskey. In a flash of light, it surrounded him, forming armor from the ether. Cool metal surrounded bare arms and legs. In an instant, his tunic was hidden behind a torso plate and purple hair had gathered beneath a crimson helm. A long spear materialized in his right hand, and Faris grabbed it expertly. The bar was filled with gasps, startled faces, and people running. Faris frowned inside his helm. Maybe if he'd been less drunk, he'd have remembered that he'd last set his job class to dragoon. Now he was a expert dragon knight in the middle of a crowded, one-story room. That last shot was starting to kick in. 

Throwing caution to the wind, Faris charged the man with the brunt end of his spear. The man gave a shout of surprise and stumbled back, holding his knife out defensively. The man tried to stab him with it, but it just glanced off armor as Faris slammed the side of the spear into his head. The man was knocked backwards, and in an instant, Faris had him pinned against a wooden pillar. The man's eyes were wide. He glanced from Faris' helmed face to the spear shaft against his throat. "What are you?" he demanded. 

Well, that was a hard question, wasn't it? It was hard to think with the alcohol pounding on his brain and all the yelling of men fleeing through the open doors. Between the crystals and the world-saving and the surprise at Tycoon, Faris didn't really know what to say. Was he a Warrior of Light? A hero? Royalty? Nah, none of that fitted Faris at all. Instead, he leaned forward, looked him straight in the eye, and slurred the one thing that would always be true. "I'm a pirate."


OOC: ((Yes, I am very, very aware that Faris is actually female, but I'm referring to him in the male because Faris seems to identify that way. I'm not really sure how to approach that, but I'll probably switch to the feminine when the story gives me cause to.))