positively filthy! And it reeks of dead rodents... or maybe it's the locals.” Taking no notice of his words, Ragnarok had approached the door silently, the only sounds to be heard were the fluttering of his coat in the breeze and the rickety clang of his special package behind him on the ground. Clopis was worried, his captain wasn't the silent type... not usually. A man of few and crude words, sure, but hardly ever silent. When silence fell over the man, there was usually something brewing behind his eyes. So when the gypsy rushed over to his captain as he came upon the door and asked, “What are you going to do in this dirty place?” he was all too surprised to find him sigh, turn anddesk, his eyes wide and cold, his face steel and his head tilted to the side so as to get a better look at the growing fear in the old woman's eyes. He waited, simply looking and daring her to make a move or sound, waited until she was shaking on the spot before speaking. When he did, it was the voice of an apologetic angel rather than the metallic face of business that the woman was thinking it would be.

“We're looking for a man, a bounty hunter who was supposed to be held up on this island. Name's Sir Futtleschuckle, is he here?” He didn't wait for a proper answer, knew that he wouldn't get one even if he did wait. Instead, he pulled the blade out