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Description
      Like usual, the tavern was dim.
     It was one of those establishments where the fancy and aristocratic would never dare tread, and where only tough “gents” would be found. Any doubt over an individual's
“toughness” would be settled instantly with fists, boots, and possibly knives, blunt instruments, or beverage containers.
      It was that kind of place. And it was dim, which suited the mood.
      There was a rowdy bunch in the tavern that particular night, and they were imbibing steady amounts of the house liquor, which was also used at irregular intervals to disinfect the house toilets. They slammed shots, munched on nuts and other salty things, and guzzled beer. They were having a good time.
     Those “gents” were in the middle of the pub, which was where those kinds of people were normally designated. The bar was full up with its usual nightly quota of sad-sacks and depressed drunks, and the tables close to the windows and walls were where the people that preferred to drink alone sat.
     One corner booth in particular was occupied by an individual that was rather interesting-looking, for those parts. He lacked a beard, he was relatively clean, and there was no evidence anywhere on him that suggested he worked at a stable, brewery, or lumber yard. His skin was very, very pale, and his eyes were hard to see underneath the brim of his hat. His cloak  was as black as night itself, and his long hair matched in color. His bare arms emerged from the depths of his cloak to cradle his drink, a mug of hot red wine.
     He sat alone.
     Naturally, the people at the center of the tavern noticed him. He was funny-looking, drank alone, and was drinking something from a mug that obviously did not have a head. They all looked at him near-simultaneously, and looked at each other. They nodded, and got up from their table to walk over to this funny-looking man. There were six of them, each burlier and drunker than the last.
      One of them, a tall, muscular, red-bearded mess (presumed the leader of the pack) addressed the cloaked man.
     “How ya doin', boy?”
     The pale man looked up from his drink, pushing the bill of his hat up. He sat up and looked directly at the bearded taverngoer with his blue and yellow eyes.
     “Hello, gentlemen. I'm doing alright, thanks. Yourselves?”
     The six men laughed to themselves. Their leader put on an obviously faux-innocuous smile and replied, “We're doin' alright, boy. What're ya drinkin'?”
     The strange man smiled a slow smile. He turned back to his steaming mug and took a sip, swallowed, and said, “Red wine.”
     The six men simply couldn't contain themselves anymore and guffawed uproariously, as if this was the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard. The leader said through his tears, “Wine? That's a girl's drink, son!”
     The pale man kept his gentle smile and said simply, “By your standards, maybe.”
     As if someone flipped a switch in the big man's head, his smile instantly evaporated. His friends' followed it. This was what they had been waiting for.
     The leader said in a low voice, “By my standards? What's that suppose'ta mean?”
     The slight man said coolly, “I mean that maybe, according to the way you think, you consider wine to be a woman's drink.”
     The red-beard was trying to find a way to turn this into an insult. “You tryna imply that there's somethin' wrong with the way I think?”
     The pale one said simply, “Not at all.” He didn't look up from his drink.
     Red-beard looked at him and shouted, “Look me in the eye!”
     His supposed victim looked him dead in the eye, and remained his cool composure despite the burning look the big man was giving him.
     The big man looked at his cronies. He looked back down at the sitting man and said, “What's your name, boy?”
     The pale, slight man said, “Vinrey.”
     “Vinrey, huh? Thanks for tellin' me. That's another one to add to the wall.”
     He indicated a wall to his right, in front of the booth of the man called Vinrey. It was a wall made of slats of wood, and scratched into its surface were columns of names. There were at least seventy of them.
     The bearded man grinned at Vinrey. “You're next.”
     He grabbed Vinrey by the collar of his cloak, pulling him up from his seat. He hauled him backwards and proceeded to drag him out of the bar. One of his men held the door open, and the bearded man pulled Vinrey into the cold winter night.
     Red-beard tossed Vinrey onto the dead grass. Woods surrounded them, except for a clear-cut road that ran in front of the tavern. There was a breeze, and the trees whispered anxiously.
     Vinrey stood up and brushed his cloak off. He stood almost ten feet away from Red-beard and his five men. The supporters blocked the door, preventing Vinrey from going back in. One of them called out to Red-beard, “What're you gonna do with him, Corvus?”
     The red-bearded Corvus looked at Vinrey and grinned his evil, stupid grin. He said without looking away from his target, “I'm gonna beat the tar outta him, Lars. I'll let y'all watch.”
     Without warning, he bull rushed Vinrey with his right shoulder down, aiming to slam him in the chest.
     He expected Vinrey's body to collide with him, but instead, he kept on running. The cloaked man had disappeared.
     He stopped running and spun around. “Lars! Where the hell did he go?”
     The five men looked all around, trying to find their target. Lars said, “I don't know, Boss! He just... disappeared! Right in front of my eyes!”
     One of the men shouted, “Boss! Behind you!”
     Corvus spun around once more, but was faced with nothing but a view of the dark woods ahead of him. He turned back around and said, “Eddie, what the hell was that?”
     The jumpy Eddie stammered, “H-he was r-r-right behind you! I saw h-him!”
     “There he is!”
     Vinrey was standing between Corvus and his men, five feet from both. He swept back his cloak, and revealed what lay beneath.
     Under his cloak, Vinrey wore a sleeveless leather raiment that had a myriad of pockets of all different sizes. At his left hip was a scabbard for a katana, as black as the rest of his equipment. The katana was in his right hand, drawn and gleaming in the lamplight of the tavern. It had a wicked, curved blade that was almost four feet in length.
     Vinrey said without looking at anyone specific, “This is your last chance. Go back in the tavern and leave me in peace, or somebody is going to get hurt.”
     Corvus and his cronies stood stock-still. They were still trying to compute what they just saw.
     Lars broke the silence. “He's a witch! A demon!”
     Corvus glared at him, inducing silence. He diverted his gaze to Vinrey and pointed at him. “You're not regular. I'm gonna beat the tar outta you, because you're dangerous.”
     Vinrey looked directly at him, and Corvus flinched slightly. Vinrey said, “You can try. I would advise against it.”
     Corvus blared, “Stop talking! Boys, hold him down!”
     At his word, the five lackeys tried to jump Vinrey, but he slipped between the swarm of limbs and nailed Eddie and one other in the face with the hilt of his sword in a swirling, vanishing motion. While the attackers were flailing together and cradling broken noses, he had disappeared again.
     Eddie and the unnamed nose-crushing victim groaned and  gingerly tapped their injuries. The rest were tangled on the dead grass, and were in the process of getting up.
     Corvus shouted, “Where are you, you filthy witch?! Show yer face!”
     It was impossible to tell from what direction Vinrey's voice came from. “... Are you sure?”
     Corvus: “Dammit, yes! Get out here! Quit hidin' in the trees and fight!”
     Vinrey: “Fine. Prepare yourselves.”
     Corvus braced himself, still convinced that he could beat this vanishing swordsman. He told his men, “Back up. I got this.” They got wide-eyed and moved away, clearing a sort of impromptu arena.
     In a whirlwind of leaves, Vinrey materialized fifteen feet from Corvus. He flicked his cloak back and drew his sword once more, the dim light caught it dashingly. He raised his blade parallel to his hairline, on the right side of his head. It was half an inch from his cheek, and pointed at Corvus's heart. “Come at me.”
     Corvus ran at Vinrey with all the care and measure of a drunken bull. He flailed his fists about in an attempt to catch Vinrey before he moved, but it was useless. Vinrey simply stepped to one side and delivered a crippling blow with his sword hilt to Corvus's back.
     Corvus crumpled to the ground and started coughing, he was badly winded. Vinrey looked to Corvus's men as if to ask them if anyone else would like to try. There were no takers.
     Corvus stood shakily. He said, after catching his breath, “You bastard. You dirty rotten...” and proceeded to mumble incoherently in a haze of rage and drunkenness. He started to charge Vinrey once more, but the dark man was losing his patience. He appeared behind Corvus without warning and kicked him hard in the back of the head, the hard sole of his boot rendered Corvus unconscious instantly.
     The now-terrified cronies shuddered and quaked on the ground, begging and pleading for Vinrey not to kill them.
     He walked over to them, slowly. They froze in terror. They were sure that Corvus was dead as a doornail, and that they were next.
     Instead, he walked up to a flinching Eddie and held out his hand.
     Eddie looked up at the ghostly hand confusedly. A smile played about Vinrey's face, and that let Eddie know that Vinrey wasn't going to hurt him. He grabbed his hand and allowed the dark man to help him up. The others followed suit.
     Vinrey stood back and said, “I would advise against consorting yourselves with the likes of him.” He indicated Corvus, still lying prone on the ground. “Going with people like him will only bring you trouble. If I had been the kind of person that easily gave sway to more... murderous tendencies, you would all most likely be dead because of his actions. Let this be a lesson to you.” He smiled his disarming, innocuous smile. “Farewell, gentlemen. Enjoy your evening.”
     The other men smiled warily back, and Vinrey turned around, walking down the dark forest path. The men couldn't tell if it was the wind or the darkness, but the cloaked man seemed to disappear gradually, then fade into nothingness, melding with the darkness as if he had never been there.

Description
      Like usual, the tavern was dim.
     It was one of those establishments where the fancy and aristocratic would never dare tread, and where only tough “gents” would be found. Any doubt over an individual's
“toughness” would be settled instantly with fists, boots, and possibly knives, blunt instruments, or beverage containers.
      It was that kind of place. And it was dim, which suited the mood.
      There was a rowdy bunch in the tavern that particular night, and they were imbibing steady amounts of the house liquor, which was also used at irregular intervals to disinfect the house toilets. They slammed shots, munched on nuts and other salty things, and guzzled beer. They were having a good time.
     Those “gents” were in the middle of the pub, which was where those kinds of people were normally designated. The bar was full up with its usual nightly quota of sad-sacks and depressed drunks, and the tables close to the windows and walls were where the people that preferred to drink alone sat.
     One corner booth in particular was occupied by an individual that was rather interesting-looking, for those parts. He lacked a beard, he was relatively clean, and there was no evidence anywhere on him that suggested he worked at a stable, brewery, or lumber yard. His skin was very, very pale, and his eyes were hard to see underneath the brim of his hat. His cloak  was as black as night itself, and his long hair matched in color. His bare arms emerged from the depths of his cloak to cradle his drink, a mug of hot red wine.
     He sat alone.
     Naturally, the people at the center of the tavern noticed him. He was funny-looking, drank alone, and was drinking something from a mug that obviously did not have a head. They all looked at him near-simultaneously, and looked at each other. They nodded, and got up from their table to walk over to this funny-looking man. There were six of them, each burlier and drunker than the last.
      One of them, a tall, muscular, red-bearded mess (presumed the leader of the pack) addressed the cloaked man.
     “How ya doin', boy?”
     The pale man looked up from his drink, pushing the bill of his hat up. He sat up and looked directly at the bearded taverngoer with his blue and yellow eyes.
     “Hello, gentlemen. I'm doing alright, thanks. Yourselves?”
     The six men laughed to themselves. Their leader put on an obviously faux-innocuous smile and replied, “We're doin' alright, boy. What're ya drinkin'?”
     The strange man smiled a slow smile. He turned back to his steaming mug and took a sip, swallowed, and said, “Red wine.”
     The six men simply couldn't contain themselves anymore and guffawed uproariously, as if this was the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard. The leader said through his tears, “Wine? That's a girl's drink, son!”
     The pale man kept his gentle smile and said simply, “By your standards, maybe.”
     As if someone flipped a switch in the big man's head, his smile instantly evaporated. His friends' followed it. This was what they had been waiting for.
     The leader said in a low voice, “By my standards? What's that suppose'ta mean?”
     The slight man said coolly, “I mean that maybe, according to the way you think, you consider wine to be a woman's drink.”
     The red-beard was trying to find a way to turn this into an insult. “You tryna imply that there's somethin' wrong with the way I think?”
     The pale one said simply, “Not at all.” He didn't look up from his drink.
     Red-beard looked at him and shouted, “Look me in the eye!”
     His supposed victim looked him dead in the eye, and remained his cool composure despite the burning look the big man was giving him.
     The big man looked at his cronies. He looked back down at the sitting man and said, “What's your name, boy?”
     The pale, slight man said, “Vinrey.”
     “Vinrey, huh? Thanks for tellin' me. That's another one to add to the wall.”
     He indicated a wall to his right, in front of the booth of the man called Vinrey. It was a wall made of slats of wood, and scratched into its surface were columns of names. There were at least seventy of them.
     The bearded man grinned at Vinrey. “You're next.”
     He grabbed Vinrey by the collar of his cloak, pulling him up from his seat. He hauled him backwards and proceeded to drag him out of the bar. One of his men held the door open, and the bearded man pulled Vinrey into the cold winter night.
     Red-beard tossed Vinrey onto the dead grass. Woods surrounded them, except for a clear-cut road that ran in front of the tavern. There was a breeze, and the trees whispered anxiously.
     Vinrey stood up and brushed his cloak off. He stood almost ten feet away from Red-beard and his five men. The supporters blocked the door, preventing Vinrey from going back in. One of them called out to Red-beard, “What're you gonna do with him, Corvus?”
     The red-bearded Corvus looked at Vinrey and grinned his evil, stupid grin. He said without looking away from his target, “I'm gonna beat the tar outta him, Lars. I'll let y'all watch.”
     Without warning, he bull rushed Vinrey with his right shoulder down, aiming to slam him in the chest.
     He expected Vinrey's body to collide with him, but instead, he kept on running. The cloaked man had disappeared.
     He stopped running and spun around. “Lars! Where the hell did he go?”
     The five men looked all around, trying to find their target. Lars said, “I don't know, Boss! He just... disappeared! Right in front of my eyes!”
     One of the men shouted, “Boss! Behind you!”
     Corvus spun around once more, but was faced with nothing but a view of the dark woods ahead of him. He turned back around and said, “Eddie, what the hell was that?”
     The jumpy Eddie stammered, “H-he was r-r-right behind you! I saw h-him!”
     “There he is!”
     Vinrey was standing between Corvus and his men, five feet from both. He swept back his cloak, and revealed what lay beneath.
     Under his cloak, Vinrey wore a sleeveless leather raiment that had a myriad of pockets of all different sizes. At his left hip was a scabbard for a katana, as black as the rest of his equipment. The katana was in his right hand, drawn and gleaming in the lamplight of the tavern. It had a wicked, curved blade that was almost four feet in length.
     Vinrey said without looking at anyone specific, “This is your last chance. Go back in the tavern and leave me in peace, or somebody is going to get hurt.”
     Corvus and his cronies stood stock-still. They were still trying to compute what they just saw.
     Lars broke the silence. “He's a witch! A demon!”
     Corvus glared at him, inducing silence. He diverted his gaze to Vinrey and pointed at him. “You're not regular. I'm gonna beat the tar outta you, because you're dangerous.”
     Vinrey looked directly at him, and Corvus flinched slightly. Vinrey said, “You can try. I would advise against it.”
     Corvus blared, “Stop talking! Boys, hold him down!”
     At his word, the five lackeys tried to jump Vinrey, but he slipped between the swarm of limbs and nailed Eddie and one other in the face with the hilt of his sword in a swirling, vanishing motion. While the attackers were flailing together and cradling broken noses, he had disappeared again.
     Eddie and the unnamed nose-crushing victim groaned and  gingerly tapped their injuries. The rest were tangled on the dead grass, and were in the process of getting up.
     Corvus shouted, “Where are you, you filthy witch?! Show yer face!”
     It was impossible to tell from what direction Vinrey's voice came from. “... Are you sure?”
     Corvus: “Dammit, yes! Get out here! Quit hidin' in the trees and fight!”
     Vinrey: “Fine. Prepare yourselves.”
     Corvus braced himself, still convinced that he could beat this vanishing swordsman. He told his men, “Back up. I got this.” They got wide-eyed and moved away, clearing a sort of impromptu arena.
     In a whirlwind of leaves, Vinrey materialized fifteen feet from Corvus. He flicked his cloak back and drew his sword once more, the dim light caught it dashingly. He raised his blade parallel to his hairline, on the right side of his head. It was half an inch from his cheek, and pointed at Corvus's heart. “Come at me.”
     Corvus ran at Vinrey with all the care and measure of a drunken bull. He flailed his fists about in an attempt to catch Vinrey before he moved, but it was useless. Vinrey simply stepped to one side and delivered a crippling blow with his sword hilt to Corvus's back.
     Corvus crumpled to the ground and started coughing, he was badly winded. Vinrey looked to Corvus's men as if to ask them if anyone else would like to try. There were no takers.
     Corvus stood shakily. He said, after catching his breath, “You bastard. You dirty rotten...” and proceeded to mumble incoherently in a haze of rage and drunkenness. He started to charge Vinrey once more, but the dark man was losing his patience. He appeared behind Corvus without warning and kicked him hard in the back of the head, the hard sole of his boot rendered Corvus unconscious instantly.
     The now-terrified cronies shuddered and quaked on the ground, begging and pleading for Vinrey not to kill them.
     He walked over to them, slowly. They froze in terror. They were sure that Corvus was dead as a doornail, and that they were next.
     Instead, he walked up to a flinching Eddie and held out his hand.
     Eddie looked up at the ghostly hand confusedly. A smile played about Vinrey's face, and that let Eddie know that Vinrey wasn't going to hurt him. He grabbed his hand and allowed the dark man to help him up. The others followed suit.
     Vinrey stood back and said, “I would advise against consorting yourselves with the likes of him.” He indicated Corvus, still lying prone on the ground. “Going with people like him will only bring you trouble. If I had been the kind of person that easily gave sway to more... murderous tendencies, you would all most likely be dead because of his actions. Let this be a lesson to you.” He smiled his disarming, innocuous smile. “Farewell, gentlemen. Enjoy your evening.”
     The other men smiled warily back, and Vinrey turned around, walking down the dark forest path. The men couldn't tell if it was the wind or the darkness, but the cloaked man seemed to disappear gradually, then fade into nothingness, melding with the darkness as if he had never been there.