Sir Nathaniel

“I am indeed called Nathan, but I am alone, dragon.” Nathan replied calmly. “And I am powerless against you, not that I had any intention of troubling you anyway.” With that, he gestured to the land around them. “I beg your forgiveness for intruding, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.” He inhaled slowly, looking directly into her golden eyes - his own, brown ones were full of pleading. “If you would hear me out, that is. If you wish to kill me, then I will not defend myself or flee. If you wish me to leave, I will do so and never return. I have no intention of staying in a place I am not wanted.” Silently, he hoped his words would get through to her. He meant every word. Nathan did not think it egotistical that he announced he was unafraid of death. He’d meant that too. His comrades were strong enough to handle things without him; but he would prefer to stay by their side and lead them into battle against the demonic. It all simply relied on how diplomatic this dragon was feeling. Arms hanging loosely at his sides, Nathan waited with an impartial expression.

On the road from Blairville to Mageside City, the boxer Jason Ortega had decided to stop at the rural farming town of Dougton, where once, one of the Watchers had defeated a demon called Leraje. Jason had long been a fan of the Watchers and their exploits, and according to the townspeople, it had been two years since the little farming town had been visited by the Angel Knight and his ally. The town had not much changed since then, but its grateful citizens had built a statue in their honor, on the exact spot that Leraje had been vanquished upon. Jason approached the statue with an awed expression, nearly dropping his gloves in the process. He stopped a short distance from it, allowing him to take the whole thing in. Built from gray marble, the statue depicted both Max and Ara, standing side by side over the prone demon, a vaguely humanoid figure dyed green with their swords upraised to strike him down. Max’s features had been rough hewn, but still were lifelike enough to show he was indeed the pretty boy of the group he belonged to - with shoulder length hair. Ara on the other hand was slender and willowy- with her wings proudly outstretched. Written on the statue’s base in common lettering were the words: “Angels on our shoulders. Saviors of our town.” “Enjoying the statue?” Came a voice behind him. Jason turned to face the speaker, a portly bearded man with a balding scalp of red hair with gentle blue eyes. From his garb and the flour stained apron, he was clearly a baker. “Yes I was.” He replied, turning back to the sculpture for a moment, then back at the man. “So the Angel Knight really did pass through here?” The baker nodded. “I was the first one he encountered. He damn near broke my arm.” To Jason’s surprise, the man chuckled. “Still I owe them both my life and soul. When they defeated Leraje, we were set free from his spell.” He took a few steps forward and put a hand on the statue’s base. “We will never forget their bravery, or the debt we owe them.” “Do you remember which way they said they were going?” Jason asked. “I’d like to try and meet them.” The baker nodded as he turned back to face him again. He pointed east. “The Hill of Lost Hearts. That is where the Angel Knight said he was heading. You might find him there.” “Thank you.”

It’s fine, it’s fine. My fairy guy doesn’t mind a friendly undead being running around, provided he ain’t evil. And to tell each other apart, how about the others refer to my guy as Sir or as Hawk, or something? He’s not picky about what he’s called.

Gale looked over the motley crew with what others might call detached curiosity, at least until the pixies revealed themselves. A sylph appeared to have appointed herself the de facto leader of this group, and she seemed to have no trouble accepting just about anyone into it. He supposed that might make sense. Forests and ancient places like this tended to have dark, hidden things within them. So often the rumor was that any mortal who entered it never returned. Fortunate then that Gale was not fully human. Well, time to get the meet and greet step over with. He stood to his full height and with a deep breath he walked forward, armor clanking softly as he took each step. When he entered the small clearing, he inspected each member of the group one by one. At least one man, a sylph, a pixie and some strange, mechanical being he had never seen before. In a clear voice he announced himself. “My name is Gale Hawk.” He said in the common tongue. “I am of the Iselyrian Undine folk, and I would know why you all have come here. To my knowledge I am the last of my kind. My mission is to see if any of my folk yet live here. If there are any more of the Fair Folk in this wood, I too would aid this endeavor.”

Bad news guys. My laptop is busted, so until I get a new one, my ability to post is going to be very limited.

It had been four years since Gale Hawk had set foot in a forest. His homeland, E'Kraun Forest of Iselyr had been the last time his eyes had ever gazed upon such beauty. Walking beneath the shadow of the trees and hearing and feeling the cold whisper of the wind. He took in that sight and the smell and the sound as he stepped off his horse and let him go with a gentle pat to his backside. To any other man, it would just be the mundane sound of the rustling of leaves and the swaying of branches, but to him, it was almost like listening to a favorite song. Instead of human hands, however, it was the trees and the animals that conducted a sweet, soothing melody. The sound of distant footsteps snapped him out of his reverie - and his dark blue-green eyes scanned the horizon, just as his hand instinctively found its way to the handle of the sword on his back. Gale was the tallest and leanest member of the Watchers - a group of demon-hunters that dedicated their lives to eradicating the creatures of Hell. As he was a hybrid of human and fairy, (Undine, or Water-Fairies specifically) he was the one most attuned to hunting in nature and the woodland areas. However, what he could sense here was no demon. The scent and the sound was far too.. graceful, ethereal even. Gale had chosen to wear his armor for this particular mission: An ornate suit of blue dyed steel plates that covered him from head-to-toe. Unlike the battle suits of ordinary men, his was inscribed with Fairy Letters meant to show it was not forged by mortal hands. To any of the Fair Folk, it was meant to show he was one of them - that unlike his fully human comrades, he had immortal blood in his veins. Yet for all his preparation and the fact he had chosen to come here to seek out others of his Folk, he had forgone the use of his helmet - allowing his long red hair to hang loosely over his shoulders. It swayed in the wind - and he brushed it away with a hand every time it blew over his eyes. "Dia dhaoibh!" He called - a traditional greeting in the Fairy language, or "Gods to you" in the common tongue. Before he could get any further, he could hear the sounds of conversation - and near to him. The voices were both light and feminine and a little weary too - and they spoke perfectly legible common. Gale ducked behind the nearest tree - a particularly large trunked willow - as he heard the voices come closer. First determine if they were friend or foe, his cautious nature overruled his better judgment until he could find out.

And it's now got its first volunteer. I have a Fairy Knight I've been aching to use. His name is Gale Hawk - and he's the child of an Undine Fairy and a Human.

It had been three years since Nathan and his companions first arrived on this continent on this very beach. Three years of bloodshed and battling the demonic all across the world. The group that would become The Watchers had, had its first triumph - its greatest loss and struggled onwards through thick and thin. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly though - he could barely remember some days that he had just turned 38. If he were to look in the mirror and compare himself to the picture in his wallet of the group when they had first arrived here - as a memento to mark the occasion, he would see only some minor differences: His hair was longer and he had grown out his beard. No doubt the creature he had intended to visit this night would remember him, facial hair or not. Age was quite different for dragons than it was for humans. Not that Nathan was an ordinary man in the strictest sense of the word. The passing of three years felt like the passing of months to him - given his enhanced condition, but to a Red Wyrm like the one the group had encountered - it would probably be like the blinking of an eye. Very likely, assuming she didn't group him with the unfortunates and fools that dared to enter her lair uninvited, she probably remembered him as if it were yesterday. For the occasion, Nathan chose to wear his suit instead of his armor - both as a show of peace and to mark the change that had taken place both in him and in the world. To a creature like a dragon - appearances meant much, as did a person's "aura". His had changed only a bit over the years. He had grown less eager to settle things with swords and more with words. In becoming leader of the Watchers team, he had learned that diplomacy and negotiation could be just as valuable as skill with a blade. In some cases, even moreso - as civilized people usually didn't settle matters by bludgeoning each other with oversized weapons. Not unless they had good reason to, anyway, he thought with a smirk. He started down the path leading to the Cold Mountains from Mageside City as per usual - on horseback - his name was Spero. After two weeks of riding - when the great animal refused to go further when they reached the outermost part of the icy peaks, Nathan released the reins and let his mount go. Spero was a good horse - brave, intelligent and loyal, and he knew the way back home. Nathan paused as he took in his surroundings. The area had not changed at all since he had last been here - a few more trees, maybe, but that was about it. The rock formations and snow-capped peaks loomed over him on all sides. Just ahead, not too far from the original landing where they had disembarked from their ship, he could make out a particularly large mountain- one that put all the others to shame in both height and in width. What most folks didn't know about him was that among Nathan's enhancements was a near-photographic memory. He could take one glimpse at any spot on a map and compare it to the land - and he could sketch the whole thing from memory. That served him well as he approached the shoreline - where he had first set foot on Genesaris. The waves were lapping on the shore - just the same as they did three years ago - though unlike before, the full moon was high in the sky above him - giving him a clear view despite the coming darkness. The last bits of daylight faded from sight - just as his acute hearing picked up the sound of the beating of wings from somewhere very far off. No doubt that meant she was up and about. Whether or not she was aware of his presence he could not tell, but he hoped it was so. He had only come to talk. A fact which he hoped was made evident in the fact he was only wearing a grey suit and tie as opposed to his armor. Hell, he had even forgone bringing along his sword, Godsend - all for the sake of this one mission. "May the Eternal Heavens watch over me." He intoned quietly - his dark eyes scanning the skies for the source of the sound. "May she see that my intentions are honorable and pure." A few more minutes of searching - and he zeroed in on his target. There indeed, flying above the treeline - descending from the mountain he had glimpsed earlier was the great red dragon. "And may she not think of me as a tasty midnight snack." He finished the prayer with some slight deprecating humor. It helped ease the tension he felt growing in his chest as he raised both his arms high.

Banned for not being enough!

((I'll try and continue the rest of my storyline soon. Think of this as a warmup or a refresher. I'm not finished with this yet!)) ___________________________________________________________________ The group reconvened for a short time to discuss recent events not long after the month of the Hummingbird. Apparently, Max and Elias had discovered that a number of Gensarian cities had been destroyed during Whispernight by supernatural forces. That turned out to be the galvanizing force that Nathan had needed to reunite the group and fully close the fractures in the team. It was decided by unanimous decision that operations in Terrenus would be halted until the group could liberate each of those cities from their occupiers. Before that though, Nathan believed a bit of a change in their training style was necessary. Naturally, Nathan and Arthur were the most experienced fighters of the group, but therein lay the challenge. They were primarily strikers. They had little experience in grappling and even less in ground-fighting. So, to compensate, they had hired a professional to coach them. That man was Richard Drake. A native of Arthur's home of Shrine City, he had experience in both boxing and wrestling - and he pushed each of the Watchers to the limit with his coaching style. Every day just after 6 AM, the Watchers rose from bed and met in the weight room - where they focused on training to be more mobile, more explosive in their movements. It started with flexibility and stretching, followed by full-body weightlifting and functional strength movements. This was followed by lessons in the basics of footwork, agility, tactical thinking, striking and grappling both from standing positions and on the ground. After that, at about 8 AM, they shared a healthy, high protein breakfast of chicken, eggs, fruit, vegetables and fish. This continued for several weeks afterwards - with each of the group showing great signs of progress - but especially Max. His strength had diminished with the loss of his Angelic power, but that didn't mean he couldn't regain some of his old spark. Out of all the Watchers, he surprisingly still showed great potential. Even if it was not quite superhuman like he was previously, he still moved forward by leaps and bounds. By the end of the fourth week, he was deadlifting 800 pounds, squatting 735 and benching over 600. It was during a particularly grueling session on the first day of their fifth week when all the Watchers stopped their exercises and gathered around him as he set on another two sets of 45 pound plates to each side of the bench-bar. Their combined weight added up to a total of 780 pounds. That was comparable to what he was benching back in his prime - when he first started out, back when he was superhuman. "Max, care to explain what you're doing?" Nathan asked as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He and Arthur had just finished with a round of focus-pads. "You know that you're supposed to keep at your current record for about two weeks before progressing. If you don't get rest days in between, you risk injuring yourself." "I can do it." Max said stubbornly as he sat down on the bench and got into position. "Powers or not, this is what I started at when I started training the first time." "Yes, but that was when you had powers. Your body is still in the recovery stage. Perhaps you should try for less - maybe 645?" "Nathan's right, Max." Said Elias. "Even I wouldn't go higher than my limit until I feel ready. I'm still at 600." "I think you're all being paranoid." Max deadpanned as he put his hands on the bar. "It's me, remember?" "Alright, but I'm spotting you." Nathan said as he took a position behind the bench and looked down. "Take a deep breath and exhale with every push upwards." "I know how to bench, thank you very much." Max replied dryly. "Your concern is touching, but hardly necessary." And with that, he tensed his shoulders, tightened his upper back and unracked the bar with difficulty - but straightened his arms. He held it in position, arms fully extended for a half-second before, trembling, he slowly lowered it down to his chest. All around, the Watchers' jaws dropped - and they stared in anticipation and amazement as the bar slowly rose. Even Nathan found it difficult to keep a straight face as he watched his comrade return the bar to its rack with a loud "clack"! "Told you... I could do it." Max said with a sharp exhale. "You don't need to prove yourself." Nathan said gently. "You're a valued member of this team. You showed your brass and your brawn when you fought the Leviathan." "And now he shows his brains." Arthur said, stepping forward. "Strength isn't everything. Face me on the mat - and I'll prove it." __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Each combatant was well rested for a good hour or two before they began so they would have plenty of time to recover from their exercises, and in Max's case, it was followed by a rather large meal to replenish the calories he'd lost. Using that much strength in so short an amount of time had taken a lot out of him. He felt fully replenished and ready for the fight ahead. As with all the Watchers' practice matches, it started with a staredown. It was a matter of feeling each other out - gauging each other's skills through a quick, cursory glance. In Arthur's case, he'd agreed not to use his psychic power to avoid any unfair advantages. Doubtless he wouldn't need them anyway to prove his point. He had a reputation as the most skilled fighter of the team. He had, had significantly less time than the others to train because of his responsibility as a parent. And indeed, of them all he felt the least amount of need for it - given he was the one with the most experience, besides Nathan. Still, the others in the group couldn't help but wonder if his skills were waning because of the time he spent caring for Miya instead of practicing. Nathan knew better, however, as he watched Arthur's initial movements. The man moved brilliantly - even with just his opening stance. Standard kickboxing style, probably the eight-limbed version. Then there was that unmistakable gleam in his eyes. Taking care of his daughter hadn't weakened Arthur's resolve - it made him stronger than before. "Round one: Striking." Nathan called, signaling he had nominated himself to be the match's referee. No one objected. "Fight!" Max rushed in, aiming a right cross - with a flawed technique, Nathan noted as he took his rear foot off the ground before impact, halving the weight behind the attack. Arthur noticed too and took advantage with a 45 degree block and followed it immediately with a right elbow. A slight step from his back foot added extra weight and power to the impact, as did the twisting of his back and the area he struck - just above Max's collarbone. A bit harder and he might have broken the clavicle, which would have put Max out of action for weeks. As the younger man started to recoil in pain, Arthur completed the combo by dropping low and delivered a shin-sweep that took the Angel Knight right off his feet. "Round one goes to Arthur!" Nathan called. "Can anyone see what he did wrong?" Arthur asked as he reached down and helped the dazed Max back to his feet. Beside Nathan, Elias raised his hand slightly. "He took his foot from the ground instead of keeping it upraised." He pointed out. "And he misjudged the distance. That meant you had a split second to counter." "Very good, brother." Arthur said with a nod. "Proper boxing form should always include a firm base and stance. Unless you're backing away or trying to avoid a strike, your feet need to be kept on the ground at all times with the heel slightly upraised. And as for the distance, you are correct. He should have recognized that a jab or a leg kick would have been the better option. Crosses are powerful - and can be a good knockout punch, but they take time to set up." "Next round: Wrestling." Nathan said. It was time to see just how well rounded the guardsman was. Max held the advantage here. He had learned the basics of Amateur Wrestling from Nathan himself during their initial training - and had learned much more from Drake. Both men stood up with their hands upraised towards each other - awaiting Nathan's signal. "Begin!" This time it was Arthur who attacked first. Wrapping his hands around his struggling foe, he stepped behind Max and attempted a suplex - only to have the Angel Knight force his leg out and behind his foe's in a makeshift sweep, halting him before he could be lifted. With his free arm, he grabbed at Arthur's leg and transitioned into a takedown known as Run-the-Pipe - and forced Arthur hard onto his back. "Round two goes to Max!" This time Max helped the guardsman to his feet. The two stared at each other in silent respect. "Good use of your weight, Max." Gale pointed out. "And your use of angling. That leg takedown was well executed - forcing him off his center of gravity." "Round three: Grappling." Nathan said. This one would be the hardest for both of them, given their backgrounds and how little real experience they had in it. Time to change up the rules a bit as well. "First one to submission hold wins." What followed was both men starting on a kneeling position, with their arms locked. Upon Nathan shouting, "Begin!" what followed was a contest of pushing and pulling, each man trying to outmaneuver the other to gain an advantage. While it was clear that Arthur was faster and more mobile, Max was stronger and made liberal use of sprawls to avoid a takedown. A few minutes of more pointless flailing and both men tied up in a mutual leglock. Both attempted the same move - only to find his foe had already grabbed on. "I declare a tie." Nathan said after it became clear neither would back down - and he was in no mood for any broken ankles. "Well fought, from both of you. Max, it's clear you do know how to use your strength tactically as opposed to relying on it exclusively. However, you still need to relearn the basics. Having a well established technique is the key to maximizing your gains." He turned to his counterpart. "And you Arthur. It's clear you're a brilliant fighter in all aspects. But you need to keep pushing your body. If you let it plateau like you have, you'll have one less advantage. In combat, you need to look for an edge in everything: Speed, strength and reaction time." In Nathan's opinion it had been a very good day.

I think I have just found a way to reintegrate myself into Valucre - and a possible new storyline involving my planned group, the Freedom Fighters: Liberating the destroyed cities from their monstrous infestations.

Seconded about non-detailed bios - I like it when I can read a lot about characters, though I will admit that not all of us actually want to put a lot of detail into our character's bio. So this one can be forgiven under certain circumstances. Overpowered characters - Self-explanatory. So boring. When people remind me of something I already know. Happens much more often than you think. My old man is a repeat offender. Because my Mum and my idiot brother have both turned their memory to hash with their drug problems, he has to remind them of everything about three or four times before they remember it. It's developed into a habit where he thinks I have the same memory problem. Internet Chat-Trolls. There's a reason why back on World of WarCraft I was known as the "Troll-Slayer". Every time somebody tried to stir up trouble on the Trade Chat, I would report their sorry butt - and since I was friends with a GM, they were banned. Permanently. Cockroaches - Disgusting, annoying little blighters. I sometimes think that Satan himself must have made them as an unremovable thorn in Mankind's side. When people try to tell me that MMA is a "blood sport" or a "human cock fight". In real life, I practice MMA and I personally think it's the best, most enjoyable thing I've ever done. It's helped me get into the best shape of my life, given me an outlet for my aggression, helped me to make real friends (my best friend is also my rival and sparring partner) and is going to be my choice of career: My plan is to become a Martial Arts Instructor once I'm done in UFC. Mayonnaise - Disgusting. I hate it on burgers. I hate it on sandwiches and I HATE. I HATE. I HATE Mayonnaise!

Well, my heroes are not really rigid - but they are dedicated to a moral code that strictly prohibits harming the innocent. I try my very best to show them all as well-rounded and with developed personality. I have a clear-cut idea of what makes someone a hero or a villain. To be a Hero - they have to adhere to some kind of moral code and try to benefit others by their actions as much as possible. In their minds, justice is supposed to be fair. This is called "Utilitarianism". They stay within the law if they can, but most of my heroes operate somewhat independently of it. In fact, in some cases, if they feel they have no other options - they will break the law outright. Being the upstanding individuals they are, they will submit to whatever punishment the local authorities see fit. In some cases (Arthur, Isaac, Gale) their moral compass is a bit loose. In the first case - he won't kill (indeed, he's my version of Batman)- but will seriously wound and even cripple the bad guys if he feels it necessary. In the second, they disdain killing, but will if they have absolutely no other choice. Case in point, in the past during his career as a City Guard - Arthur viciously beat criminals to a pulp. In at least one case, he did so nearly to the point of death - and his superiors seriously considered relieving him of his commission for that very reason. Because at the last minute he restrained himself and because of his otherwise exemplary service, he was acquitted but kept on a much shorter leash. Even as a Watcher, if he sees a crime in progress, he'll try to resolve it while staying within the law. His natural impulse is to try and right the wrongs of the world. In Isaac's case, he's fairly manipulative, but very much grounded in morality. He knows how to pull strings and make things happen the way he wants - and he attempts to direct events to a end. ________________________________________________________________________________ In the case of villains - I have a viewpoint that they are set out to do harm purposely for no purpose other than amusement and self-interest. They could willfully choose to benefit others by their actions, but don't because they refuse to see the point, or indeed, deny that there is a point to it. In a few cases, they just flat out don't care. They think solely of themselves to whatever end and they willingly cross any line, be it deceit, theft or murder based on their whims. They feel themselves above all forms of reproach or punishment - and they think of everyone else as beneath them, having no attachment to them. It's difficult for me to express this fully, as I have few real villains that last because unlike film and comic books, they usually don't last beyond the story they feature in. Unlike most stories which feature law enforcement as insufficient, those that are captured are kept powerless and locked up without any further influence on society. And those that die obviously can't do anything else. Even demonic or undead based entities - once they are defeated by the Watchers' weapons cannot reform or come back in any way. ________________________________________________________________________________ Anti Heroes as others often say are a bit more grey (that rhymed!) - they operate for their own interests, to be sure, but even they have some moral restraints or have lines they refuse to cross. They do acknowledge there is at least some kind of morality in place - and so they often at least try and operate by it. My sole Anti-Hero, Dugall - is a complicated case. He is (strictly speaking) not a villain but still an evil man. He's not insane but not wholly sane either. He does acknowledge good and evil, right and wrong - but he adjusts his world view to suit his own version of morality. He has rules he abides by, he has lines he will not cross - but he acts largely out of self-interest. Hence, he's a mercenary. He fights for the side that pays the most, but prefers those he views as being morally right - especially if their offer gives him the opportunity for a good fight. In layman's terms, if you asked him straight up why he does what he does, he'd respond along the lines of: "9% is because I'm disgusted by this criminal's actions. 1% is for revenge. 90% of it is simply because I like it. I enjoy it." He fights evil most often because he thinks of morality as a sliding scale - taking out Baddies that are worse than him - strong in the conviction that those left behind will benefit from his actions, though that is more or less just an excuse for him to beat people up (if he thinks they deserve life) or kill them (if he feels they deserve death).

Today marked the first time that Garun Dugall had ever set foot in Ashville. It was a large city; boasting a sizable population of 5 million people, but this didn't seem to detract from its charm in any way. In fact, the more people one encountered, the more they would start to feel welcome. Even a loner like Dugall had to admit that it was somewhat pleasant seeing people tipping their hats and wishing him well as he walked through the streets. What struck him as odd was that no one bat an eye at his appearance, even though he stood a full six foot two and wore a dark brown, hooded cloak over his armor. His sword, Frostbite, hung in a scabbard on his belt - always kept at his side for ease of drawing and as a warning to any would-be attackers that he was not a man to be trifled with. But then, it was not as if that were not already obvious, he noted with some humor, from the unusual color of his eyes: They were yellow in color - a bright shade of gold that almost seemed to glow in dim places. Some of the more superstitious folk believed this to be some kind of demonic mark, a rumor that the assassin did nothing to dissuade, as he found it further enhanced his infamy and made people give him a wide berth when they saw him approach. That suited him just fine. He disliked the burdens of socialization and saw little need for friends and even less for such petty things as romantic relationships. It was unbecoming for the world's greatest assassin to have "friends" - and he liked it that way. Nevertheless, it was nice, even for that short time to have people treat him as if he were an honored guest. Even the well-to-do of the city stopped to give him a polite greeting as he passed them by. He hadn't expected the wealthy or the aristocracy to mingle with the more common folk - much less interact with someone they might identify as dangerous at best, or rabble at worst. Dangerous? Yes, Dugall thought with a smirk. Rabble? No. Dugall was in fact quite wealthy - a fact made possible by his career as a hired killer. Dugall cared little for money however - beyond its basic functions and he took much more pride in the collection of grisly trophies he'd taken from his kills over the years. Still, he made sure to keep a tidy sum on hand at all times - in case he should ever need a quick meal or tip off an informant. Some enemies were more easily bought than killed. Dugall stopped abruptly, taking care to avoid any traffic - and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small, handheld map of the city - taking note of the various landmarks place on it. Since stepping off the airship, he made sure to periodically check up on his progress - familiarize himself with the layout of the city - a useful bit of knowledge in case he were to pursue a target or make a quick escape. Or better yet, know where to find work. Increasingly though, he found himself doubting that last part - as this seemed far too kind and welcoming a place for a mercenary. Still, experience had taught him - even the kindest, most welcoming of cities always had its share of secrets, lies and a dark underbelly. Now it was just a matter of finding it.