A/N: Hello, and welcome to… the story!!! Just to clear things up, this fic only takes place in the SoA world. It has nothing to do with the storyline. It is as if the game never took place. I'm just using the setting. Hehehehehe… Aren't I original…
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It was a fine day on Sailor's island as the Valuans marched into Polly's tavern. They were on leave, and were heart set on spending their hard-earned salaries on three things: Loqua, Loqua, and more Loqua. The soldiers were so caught up in partying that they didn't' notice their server, a tall, strong looking young boy of about sixteen, slip something into their drinks…
They partied for hours, until finally, drunk as dogs, they stumbled into the inn and collapsed onto their beds.
"Hehehehehe… That sleeping draught worked perfectly" Mark thought to himself as he nodded to the men in the corner of the bar. They trooped off, each inwardly smiling at the loot they were going to pull from this. One stayed behind. This man Mark approached. "Just make sure your men leave some for me", he said. The man nodded. His face was hidden with a hood.
"Don't worry, lad. There'll be plenty for you. Just leave everything to us. Harharharhar!" The man's laugh was not reassuring at all. It sounded more like a wet boar in its death throes than a laugh. Mark wasn't amused. This was his first job with the crew. He had been approached last week during his job at the bar. The men said they were Blue Rouges, and Mark was jubilant at getting the chance to participate.
His parent's merchant ship had been attacked by Black Pirates, and the Valuans who defeated the pirates left them and the crew to die, leaving Mark as an orphan back on Sailor's Island. He had grown up on the streets, picking pockets to make a living until he was old enough to get a job in the tavern. He had learned how to use his pistol and long rapier from a passing fighter, and was an expert in street fighting. He had trained to be able to fight, to make sure that what had happened to him would never happen again. It was his lifelong dream to become a Blue Rouge captain, fighting evil and living life by his own rules. Now, that dream would become sweet, blissful reality.
They started down the street toward the inn. Mark smiled, imagining the gold he would get from robbing them. Suddenly, he heard someone shout.
"Stop, in the name of Valua!" cried the voice. Mark whirled around. A Valuan lieutenant and five soldiers were standing in front of the door to the dock. Mark could see that he was referring to them. He turned to the other man. But, he saw, the man was not where he was, but beating a hasty retreat to the inn. He was about to ask why he didn't stand and fight, when his attention was directed back to the Valuans. He saw that the lieutenant realized that he was associated with the man, but he could also see that he didn't take Mark seriously at all. That was his mistake. Realizing that his life was in danger, he sprung into action.
"You'd best surrender," the Valuan gloated. " You have no hope of winning." Looking at Mark's determined expression, the lieutenant realized he meant to fight "Or are you going to take us all by yourself? Hahahahahahaha!!" He obviously thought it was all a big joke.
Mark caught the lieutenant by surprise, striking him across the face with a roundhouse kick. The lieutenant staggered, clearly surprised by Mark's blow. He followed up with an uppercut, leaving the man down for the count.
The other soldiers rushed Mark, forcing him into action. He reached into his shirt, simultaneously delivering a left hook to a soldier. He pulled out his pistol, firing at one of the soldiers, but only stunning him. Another soldier slashed at him with his sword. He dodged, and drew his own blade from its scabbard. He countered another strike, and jabbed out, piercing one soldier's armor at the neck. He fell with a gurgle. He fired his pistol again, felling another soldier. He lashed out with the butt of his pistol, knocking yet another unconscious. Two left, he thought to himself. Doing great. He lunged forward, slashing with his rapier. The soldier parried. He struck again. The soldier parried again. He feinted, then struck. His thrust hit home. The soldier took it in the gut, falling to the ground. Abruptly, he noticed the other was nowhere to be seen. Behind me, he realized, but it was too late. The remaining soldier drove his blade into Mark. Only his quick reflexes saved him. The blade pierced his side instead of his heart. He turned, firing his pistol and taking down the last man.
Holding his side where the blade had pierced him, he hurried into the inn. He had only enough time to realize that there was a pistol in his face before he was knocked unconscious.
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Hehehehehe… Real cliffhanger there, huh? Well, R&R, please!!!!