Twenty-seven Years Later
The bar in the Scale Yard of Freeport was packed with all types of ruffians and scum. Traitor Barbarians and thieving Ratonga filled the seats of the bar. A group of Trolls sat in a huddle in the back corner. The ogre bartender was cleaning glasses with a rather filthy rag, making them possibly even dirtier. A large, muscular, Iksar sat in between to empty seats as he sipped his strong beverage. The doors of the bar burst open and two humans tramped in. "An' then, an' then, e' went up to Ralph an' said 'Scuse me, you got ur' silver pieces?'" The first human joked to the second one and the both sat in the unoccupied seat on either side of the Iksar. "Hey there, ol' chap. How are things goin' in that bucket o' rust you call a house? HAHAHA!" The other Human piped up and said,
"Yeah, ol' Vyle Hassir, me lad? Ow' are things goin'?" He put his hand on Vyle's shoulder. Vyle grabbed the hand on his shoulder and twisted it 180 degree's, instantly breaking it. The Human screamed in agony. The other Human stood up and began to pull out his knife, only to find the tip of Vyle's rapier pointed at his throat. The bar went silent.
"Vyle Hassir is dead. I am Vyle the Venomheart. Do not forget this, or this steel will be shoved down your throat." He pulled the rapier from the Humans throat and released the hand of the other Human who collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. Vyle sheathed his rapier and set 3 copper pieces on the bar. "Smash," he said to the barkeep. "Show these two out." The ogre complied to the order and jumped over the bar and grabbed the two by the collars of their tattered shirts. He proceeded in chucking them out as Vyle walked by. "Don't go to hard on them." He patted the Ogre on the back.