During the time period in Stalyxian history known simply as The Age of Myst technically the exact dating is around the year 3390 AM or, After Myst.
The kingdom of Stalyxa, once a proud nation on the cusp of industrial revolution, turned to a tyrannical empire forged from iron and blood. The largest nation in the known world, Stalyxa is vast, covering up nearly 85% of its home continent, and currently at war with the smaller, desert dwelling folk to the south. This vast empire is home to the richest veins of ores, a seemingly never ending source of wealth and power to the empire.
The world has been creeping out of the steam era, slowly modernizing itself into the great machine. Grand and majestic cathedrals which once dotted the major cities as testaments to mans skill are now being torn down or abandoned to make way for more modernized architecture. Ancient religions becoming extinct as the years pass, the new Imperial Church which has seized the throne has commanded, that no other religion is to be practiced within the walls of any city in the kingdom, doing so is punishable by death.
The great capital known ___ as is a beautiful yet ugly gash upon the Oceanside, a city of unnatural proportions stretching from the ocean to the mountains, great walls constructed of a new metal the scientists have named Imperial Steel, this new metal is mostly comprised of lesser metals such as tin or zinc infused into common bricks, and imbued with large quantities of Myst, changing the molecular structure of the metals that makes them almost indestructible. Seeing as this new metal is extremely cheap to make, the Imperial church has set into motion massive factories deep within the royal compounds to mass produce it, and as such, decreed that all buildings be made from it.
The once magnificent buildings which were built for the greater glory of the old Gods, and showed off mans skill now left abandoned, for no man would visit them to risk their life. These buildings fell into decay, sticking out like a disease. Their shabby facade obvious in comparison to the sleek, shiny new designs of Imperial architecture. Carts and horses were not the only transportation anymore, the Steam Age had taken over the world for many years prior. Rails and tracks now crisscross the country like ugly stitching, bringing vast amounts of product into and out of the capital at alarming rates. Along these tracks, great beasts of blood and iron chug along while spewing steam and creating eerie and monstrous noises. These new things, as people called modernization were consuming and engulfing every city and town. But these days, Myst has taken over; steam is a forgotten means of power, with the mastery of Myst came constructs born of mans dream. Great metal golems powered by Myst working nonstop within the factories. Vehicles powered by battery cells infused with Myst, the capital had become an advanced metropolis, yet still it clung to the engineering designs and structuring of the steam age.
However modern a city might be, nothing could be compared to the machinery within the infamous, Myst Machineworks. These underground facilities ran by the Imperial church itself, a site deemed holy by the throne. Veiled in secrecy the Machineworks tirelessly charge ahead, creating and designing monoliths of war, and advanced weaponry. All fueled by the constant intakes of Myst.
However it wasn't always so. Stalyxa used to be a peaceful nation, a much smaller nation. Upon the verge of scientific breakthrough, a tyrannical cult of scientific priests seized control of the throne nearly 300 years ago, claiming the rightful king had committed blasphemy, and that the church would be taking control of the throne for the foreseeable future. The people welcomed the priests, and with it, a new age of technology that shook the very foundations of the earth at its discovery by the modern man.
The ethereal force known simply as Myst, a mysterious planet born energy that seeps forth out from the ground and permeates itself into every living being it touches, changing it, mutating it, and giving birth to the force known as Magic. Long before man ever found himself civilized, the creatures of nature thrived upon the Myst, having been born of its graces. Hidden races such as the elves, dwarves, faeries, werewolves and even vampires to name a few, all creatures of the Myst, and all of them slowly dying. Some even becoming extinct.
The discovery and utilization of Myst by man slowly drains the planet. Normally Myst consumption is required, as all living things rely on it simply to exist, as does the planet itself. However, vast factories lay sprawling, massive ugly gashes in the fabric of nature. Throughout the empire an ever growing network of pipelines connect the capital to auxiliary stations. Each one specifically designed to squeeze every last breathe of Myst the earth expels, and send it away from nature into the hellish bowels of the industrialized imperial capital.
The beasts grow weaker by the day. With the Myst being hoarded by man, the natural forces of nature have less to live on, they grow angry with man, attacking settlements and destroying auxiliary stations in order to return the Myst to the earth. Total war is on the verge of starting, there even exists factions of humans who have sided with the beasts, for not all humans or beasts are of similar decorum.
Due to the massive centralization of Myst in a vastly occupied location, mutation has begun. The normally harmless Myst, an energy required by life to thrive, tends to change and adapt those who are exposed to it in large quantities. The beasts know of this well, for it is what created the different races of nature. The humans however, don't take to it very kindly. Freaks and mutants spring up, wielding strange and powerful abilities, especially around the industrial districts, where Myst is the heaviest. Riots and violence swell the streets in gang wars between humans and the altered. Some beasts deny the altered refuge, for their strict beliefs shun any who was once human. However, some beasts welcome their newly changed brethren, believing that the Myst altered them so that they may live as they should, as one with nature.
In this uneasy time, a secret society has sprung up; a faction mixed with beasts, men, and altered. Their name is spoken only in hushed tones, fear of them spreading, through the nation, and slowly becoming a thorn in the side of the Empire. If war does come to be, the society simply known as The Aces is certain to have a hand to deal, but few know what kind of cards they can play.
horn in the side of the Empire. If war does come to be, the society simply known as The Aces is certain to have a hand to deal, but few know what kind of cards they can play.
-- Edited by Samone on Monday 26th of March 2012 04:35:19 PM
-- Edited by Samone on Friday 30th of March 2012 03:46:33 PM
-- Edited by Samone on Sunday 10th of April 2016 12:08:45 AM
-- Edited by Samone on Sunday 10th of April 2016 12:11:29 AM
-- Edited by Samone on Wednesday 13th of April 2016 10:31:57 PM
-- Edited by Samone on Sunday 3rd of July 2016 08:46:58 AM
Appearance: Raven stands tall at 6'5. A thin, lean body frame covered in well-honed muscles ready to unleash Ravens fury at will. His face is all that resembles a human, however slightly at that. With a long beak-like nose and thin lips hiding sharpened teeth set below eyes of steely resolve. Most of his body is covered in a fine coating of feathers, excluding areas such as his hands, feet, face, and chest. Great wings sprout forth from his back, streaked with magnificent black and silver swirls creating archaic designs. His long limbs end in thick, pointed black nails. As far as clothing goes, Raven keeps it deceptively simple, usually only wearing a tattered trench coat that covers his non-human body, and modified with a hood to cover his face. Underneath this, Raven wears a battle harness, upon which lies simple a pocketed baldric across his chest, attached to a gun belt. Throughout his garb lay a multitude of pockets and leather bags across his waist. Within these hidden compartments Raven has stashed everything one might need to survive. Simple things such as medical supplies, and various tools used in the shady day to day trade of assassins and thieves. Mixed into the common rabble of supplies lay items that are merely indescribable, with no known clear purpose to anyone other than himself. A multitude of perfectly spherical orbs of ores, refined metals, gems and crystals all take a place among these objects. Besides the average collection of varying throwing knives and daggers strapped to his legs and hidden within the fold of his cloak, Raven wields a very odd weapon indeed. Kept at his right side in its holster lay a mysterious weapon Raven has dubbed the infamous "Reflexor". Only barely taking on the shape of a gun, the Reflexor is an amalgamation of pipes and rods of various metals. Adorned with switches, gears, knobs and gyros across its body. The image of this weapon is quite perplexing, as it doesn't even seem to be a properly functioning gun, as it has no trigger. Unlike most guns which have a definable hands, The hand fits into a hole in the back of the gun, wielding it like one would a common punching knuckle. Upon brandishing this seemingly unyielding contraption, several of the smaller pipes, and lengths of looped metal float free of its body, accompanied by several spheres they gravitate around the archaic construction.
Racial traits: Born of the purest royal bloodline, along with his high saturation of Myst, Raven is host to a unique set of abilities and traits .Most readily available to him are the traits handed down to him by his vampire blood; the abilities of strength, agility, hyper enhanced senses, longevity, and the capability to withstand normally mortal blows with an enhanced healing factor. Being of pure blood he does not have the normal weakness that takes over a vampires. The common vampire has a surprisingly large variety of weaknesses that can overpower it when properly used. Sunlight for one is the bane of all creatures of the night. Most vampires are mindless creatures, however the select few who have mastered the Myst within them can overcome many obstacles, such as being able to withstand the constant torture of sunlight, Raven is amongst these few, combined with his pureblood the Myst grants him almost immunity to the harsh rays of sunlight, but at a heavy cost to his strength and abilities. Amongst the sunlight raven is still a great step above a human, but his vampiric traits are lulled by the sun. Then come the common ailments when introduced to the powerful aura given off by genuine holy relics. There are few genuine religions still in practice, most do not hold the pure strength of the old gods. Common vampires experience feelings of great dread and fear when brought against the symbols of almost any religion, although this is more due to psychological influencing than any real holy power. When faced with the totem of a true old god, the vampire is less than useless, held in stasis by its own mind and the genetic attributes of its own being are reduced to that of a humans. Raven is of a stronger will, capable of deflecting the powerful aura given off, except for a select few, most of which have been long forgotten by the minds of man. Bodies of water have no affect on him.
Given the gift of flight, not just from the great set of wings upon his back, but through his manipulation of heat fields Raven is capable of soaring through the air at varying speeds. Due to his vampire bloodline, Raven is gifted with a strange beauty, even though he may seem deformed in the fact that his body is more bird-like than human. Particularly strong vampires, and even some of the lesser ones have about them an aura of sorts, capable of producing awe and fear among creatures. Given enough mental focus the vampire is capable of strengthening this aura, producing a wide variety of results. Raven however usually chooses to keep his own aura under wraps, preferring to go unnoticed, but has been known to use it when the situation calls for it.
Myst Mutation: Set apart from his racial traits, stand the abilities granted to him from a long life lived within the vicinity of a dense Myst, and through the consumption of it. Granted to him through Myst mutation is the ability to change, and control temperatures. Through this Raven has mastered the arts of Pyrokinesis; the ability to control the kinetic energy of atoms to generate, control and absorb fire. Alongside the ability to heat things, he also has its opposite. Cryokinesis; The ability to reduce the kinetic energy of atoms and thus reduce temperature, can be used to control, generate, or absorb ice.
Lastly, he controls an enhanced understanding of the mechanical ways in which all things work and are related. He is able to mentally create vast blueprints within his mind and create complicated and advanced machines. Combined with his ability to control temperature, he can tear apart smaller constructs by sheer will, floating the object in front of him and dismantling it into its basic elements, and reverse the process. To those who are not acquainted with his powers, Raven appears to have a telekinetic power, however his ability to seemingly manipulate objects at will are purely stemmed from his ability to control temperatures around objects, and manipulate a field of heat or cold around them to cause them to float.
Personality: Raven tends to have a cold heart at times. Fitting the stereotypical lone wolf lifestyle perfectly, very few see in inner person behind the mask. A natural born leader, Raven gives little care for the incompetent, or those who are simply unwilling to fight. He demands only the best from everyone, for the law of nature demands survival of the fittest. If you are unable to survive, you deserve to die. However, underneath this iron mask, hides a being of surprising compassion. One who actually knows emotions other than rage and pride. His highest belief is in strength, and the fact that all people, no matter how weak, poor, or crippled by either physical, or mental malady, or governmental suppression, should rise up in order to survive. That no person should willingly obey another in an act of slavery, but should instead fight for what they believe in no matter the cost, to him, people who choose not to fight, are the lowest form of life and since they have already given up fighting for life, should die either by his hands or another.
Personal reason for fighting: Many forces drive a man to fight, revenge, love, money, all of them a different factor behind the blade. However, not all motives seem as clear as they appear to be, for Raven this is the case. Rumor has it he fights in the name of a long lost love to which he lost to the tireless charge of the Empires quest for power. Others claim he is a demon, summoned by some arcane cult to sweep death and ruin across the land in vengeance against the humans. Nobody really knows why the famous mercenary Raven does what he does, all they know is if you have the right coin, and you want the best in the business, you go to him.
History: Born to the ruling aristocratic family of ancient times, Born to the king of the sanguine throne, Raven was technically the crowned prince, however the truth behind his birth became known. He was a bastard. Still being of pure blood, Raven was born from his father and the daughter of a powerful local Baron. His birth was quite the stir among local aristocracy, uncounted attempts on his life were made time after time, for the baron saw his birth as a direct insult to his name. In what eventually culminated in a rebellion against the throne, the Baron raised an army to besiege the king, and eventually won, claiming the kings life and taking the throne for himself. His father having exiled him from the kingdom in order to save his life, Raven roamed the wilds for countless years. Living within the untamed masses of nature far from civilization for the majority of his life, Raven unlocked hidden and forbidden secrets of the world by conversing with beings even more ancient than his own race. Honing and perfecting his craft over a lifetime, Raven eventually returned to his home nation, seeking the revenge that was due him. Finding nothing but a wasted barren society of crumbling cities and landscapes. The Baron had become mad with power and ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, paranoia driving him mad. Nobody knows quite what happened, but nothing was left of his home. Leaving behind the desolate landscape of the past Raven traveled onward, through even more years of lonesome travel raven still searched for answers to his burning rage.
Making himself known to the world as one of the best assassins around, his name started from rumor, to fact, and eventually, passing on as a legend as the years flew by. His roaming sent him to many strange places of the world, forests that grow upside down, inside out caves, lakes that float through the air as if gravity had forsaken it, entire mountain ranges that vanish in the sunlight. For all these years spent alone Raven finally headed across the vast ocean to a new land, the future empire of Stalyxa. Still a peaceful mining country that paid little heed to war and conquest. Taking up refuge in a cottage hidden away from the world by a stream in the forest, raven spent many years watching the world change around him, ever so often dropping his name within the taverns seeding his own myth, and supplying him with coin from the multitude of jobs that usually come to an assassin. Still always searching for the answer to his lifelong revenge.
-- Edited by Samone on Sunday 3rd of July 2016 09:15:59 AM
The distant echoing of bells made their way over the dead forest, the small graveyard hidden amongst the fallen trees and dead shrubbery long forgotten by man. Amongst the crumbling tombstones and brown, long dead weed's sat a single red rose, growing up from the death around it like a shining beacon of hope in a world of shadow's and nightmares.
The soft flapping of wing's fills the air as the crying toll of the bell's slowly dies down, the only sound in the dead forest is all but silence interrupted by the slow, heavy beating of wings.
Footfall, a soft sigh, the rustling of wing's settling back in place, and silence once more filling the air as a lone figure appears alone in the grave, a dark smudge in the thickening fog of sunrise. Light slowly shifting down onto the man's face, a thick, unnatural aura shrouding the lone figure. Steaming clouds of vapor escape his hood as footsteps crunch across the thick frosted layering over the forest floor, ice melting into pools of water mere seconds later. Standing above the lone rose, a bright splash of blood upon the otherwise pale facade of death. Small bits of sparkling feather's slowly fall to the earth, there is no breath of life in this dead place, no wind to cleanse and scour the earth clean of its taint.
Reaching up to remove the hood, revealing a face not known to many, for few are graced with the visage of death that comes forth from beneath the hood's shadows. A face none would call ugly, thin lips below a long, pointed nose topped with narrow eyes full of steel. None who would look upon this face could forget it, the unnatural, ever piercing aura of beauty and intimidation that would make the strongest of will's break under a mere glance.
Kneeling down to the earth, once more the ice melting within seconds of his touch, evaporating into a fine mist. The clawed deformed hand's reaching out to gently stroke the soft red petals. The rose being but a small proof that life can still fight in a world of death. Heat, unworldly heat striking out with tangible force from the man's body, the cold winter air at once becoming that of a bright sunny day in the prime of summer. Icicles atop branches melting, pools of water forming everywhere, the rose seemingly absorbing the warmth, growing, it's seemingly normal colorations becoming clearer, more defined. Shades of deep crimson coming out, veins of sparkling ruby defining the petals. The thorn's growing thick and sharp, thick, oily black liquid dripping like venom from a snake's fang.
A faint smile graced the man's face, revealing teeth ever so slightly pointed, his tongue running over their pure white surface. Bringing a single clawed digit up to his mouth, a droplet of purest black upon its surface, his tongue dragging its way across the talon, the bitter taste filling his mouth, dragging its way slowly down his throat and throughout his body as the poison ran its course. His voice rang clear in the quiet air "Perfect."
With a flap of his great wing's the figure was gone, the small graveyard that was graced with the warmth of summer, instantly freezing once more, and the single, lifeless dry husk of a rose lay slowly withering into the ground, thin veins of ice running up its body as it froze, the air grew silent once more, the graveyard, left as though undisturbed; a place of death.
-- Edited by Samone on Wednesday 30th of May 2012 03:43:32 PM
-- Edited by Samone on Thursday 12th of December 2013 10:08:04 AM
Bells tolled in the air as the muffled rustling of wings slowly died upon the muted air of dawn. Gazing down upon the dingy streets below, his clawed feet grasping the gnarled, crumbling stone bust of a gargoyle, their countenance similar in distaste to what lay below them. Thick black clouds hung low over the town today, an ever-present gift given to the villagers by the local factories that clung to the nearby mountains like angry spiders, a mass of wires and pipes their nest.
A clawed hand made its way out from beneath the unyielding black cloth of his trench coat, the disturbance of which causing his baldric to display its wares to the world, shining brightly even in this dim world lay a variety of knives and tools, the archaic jumbling of glittering pipes at his waist casting glimmers of light around its warmly glowing mass. Within the elegantly clawed digits, a single golden coin of modest mint clacked in the silence between the talons. Idly playing with the coin, the man settled his steely gaze upon the simple minded who happily went through life in mediocrity, unable to conceive of a greater good or higher calling for which to raise a banner too.
"Pitiful" his harsh voice whispered into the wind, only to fall dead to the world as the last of the bells finished ringing their clamorous, out dated joy to the rising sun. The payment clicked once more in his hands, a sparse payment for the job given to him, but one substantial enough to convince him of its worth to the client. With a sigh of disgust, he slowly removed a small nugget of pure iron from within a pocket on his baldric. The air warmed, the nugget slowly rising on an updraft of such intense heat that it began to turn white hot within seconds, by the mans third breath it had turned into a writhing, broiling sphere of molten iron, snapping and popping as it's surface was met with the chilling air of dawn.
With a mental nudge the sphere of molten iron flung itself through the air, the speed of which causing it to turn into a long, narrow spike which instantly solidified with another mental nudge. The long, almost invisible strand of deadly iron sliced its way clean through the tendons in the targets legs, causing him to fall straight into the path of a charging horse, his body mangled and pulpy only seconds after. Before the deadly projectile had even turned solid once more, the man was gone; the only proof of his presence a single black feather falling to the ground, only to quickly ignite in a burst of fire and ash.
-- Edited by Samone on Tuesday 12th of June 2012 07:30:36 AM
-- Edited by Samone on Tuesday 12th of June 2012 07:30:50 AM
-- Edited by Samone on Tuesday 12th of June 2012 07:31:22 AM
-- Edited by Samone on Wednesday 13th of April 2016 10:43:03 PM
-- Edited by Samone on Wednesday 13th of April 2016 10:43:25 PM
-- Edited by Samone on Wednesday 13th of April 2016 10:44:35 PM
A chilly breeze flew through the night, carrying upon it the sulfurous scent of the Myst-works. The black clad figure wreathed in shadows stopped for but a minute, sniffing about the wind for any such hint of troubles that could possibly be born upon the breeze. Sharp hawk like eyes peered out at the world, twin points of dull light in an otherwise formless and shadowed figure. Vast fields of various grains and vegetables grew all around him, embracing him further into their own wispy mass. The stars above twinkled dimly, polluted skies blocking out most of the heavenly radiance.
Off in the distance, the faint lights of a city sparkled, still several miles away from the city walls, the figure continued walking, a hand nestling vigilantly upon the gentle mass of an unseen weapon. The soft pitter patter of gentle droplets of rain began to ever so lightly fall upon the world, bringing with them the sweet wet scent of earth. The breeze gently bowing the crops to its persistent might. The city boundaries were still yet miles away, the land having not given away to the industrial might of man. Somehow that very same man still held a kernel of wisdom within its shriveling brain, food still grew. How rare these days to lay witness upon a waste-ling finger of nature protruding from the steel circles of light that hid the ever present pollution of humankind. One must travel quite a ways to view such splendor that was the basic foodstuff never quite seen by the common man, nor was it quite thought of as an actual resource. These days those of the city did not concern themselves with agriculture, leaving such lowly tasks to the already over burdened lower class. No, the city dwellers were far above such menial tasks. Feet making no imprints upon the moistening earth, steadily plodding endlessly with intent, no sound squelched up from the now muddy road, no sign of the black clad figure was ever witnessed. Upon the horizon the light of man brightened as the distance between he and it closed sharply, his ever persistent pace devouring length and time with dutiful progress. Soon the fields ended, only a brief knee high wall of crumbling stone spaced nature and man, revealing a wide paved road of perfect flatness cutting into the land as though a scar of war. Turning onto this new element of surface, the figure continued its never ceasing pace, progressing across the pavement, determined to reach its destination in due time. Gentle pattering wetness eventually evolved into something much fiercer, vigilant in its wrath the heavens opened up, releasing unto the world a torrent of water. Winds picked up, driving the miniature projectiles of moisture through the air with violent intent down upon the world. Still the figure proceeded, its pace never changing from its stoic rate. That once dull glow of humanity brightening with each step, flooding the world with its own unique form of wrath, illuminating the bleak sky of ominous grey. Habitats of humanity eventually began to rise around the flattened travelling strip, simple cottages and shacks formed from stone and wood, most of which were noticeably deteriorating, few if any light peered out from shadowed windows or torn holes. Faceless orbs of optical intent peeked out from within dimly lit alleys that eventually formed from closer and closer buildings, every set bearing with it unmistakable malign intent.
Ever silent, the cloaked figure made his way across pockmarked cobbling, puddles of water and other less savory fluids pooling and swirling with silent rage against the forsaken earth. Steadily onward he forged, a shadow of darkness shrouding the silvent figure as he made his way about his business, the tavern boisterous rundown tavern gaily lit with alchemic blue flames within bronze frameworks adorning the walls and poles around it. Drunken limbs and torsoes flung themselves about the outside, the drink cheap and bitter with it's strength flowed freely among those who had the stomach to partake of it. The crying whine of terribly off-tune mechanical instruments filled the air as inebriated bodies flailed to it's tune, harsh cries of varying temperament blended into the music, creating quite the cacophony. Fights broke out at random, the shrill call of alley side whores advertising bodily wares.
Forward, always forward moved the figure in black, the crowds around the shambled face of the tavern splitting around him, an unearthly aura emanating from within him, eyes turning to catch the figure in a stricken gaze of fear. Women and men alike unable to tear away from such a vision, the always underling fear of man amplified, fights and dancing alike stopped as the crowd moved away from him, silence filling the outside of the tavern as he plodded forward to the brokenly hinged door shot through with decay and abuse. Shouldering aside the poorly maintained length of wood one could only assume was a door, he entered into the smoky dimly lit space. Similar events took place as outside, eyes turned, people parted. The boisterous decorum of tavern life died down to a dull whisper as the man stoically made his way towards the equally poorly maintained length of stone and wood that served as a bar.
Having exited the torrential downpour of the storm, one would expect a mass of water to pour from the length of fabric adorning the body of this mysterious figure. However not but a single drop fell from the shadowy mass, instead the lightest trail of steam wafter upwards, carrying with it the faintly musky scent of fur and feather. Behind the bar stood quite the look, a standard tavern wench adorned in with various glittering jewelry of cheap bronze and quartz, her dirty blouse poorly fitted for her body swelled with the shape of her, flesh barely containing itself within the tattered fabric. Beside her stood the opposite, a tall mass of mingling fat,muscle and hair. his shaggy beard hung down to his hairy chest, his clothes splotched with the daily grime of work and sweat. Caught within the trance of this beings aura the wench instinctively lowered herself forward, placing her wares on display, a lust smile crossing her face as she rubbed away at the always dirty glass held in her hand. before she could open her mouth the gruff keeper of the populace within this dilapidated building held his arm out, pushing her away from the bar. "We don't need no trouble around these parts." he managed to mumble out in his broken country demeanor, his voice rough in the air as it grumbled out of his wide mouth, his beard moistened by spittle. Silent as always he drew from within his coat a coin, tossing it perfectly into the air it's surface sent rays of light off of it's shining surface, landing with a dull plink against the worn surface of the bar. "I need a room." The voice escaping from within the hood was neutral in tone. Ever dubious to strange characters, and still held within the enchanting aura of mystery that cloaked the man, the tender inspected the coin warily, begrudgingly nodding his head eventually, grumbling his consent "Third floor, last door on the left, and don't be causing any trouble ya'hear?" Simply nodding his understanding the figure as always, silently strode forth towards the stairs, climbing them into the smoky heights of the building. It took time, but after several minutes the chilling enchantment dropped from the drunken masses and business continued as always, but within several groups of hardened toughs and the scantily clad women at their shoulders, new conversation sprung up. The topic of course, being the hushed murmurs of the new man.
