Arbors Butchers is the rgest tavern iown of Lignum, and the only tavern rge enough to fit the crews of several Corvettes and Frigates… or a couple destroyers. Currently, there are many of the former and only one of the tter.

  The tter ship is the talk of the town.

  “Yea, it’s a damn nice ship,” Brenis listens to the fifth versation about the vessel. “It has this nice raven figurehead and a dozen guns on each side. She’s a real beauty, she is.”

  The ur, a level 36 [Expert Shipwright] listening to the man's words rolls his eyes. “Bah, it's not a core ship, is it? I heard the ship has a full plement of crew.” he wiggles a fi the younger [Shipwright] who’d only retly gotten his sed skill. “I remember when we used to build Cored frigates that could outmaneuver and outrun your fancy destroyers and sink them without yger ship ever returning a shot.”

  “Doren.” Brenis, the [Tavern keeper] interrupts the [Expert Shipwright]. “Outmaneuver, yes, but a destroyer is rger and field more and bigger guns. A ay free up more hands, but the ons on a destroyer still slow a frigate with a good shot.”

  “Brenis, you know as well as I do that a sed-css [Captain] single-handedly pilot a frigate. That's twelve hands free for ons. A coreless ship needs half the crew running the rigging. That leaves only six crew to man the ons.”

  Brenis sighs and shakes his head. “Sed-css [Captain]’s dont grow on trees, and the only ones who fully pilot a ship alone are specifically trained for it. Also, you still fet that a destroyer always fit muns than a frigate. So long as you have enough [oneers] to man all of the ons on a single side, then additional crew won’t add anymore firepower.”

  “Bah,” Doren waves his hand, “Arguing with you is annoying. Get me another of that whiskey.” Doren points a thumb to his side. “and one for my partner. He’s gonna tet your damn heresies.”

  “Yea, yea, I got it.” Brenis leans down and grabs two gsses and a bottle as it on the ter. He uncorks the bottle and begins p. “So, about that destroyer. Any rumors on why it’s here? You said it had a raven head? Think it's part of the Guild?” Brenis sets the drinks in front of Doren and his nephew.

  “What guild?” the nephew of sixteen asks.

  “Crows Guild. They’re a guild of [Bounty Hunters]. One of the Greater-Seven, if I remember correctly.” Doren expins.

  “You think they’re here for someone?” Brenis asks.

  “BORISS STOP!”

  Before Doren answer, a loud yell causes the eavern to go silent. All eyes turn to the entrance.

  “Vhat is wrong, rade? Do you serap?” a voice asks right outside the door.

  “Worse, you’re messing up our entrance. You 't just use your hands to open the door to a tavern!”

  “I t?”

  “No, you 't. Now, the proper way to ehese establishments is to kick the doors open.”

  “But rade Quasi, I have manly Russia. Door may break.”

  “Boriss, focus! This is important. Testing the durability of a tavern's doors is a time-horadition. If the door ot withstand a mere kick, then it is clear that the owner is utterly inpetent in their job and we should instead choose a different pce.”

  “Ahh, is on capitalist test. I not know. I Test now.”

  Brenis winces as the double doors to his Tavern open loudly and violently. The thick doors withstood the kick, but Brenis makes a mental o check the hionight.

  A rge t man of muscles steps ihe tavern with a grin. He wears clothing that seems a size too small for him and carries a seemingly grinning kitten on his shoulder.

  The rge man smiles towards the cat. “rade, the door survive Russian leg. Is good tavern, yes?”

  “Meow.” The cat answers back.

  The rge man nods in uanding.

  “Da, pn. We go.”

  The rge grinning man with a cat on his shoulder starts heading towards the bar. Behind him follows a tall expressionless woman in a rather expensive looking coat and a captain's cutss at her side. Clearly a ship [Captain] if Brenis had ever seen one.

  o said [Captain] is a rather plump and short man dressed in a [Shipwrights] attire. Brenis would guess the guy is a [Carpenter], albeit ohat bors very little.

  In essehe group entering his Tavern is a ship's crew. sidering it’s only three people, Brenis would guess they captain a Corvette.

  While they head in his dire, Brenis g the rest of his regurs. Most are curious of the three, some are annoyed, and Favio looks pissed. But it is when Brenis sees Myron with his grandson that sends a chill down his spihe man is staring at the female [Captain] with startling tration.

  The rge man, most likely the muscle of the ship, arrives with a griakes a seat on one of the empty stools and leans on the ter. “You are Bar man, yes?”

  “I… am [Tavern Keeper] Brenis, yes. Do you want to order something?”

  The rge man reaches into his side and pces a filled bag of s on the ter. “Information.”

  “Boriss,” the short man interrupts as he takes the stool o him. “You 't just go and ask for information. You have to ease into it. Order some food and several bottles of drink. Only when you’re properly hammered should you ask for info.”

  “Meow.” The cat atop Boriss shoulder nods in approval.

  “You make food too, not just drink?” Boriss asks, surprised.

  “Nothing fancy, but we’ve got stew, bread, skewers, and if you’re willing to wait a bit, baked fish.”

  “I will have the fish with a gss water.” the woman and probable [Captain] of the group excims.

  “And I’ll have some of that stew and bread. Add in a bottle of whatever those two are drinking.” The short man points at Doren and his nephew.

  “I want many skewers.” Boriss announces.

  “How many is many?”

  “Twenty.” He says.

  Brenis raises an eyebrow at the number. Most grown men only gh five befetting full.

  “Are you sure you want that many?”

  “Meow.” The cat meows.

  “Ah, Twenty-one skewers. rade Quasi is hungry too.”

  “Uh-huh.” Brenis looks at the fat sack of s.

  “Anything to drink.”

  “Strong Alcohol. Very strong f Russian man.”

  “Meeow.”

  “And something for rade here.” he points at the cat on his shoulder.

  Brenis raises an eyebrow at the cat.

  “How about some milk?”

  “Meeoow.” The cat seemingly nods in acceptance of the offer.

  “Right… I’m going to go tell my cook first, and then I’ll get you your drinks. One moment.”

  As Brenis walks into the back, a short child skitters from his seat and arrives o Boriss.

  He taps his leg. “Excuse me, sir.”

  Boriss looks down at the child. “Yes, little one?”

  The child points at the cat on his shoulder. “ I pet your kitty?”

  Boriss grins. “Da, rade Quasi is good cat.”

  The cat mews in both fusion and e as Boriss grabs the cat from his shoulder and hands it to the young boy.

  The boy giggles as the cat is pced into his arms. He hugs the kitten to his chest with a happy grin on his face. “You’re so fluffy.”

  “Meow?” The cat tilts its head to a er of the room and zones in on an elderly man ready to sughter anyone and anything that would hurt a hair on the child.

  “Oy, Cy, drop the fug dirty cat.” a man in his mid twenties drunkenly walks up to the bar.

  “No.” The boy pouts and takes a step away from the man. “Kitty is and fluffy.”

  “I dont fug care. I don’t want no animal in mah fug bar.”

  “Favio, you’re drunk. Its not your bar, so leave the cat alone.” Doren interrupts.

  “Shut the fuck up, Doren. I go to this bar, and I don't want to see some shitty animal brought in here.”

  “You’re being unreaso's not a war-hound, it’s just a harmless cat.”

  “Shut it Doren or i’ll make you.” Favio warns the older maurn to the cat.

  “Cy, either drop the fug cat, or I’m gonna make sure you ’t ever hold anything again.” he threatens.

  At the threat, the cat squirms out of Cys arms. It hops up on a stool and then the bar tertop. It then turns to Favio with a teethy grin.

  “So, Favio. You like to pick fights, eh? How about you pick a fight with someone your own size?” The cat asks.

  The entire room goes pletely and utterly dead silent as all eyes are firmly oalking cat.

  “What's wrong?” titls is head mogly. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Favio blinks for a sed as his alcohol fueled brain tries to rationalize what's happening.

  “You want to fight me?”

  The cat rolls its eyes. “I’m a fug foot tall cat. I said someone your own size.” The cat raises a paw at the rgest man in the room. “Boriss will fight you.”

  Boriss frowns at the cats words. “But, rade Quasi, is not same size.” he taps his chest, “I am big strong russian with big muscles.” he then points at Favio, “He is small like little child. Is not fair, yes?”

  The cat sighs. “Borris, he was threatening a child. Fighting him is only proper.”

  The rge man's eyes widen as he grins. “Ahh, is like taking own medie, yes?” He hops off his stool and steps in front of Cy. “Little child, stay back. Is time for proper Russian bar fight.”

  “You think being taller and wider fug matters?” Favio seethes with a step forward as his hands create fists.

  “Careful,” Doren warns, “Favio has [Enharength]. He’s strohan any of-” his words are cut off as Boriss grabs a stool, rushes forward, and shatters the sitting instrument across Favios face with the brutality of someone who has lived in prison for half his life..

  Favio’s body flies backwards and falls on the floor, unscious.

  Silence again permeates the room, followed by Brenis running back from the kits.

  “What the hell is happening here?” he asks as he arrives.

  He looks at the room and the plete silence except for the sound of a yawning cat.

  He looks at the cat.

  The cat looks back at him, unamused.

  “So,” the cat begins, “wheres my fug milk?”