Glenda
**The Portan Slums,**

**Baldwin, the Mage Slayer, the Purple Shadow, The One Who Escaped Lazaroth, _The Matron Killer_, whatever one desired to call him, had been quietly making his way through the streets. Adorn in a simple brown tattered cloak, he waded through crowds of the impoverished, his hands slapping away the curious hands of potential pickpockets, it was a regular day for him— A day where he wasn't on the job, where he wasn't slumming in a tavern to meet new contacts. No, today was simply _a day._ There was no excitement, no violence, nothing. It was boring, silent— his feet practically dragged as his eyes scanned the streets, trying to find something to do. Gamble, find a women who was being harassed, _anything_ to brush away this painful boredom which had him in a clutch.**

**The ambient sound of people walking, talking, had kept his mind busy. He hated being alone with his thoughts. When he wasn't intoxicated, or in the throes of blissful violence, he would contemplate his past. Lazaroth, his home, and how much colder the climate there had been.**

**He wondered how much time had he spent wasting thus far? Moving between contract to contract if necessary— he only had done this bounty hunter gig because violence had simply been the one thing he was good at. Killing Mages, how to dismantle their magics, it was what he was well trained for, that was the service he provided. A dealer of death.**

**But he yearned for something more— but what was it that he was yearning? He felt close to discovering what he wanted, no, _needed_ when he was with Dragomira. He was looking for something... _Real._ But now that relationship had burned to ashes, and he was left alone once again. Perhaps it was better that way. He didn't want anyone to worry whether he was dead or not. After all, did he matter in the grand scheme of things?**

**He did not.**

**While his mind buzzed, he would notice the street had become emptier, as civilians seemingly had moved to the edges of the street he stood in the middle of.**

**Further down the street had been a group of men— adorn with garbs and leather armour, carrying weapons of different varieties. These individuals a mix of different races varying from Sun Elves, Orcs, Tiefling, and so on. There was at least 5 in front of him.**

**Looking behind him, four more cut him off. Ah, so he was being flanked. His head looked forwards, as the Drow man had left our a hefty sigh.** "To whom do I own the pleasure to?"
Michael
**A man with a pair of Scimitars stepped forwards. A Sun Elf, with these distinctive golden irises, and tattoos upon his visage. He cleared his throat, before speaking in this somewhat eloquent voice.** "Oi, Baldwin. Long time no see, you filthy Drow." **He had called out.** "Remember me? Left me in the bloody dunes with no food, no water, and a dead horse after you used me an' me boys for your job. Didn't even pay us!" 

**The Sun Elf rose a scimitar, pointing it at Baldwin.** "This is wot we're gunna do. You're going to come with us into the desert, and we'll 'andle business there. If you refuse, we've already paid off the guard to let us gut ya like a fish in the middle of this street. After all, none will care for a dead Drow." **The Sun Elf reasoned.**

"What's it gunna be?"
Glenda
**The Mage Slayer would stand in silent contemplation. Nine versus one. Hardly a fair fight! The Drow had made a hefty sigh, before grabbing the edge of his cloak, pulling it off to expose what was beneath...**

**...The form of the physically gifted. Baldwin, the Barbarian from the island nation of Lazaroth, exposed his vastly superior form. Even though he was clothed, one could tell the shape of his forearms, the way the muscle insertions had been clearly defined, had been a telltale sigh of the sort of Drowish Adonis he was beneath those layers of clothes. He wore this tight black tunic which hardly hid the insertions of his muscles, his traps notably peaking out from the collar. He had a single left leather shoulder piece strapped onto him, the strap which wrapped around his torso and back had a sapphire gem piece which had settled upon his left pectoral. Hanging by his side a bag— not just any bag however, a bag of holding, which contained a plethora of tools for him to use.**

**The Drow would draw breath, his chest rising.** "My day was just gettin' a lil' _too_ boring." **He would say aloud, before bearing this ear-to-ear grin.** "You want me? Come and get me!"