<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/5e/3bfaeb75dbcce83bfc397be0f8c47baa.jpg)</div><strong>Xanatov Itugen</strong>(https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nZc8QUdk9LCbRhWohfuYEkG-X01vvibwqNY9pRV1Noo/edit)<br/><br/>The bar was in a crowded, dingy, dirty, and crime riddled section of Antillion City—500 feet bellow the surface of the ocean on a class O planet known as Leviathan's Rest.  Smoky whale oil lanterns lit the tavern, as it seemed the only two machine spirits that hadn't long since abandoned this place were those of the beer tap and those of a single refrigerator.<br/><br/>Xanatov Itugen left four burly marines a few blocks back, ordering them each a big bowl of seafood chowder to enjoy while fearing what their Captain would do to them if his nephew got himself killed out of their line of sight.<br/><br/>The young lord didn't give their concerns a second thought.  “Rabbel of this quality?  There's not enough in the tavern to lay a finger on me.”<br/><br/>Indeed, as he entered the tavern in fine swede and silk beneath a mesh combat cloak, a pair of rabble twisted their chairs around with contempt and greed writ large on their grubby faces.  The one with a grinding, over sized augmentic hand spat on the floor in front of Xanatov.  The other with a patch where his left eye had once been started to spew a sting of insults and obscenity in a heavily accented nautical dialect.<br/><br/>Xanatov's hand flashed under his cloak and came out with a priceless sword.  Before the blade was completely out of it's sheath, the pommel took the man with the hand in the temple, laying him out over the table.  He finished the move with a twist of the feet and a flick of the wrist—blade leveled at the other man's remaining eye. “Get out of my sight before I call the crone who mops my floor to bend you over her knee.”<br/><br/>The man jerked back so hard his chair toppled to the ground and he ran for the back.<br/><br/>Xanatov strode past them, looking around for the girl he'd come seeking.  When a barmaid dared to approach him with a deep curtsy, Xanatov took the girl by the hand and pressed a dozen thrones into her palm.  “Run up the street and fetch a decent bottle of amesac, my dear.  I'll be over there.”<br/><br/>She nodded and scampered out the door.  The barkeep glared at the nobleman, then blinked when a handful of thrones hit the bar.  “Two clean decanters, empty.”