The man pissed his drunkenness away in the alley behind the tavern. The ale tasted like crap but it suited his wallet fine. A couple copper pieces and he could forget about his woes, his lack of virtues, and his lack of a lady companion.

“Woe is me,” he sang. “Woe is me. Woe is me!” He was not drunk enough to finish the song just yet, deciding that he should stumble back to the tavern. As he did, he walked into something cold and hard. “Hey! I’m walking here!” He raised his fist and shook it.

“Excuse me,” the man said, politely. The figure was tall and lean, completely covered in a heavy cloak, though through his cloak the lightly coloured breastplate could be seen. It was blank, like a canvas yet to be painted. At his side was a sword, one which seemed to be eager to be unsheathed, the drunkard sensed.

The drunkard decided that he should probably not start any issues with this man, especially since he could feel the smile through the helmet. He was not drunk enough to harass such a gentleman. “It’s alright. No harm no foul.”

“I’m glad you are so magnanimous,” the armoured man said. “Perhaps it is time to go home?” The man looked up to the sky. “It’s an awfully dark night.”

The drunkard looked up to see all the stars twinkling in the sky, illuminating much of the area around them. It didn’t take a genius to realise that the armoured man wasn’t talking about the sky. The drunkard looked to the tavern, then to the armoured man, and he nodded. “I suppose I will turn in for the night.” He could feel the smile of the armoured man as he walked away.

The armoured man stepped up to the tavern door and opened it, stepping inside. The tavern was dingy, a decrepit place for the dregs of society to congregate together. He glanced between everyone, turned around and shut the door. He reached up to lock the doors shut, and as the lock was pushed through, the atmosphere changed.

He turned and walked up to the counter. He unlatched his sword belt and then placed it against the counter beside him and sat down. “Pear whiskey, on the rocks.” The man placed down two silver pieces on the counter top.

The barkeep nodded slowly as he took the two silver pieces, waiting to see how the man would react. The man sipped the drink and then dashed it against the wall. “Bring me the manager,” he said. His acting was poor, but the message was sent to everyone around.

This man had come to parley.

The barkeep wondered who this man was and how the guys beneath the tavern had offended him. He couldn’t get a good read on the stranger, but he nodded his head. “The manager is busy.” He looked around the tavern quickly and then back down to the man. “You can speak to me. We’re all friends here.”

The stranger pulled off his hood to reveal his pale skin, white hair, and silver eyes. Though he wore no helmet, he wore a suit of white breastplate, unmarked as he preferred it. He smiled at the barkeep with a wicked smile, on which unnerved the man. “Friends?” he said, smiling wider. “We’ll see.”

The other men in the tavern noted where their weapons were, ready to engage if needed. The barkeep ignored them for the moment, swallowing. The rest did not see his face, but with the white hair they should have figured it out.

“Do you know who I am?” Mister White asked, smiling politely.

“I do,” the barkeep replied, a quiver within his voice.

“Do you know why I’ve come?”

“I can take a guess.”

“There’s no need for that,” Mister White said, placing down a number of pinky fingers, many of them mangles. He had dug them up fresh not long ago in order to return them, as one should do to be polite. There was one for each missing member, and though the barkeep couldn’t confirm it, he was certain that they were the missing members.

“You have come to parley?” the barkeep asked to confirm, swallowing the rock in his throat.

“I have.” Mister White placed down each finger so they were a little apart from one another, and then he placed down a small gem bar which was worth roughly ten gold, beside each of the pinky fingers. “We dealt with the burial, there’s no need to pay us for it. The gems are for the families of the men and women who died. Be sure that the families are given these items, otherwise I will have to return.”

“I understand,” the barkeep said, nodding his head slowly. His eyes never left Mister White’s.

“On to the next matter?” Mister White asked.

The barkeep nodded, swallowing roughly once more.

“Your associates made quite the mistake.”

“Yes.”

“Compensation must be discussed.”

“Yes.”

“I would suggest you pick up that bottle,” Mister White pointed to a nondescript bottle on the wall which didn’t seem out of place at all, “and then tug on the rope underneath it to open up the secret entrance in the back room under the barrel.”

The barkeep began to sweat, and the other men around realised that they were completely outmatched by this stranger who knew their secrets. “The manager is not here,” the barkeep said. “I’m afraid I can’t open it up.”

Mister White smiled a little wider. “That’s a lovely ring on your finger,” he said. “Worth at least ten gold pieces.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I brought a few more bars, but the ring saves me the trouble.”

“…”

“I’m sure you love your family very much. It would be very awkward if I were to meet them to explain. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand, Sir.” The barkeep relented, picking up the bottle and then pulling the rope so the rope system would move the barrel aside and reveal the secret entrance for a short while.

Mister White nodded and then walked towards the door. The barkeep looked at the sword and then back to Mister White. “Sir, your sword.”

Mister White stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t need it.” His smile widened before he opened the door. “Oh, and I suggest everyone here remain to enjoy a drink until I return.” He flicked over a gold coin, which landed on the counter and spun on the spot. By the time it dropped, the door had shut and he had disappeared.

The patrons all looked between one another, eyeing up their expressions.

“Should we leave?”

“He’s gone, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t know…”

“Is it a trick?”

The barkeep swallowed, finally able to breathe properly. “Stay put,” he said. “Let’s just wait for a little while…”

Mister White stepped down the stairs, his steps light and yet they still echoed through the darkness. He caught the arrow aimed for his neck and then carried it to the door, knocking on it. “Excuse me,” he said, noting the six behind the door had remained silent ever since he had dashed the drink at the wall.

“…”

Mister White remained there for some time. “I would prefer to be invited inside,” he said.

“…”

He smiled and then opened the door, revealing his body as the light flickered against his armour, and three arrowed splintered a moment later. He used the arrow tip to stop the sword from striking his head, and with his free hand he shut the door.

“This guy!”

“Damn!”

“He’s not normal!”

Mister White smiled warmly as the shadow leapt back to his companions. There were five men and a woman, though it was difficult to tell for most people due to their black attire which covered them entirely. “That was quite rude,” Mister White said, his smile never fading.

“What are you doing here?” a shadow shouted.

“Wait a second!” Another shadow glanced at Mister White, checking his features and then he looked to the shadow beside him. “Isn’t that Mister White?”

“The Butcher’s Butcher?”

“I-it can’t be! Didn’t he already leave?”

“Yes,” Mister White said. “I was on holiday, but I was informed of a particular situation.”

The shadows all stayed still as the temperature of the room dropped. They all looked between one another as one took a tentative step forward. “Sir Mister White,” the woman said. “Let’s talk about it.”

“Indeed, that’s why I am here.” He smiled, extending a hand so the woman could take the arrow. She crept forward, her eyes never leaving his as sweat dropped from her brow. He allowed her to take the arrow and she slowly returned to her spot beside her allies.

The woman was High Iron Third Core, which was quite impressive. The others were at the peak of Iron Fifth Core or a little higher. She seemed to be younger than all the rest, so she was probably someone who was related to the upper members of the group.

“Let’s talk,” Mister White said.