Artur Croft

His father had been a man of whim, their was no doubt about that. Drove his mother to an early grave with his extravagance, gallivanted from bed to bed without care for his son, or anyone else. He had doted on his son, and wanted him to become every bit the man he was. While his father had encouraged in him excess and a desire for the finer things in life, he had never taken to the darker more twisted side his father had. More importantly, he didn't want to be shackled to his father's legacy, when he could be out making his own. That's why Artur left. To become his own man.

Artur dropped the letter, and looked up at the vanity mirror, staring into his own blue eyes. He was handsome, like his father, same wild blond hair, same charming eyes. Same darkness hiding just beneath the surface. His mother had hoped he would be more disciplined, more like her, and less like him. But he had always been rebellious, a rule breaker. Even now. Now though, he did finally have the discipline that his mother hoped he would garner.

Artur had enjoyed the life of a bounty hunter for years now, and the freedom away from his birthright for more. Still. It was his birthright, and whether he kept it or sold it, it was his to claim. He would go see what had happened, and see what was left to claim. He did not fear the hell his father may have unleashed, because his father had unleashed him.

The young man stood up and stretched his muscular body, he was still wearing his plated armor from the waist down. Metal plates shaped like layered bones wrapped about thighs, and graced the front of his shins. His boots were deceptively soft, to help him stay as quiet as possible. Throwing on his black shirt, and leather padding, he dawned his breasts plate next. The torso was done, to make it look like his metal rib cage was on the outside instead of in. Next came his metal skeletal gauntlets, and last his helm. The helm was a metal face mask in the shape of a skull, to complete a deathly scary look. One last touch was to put a tattered black cowl over his head, hiding the back, and making him look like a cross between a skeletal knight and the grim reaper. He had in fact earned the name in some circles within his profession. Grabbing his sword belt, he buckled it to his waist. The hilt of a sword dangled from the hanger on his right hip. The black cross guard was shaped like a raven's wings, and yet no blade rested between those dark feathers.

If he was going to do this, it might be useful to bring help. From what he had heard, the old road was inundated with bandits, and thieves. Not to mention whatever trouble his father had stirred up. Heading downstairs, Artur looked over the tavern room with a critical eye.

One person stood out among the patrons, one unlikely candidate. She was very regal looking. Aristocratic, and like she didn't belong with the rest of the rabble in the inn. Long blond hair was tied back in a pony tail, but her bangs were free to fall in front of her beautiful face. Her lush ivory skin was flawless and her dress was black with red embroidery, and emphasized her creamy skin tone and sexy curves. Her perky breasts were pushed up and emphasized with a fair amount of cleavage on display. The dress hung to mid calf, with slits to mid thigh where black leather boots that stopped below the knee were exposed. She wore a gold encrusted rapier on her hip, emphasizing her noble upbringing. While a necklace with a large sapphire sat between her large globes, showing off her wealth. Yet no one seem to want to harass her, or get into her panties.

She was arguably perfect for what he needed. Her looks could be disarming, but she could obviously hold her own. More importantly, she had a noble air about her, that matched his own lineage, making her compliment him even more. Then again, he had the feeling this was going to be a far more dangerous endeavor, then the letter indicated and if he was wrong, she might end up being dead weight.