So that ones cup flow empty.

Shouldn't have had that beer...

A bit dizzy, I stand on one half of the back of the ship; bereft of crew. On the other side is this 'Darrin Hoffman' fellow, polishing his weapon, a familiar style of thrusting sword; the same as Sarmenti...

Thank the gods though, he was clearly not related to my most hated foe by blood, and denied any kinship with one who would attack a Runacathy initiate. Now, polishing his blade, he sits across from me as I attach the mechanisms of the horde hook to my left arm. The shortsword was strapped to my back, with a strange flap-style sheath, which allowed me to simply yank it free once it was needed.

"Why are you all the way over there? We're not started just yet. Besides, you still haven't told me any details of that cur fouling up my House's name." He calls out, his voice is a bit of the rough side, yet his way of speech is similar to Sarmenti, being both formal, and polite; although he lacked the insidious subtle wrath of my enemy's way with words.

Darrin's features, however, are distinctly different. As I walk over towards him, I take note of the fact his eyes are a natural brown, unlike my 'old chum's once blue eyes; now changed by his Patron. He has dark blue hair, fitting for a sailor, but the coloration seems... unnatural to me; now that I think about it, Ariel and Gabriella's green locks gives me the same sensation. Prehaps humans back on 'Earth' didn't have such hues of hair. Strange sensations not withstanding, Darrin's facial structure was clearly distinct from the other Hoffman I had met. Where as Sarmenti had rigid, defined features, Darrin's face is softer, more rounded. His skin is deeply tanned, but was most likely once that same peachy hue I've seen a few humans have; indicating this man lived a long time somewhere that had little trees, and much in the way of sunlight. The desert that Ashes people come from comes to mind as one such area, which would accompany the fact this man is a friend of another Mohun; Marrow. His way of dress is similar to the rest of the crew, a leather vest over a blouse, long poofy pants, leather boots, and his sheath is on the right side; he's left handed.

"Well, you're already passing on the first lesson of dueling." Darrin asks."You keep looking me over, sizing me up. What did you discern?"

"You're left handed, lived in a desert, and... what roughed up your voice?" I ask, the word for the concept was on the tip of my tongue, but the idea was blank.

"Smoking. Ochi in particular. Helps my nerves." He explained; pulling a fanciful black pipe from his vest to show about before placing back in his vest pocket. "Comes from Yokong. Heard of the place?"

"Yes." Is all I say; while he might not be on Sarmenti's side, letting anyone but my group know my destination may cause issues in the future.

Darrin now looks expectantly at me, then says. "Well? About this other Hoffman."

"Oh, right." I sit to his right, nearly sitting on my tail; I keep forgetting I have that thing...

I begin to explain. "He used a thrusting sword. In his forties or so, light skin, blonde, blue eyes, ridged face... "

"Hmm, sounds like an asshole already." Darrin interrupts, getting a chuckle from me. "What kind of spells does this man have?"

I continue, lips still twitching upwards from earlier. "He used two miracles, Healing Rest, and Her Mercy."

"Her Mercy? So he must have been orphaned at a young age..." Seeing my perk a brow at this leap of logic, Darrin says. "That miracle is a gift from Pyurus. There's quite a few kids out there whose parents get taken from them by the Dark, so the Goddess of Innocence gifts them a spell to protect themselves. It loses power with age, at first being an Utterance, then becoming an Incatation that grows longer and longer as you need it less and less. How long was his?'"

I tell him. "It was the longest Incantation I've ever heard; eight sentences."

His face freezes, as though we were running complex calculations...

Of just how fucked I was.

"He'd be around forty... orphaned... blonde and blue eyes... Oh fuck me sideways... " Darrin's expression simply couldn't get worse. "You crossed HIM?! Oh by the skeletal asscheeks of Ihsrom, you're about as deep in it as can be."

"Deep in what?! What're you talking about?" I ask, concerned as to why my 'experienced warrior' sparring partner seems to be sweating cannon balls.

"Well, firstly, this 'Sarmenti' isn't a member of my House; and his name most certainly isn't Sarmenti..." He explains. "While I can't be sure, his real name is likely... Fawks, as was his father, his fathers father, and his fathers fathers father... you get it."

"No, I don't." I say, tempted now to slap some sense into Darrin. "Could you just spit it out already?!"

Taking a deep breath, Darrin asks. "Do you know of the Kingdom of Krow."

I say. "I know of it's fall, nothing else."

He continues his words. "It was the last land to have a monarchy; a land ruled by kings, anointed by the Goddess of Purity. Those kings; they had the Great Houses raised in their name; men and women to be trained as great warriors, wizards, stratagists, poets, philosophers... House Hoffman among them. Then, came the Dark Twins. They promised freedom beyond the rule of men and gods; pleasures unbound, endless wealth... the Houses turned on the king, whose name was the same as all before him. By the end of the civil war, the king lay dead, and two wicked witches sat together on his throne; with only whispers that the young heir of the corpse king had fled. Years would pass, and the degridation of Krow became absolute. Many regreted their actions prior, and head out, seeking redemption. Others left, yet held onto their pride; like my House. Others stayed until the godly ascension of their new queens, and accepted their punishment for their sins. Now, the 'Great' Houses are all that remains of Krow... and Him. Even after all these many centuries, never once were the rumors of the escaped prince doubted, and that the escaped prince would sire an heir; who would sire yet another, who would do so as well; each aiming to take their ****, on the Houses, on the Twins, on the Dark as a whole. The Houses, intent on not being torn apart by this royal line, hired spies to search for these lines of kings. The last intel on this 'royal line' was sixty years ago, detailing a blond man with blue eyes as the king; most likely the father to this 'Sarmenti.'"

"But, what threat can one or two men really be to the Houses?" I ask, hoping the answer is political, rather than physical.

Darrin stares at me, clearly concerned at my ignorance. "The line of kings of Krow, they are... beyond that of normal men. Our oldest texts speak of them in this manner, but most details are lost. We have tested this idea, sending the most skilled of assassins we could train or buy to end this line of kings... they were returned to us; what little remaining of their corpses packaged neatly in pretty boxes, adorned with fine ribbons..."

The look on my face would most likely only be accurately described as being 'Someone who just stuck their cock in a hornets nest.'

I ask, begging for this to be a prank of some sort. "And you're sure this isn't just your over active imagination?"

"His name is a joke only someone who knew much of Krow would understand... Sarmenti was the name of the court jester during the reign of the last king. He named himself 'clown', and put our name behind it..." Darrin is now clenching his fists tightly, seemingly enraged.

Wait... Madness called him a clown too. How did It know!?

"Maybe we should move the sparring to tomorrow?" I suggest, not wanting an experience warrior to use me as stress relieving pin cushion.

"Agreed... I need a drink, and a smoke... maybe a nap." Says Darrin, quickly heading off to the kitchen.

I remain seated, rocking back and forth slightly, that beer stirring my worry into fear; my fear into dread...

Why? Why me?