It was the same tavern, with the same ale, same rabbits, and same chaos. The same rain fell on the same ground, and mixed to become the same mud.
The same black cloaks that were always worn in the past were brought out as a protection from the rain, and the same old bragging matches were being provoked by the same ale.
It was the seventh day of the seventh month.
At a table in a dark corner, Cobra sat alone, accompanied only by a shot glass.
She was reminiscing of the “good old days”.
Perhaps she was too young to remember them clearly, but they certainly seemed more honorable than the current times. Dethman, Merlin, Alex – legends, they all lived. They existed. They were still out in the world, somewhere.
Unlike now.
What did they have now? Nothing. No role models for the next generation. The legends were forgotten, and the legendary fighters had all vanished.
Bringing her glass up, she whispered “To those who we never knew, but always feared.” She tipped it to her lips, and choked on the Braggarian Goo, the only thing that seemed appropriate for the occasion.
Setting it down, she set off, into the night.

(Feel free to continue*