Starlight Necromancer

Foster walked down the alley, and it didn't take long until he managed to come across the place that those kids had seemingly been talking about earlier. It was a run-down warehouse where lots of shady-looking people were gathered, sitting around, drinking and laughing. It was a classic sight, really. Even the syndicate that Foster was a part of before would buy plots of land or warehouses and use it as gathering-places to run their operations from, simply due to the convenience connected to it.

But if this was the case here as well, then these guys sitting out front were most likely just goons made to sit there to make sure nobody was bothering the more important people inside.

"Maybe it's a bit more well-organized than I thought..." Foster muttered, seeing the clothes that those guys were wearing compared to the clothes that everyone else he came across here in the area did. They were obviously of a rather high quality, or at least decent enough for them to be something you might see on Earth.

The whole vibe that Foster was getting was that these guys might be a bit more annoying than he thought, meaning that he couldn't just walk in there. They might try to come and retaliate. And with that in mind, Foster slowly looked down at his clothes. There were plenty of people wearing Gis walking around, and even if none of them actually looked exactly like Foster's, he doubted that any of these guys could explain his outfit better than as a 'black martial arts uniform'. So, he then had to hide his face. For that, just yesterday he had received something useful.

Pushing his hand into his bag, Foster pulled out the bone mask in the shape of a skull. It was meant so that Aster could later pull power from this mask, but that didn't mean that it couldn't just be used as a normal mask until then.

With a grin, Foster pressed the mask onto his face, and tied the leather strips connected to it together on the back of his head until it held there tightly. It did slightly restrict his sight, but it wasn't to an extent that he couldn't deal with.

And then, he walked around the corner, heading straight at the warehouse. With a slight wave once he stood in front of the group sitting there, he said, "Y'ello. Just a quick question, but is it you guys that keep bothering the few shops left around here?"

One of the people in front of Foster stood up. He had a slightly blueish tint to his skin and was completely hairless. His ears looked a lot like fins, as if this guy was some sort of fish-man. Now that he looked closely, none of the guys here seemed to be humans, they were some other races. Foster had seen many of them until now, and while a large portion of the people he came across were humans, the majority actually weren't. They were all humanoids, sure, but most of them were just... different.

Octer and Lynol tried to teach Foster as much about the different races as they could, so he knew a little bit at least. The guy standing in front of him right now was a sort of Gilman, a race that can be found living in large bodies of water. Then another one of them was a Lizardman, a large, bulking guy whose teeth seemed like they could tear Foster's skin apart immediately.

Then there was a Goblin, the smallest of the bunch, squatting on his chair instead of actually sitting on it, glaring at Foster to try and intimidate him.

"The fuck wants to know, huh?"

"I do. That's a weird question, you know?" Foster replied immediately, turning his head back to the man standing in front of him, "Well, usually when people answer like that, it means 'yes', so I'll just take it as that. You seem to be some wannabe gangsters anyway, so taking care of you should be fine." He pointed out as he slightly stretched, pulling his arms back, and cracking his knuckles.

With a loud laugh, the Gilman turned toward his friends, "The balls on this guy, eh? Come on, let's take care of 'im and-"

Before the Gilman could finish talking, Foster had already punched him in the stomach. The punch seemed strong and precise enough to make the Gilman quickly fall over, before Foster pressed his foot onto his back to keep him down.

"Now, you guys want some too, or you gonna show me where your boss is?" He asked, but before he even finished his sentence, the other two guys jumped up as well. And of course, these three weren't the only ones here. This whole warehouse was filled with people, all ready to attack the intruder. Some of them seemed a bit more skilled than others, but for the most part, they were all just at the classic goon-level, trying to swing around anything that they could get their hands on.

And as someone who spent most of his days trying to educate scum like this into not being absolute morons, getting through this place was an easy task. Sure, he was hit every once in a while due to the sheer amount of people that were attacking him, but he would retaliate just a moment later and knock whoever hit him out clean.

It didn't take long until a certain point had been reached. A point where the waves had stopped. Not because Foster had already beaten everyone here, but because so many people had piled up around him that it became clear to everyone that they didn't have a chance against this intruder in front of them.

Instead, they finally did what Foster had asked them for, they went and got their boss. But instead of just that one guy coming out, it was a group of five. One of them was a human with a sword on his hip, another was a tall Orc, as far as what Foster had learned from the others. There was another Lizardman as well, and what seemed to be an elf with a slight yellow green tint to her skin.

They were all standing behind the man that Foster figured to be the boss here. He was a Hogmir, a humanoid Boar person. One of his tusks was cracked in half, and he had a deep, gashing scar running across diagonally across his mouth.

He was wearing a large trenchcoat, but not in the normal way. He had it hanging on his shoulders and didn't put his arms through the sleeves. Foster let out a deep sigh, "Seriously? You're wearing it that way? Could you be any more of a cliche asshat than this?" He asked with a loud groan.

"Kir. Take care of him." The Hogmir said in a rough, raspy voice, before the Orc walked toward Foster. He was really quite large, probably seven, maybe seven and a half feet tall. He had deep green skin and short-trimmed black hair. He had two tusks coming out of his lower jaw basically the same size as the Hogmir's, and scars all over his arms. Considering the way that his fists were bulging, he was clearly a fist-fighter.

With a broad grin underneath the skeletal mask, Foster looked at the Orc in front of him, ready to fight against a new opponent in a fistfight.

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