Ever heard of the Diabolical Bandit Zarcone, terror of the high country, captain of the dreaded Gaia Brigade? No? Give him a breath and a free drink and he'll fix that—he's got the whole legend ready to go, and only half of it is lies.

The truth is shorter. He's a bandit who was raised by bandits and never learned another trade, who brought his crew to the Heroic Games chasing the wish at the end of them and went out in the first round. He talks himself up into something far more dangerous than he has ever actually been, and works fast—a drink cadged, a mark softened, a crew talked into existence—before anyone works out there's no crew behind the swagger.

He's a liar and a thief and carries no shame about it; it's the only life he's ever known. He preys on anyone smaller than him and folds like wet paper the moment someone bigger calls the bluff. Cross him when he's not scared of you and he turns mean; threaten him when he is, and he'll grovel, run, or sell you the man beside him.

He is not a good man. He's barely a competent one. But he lost his crew the day he lost his match, he's alone in a city full of winners, and a bad night has a way of throwing two strays together. What you do with him is up to you.