PM to join [Pig's Foot] Takin' the Knee to the Face (San)

[Kreig Messer]

63rd of Summer, 518 AV, 16th Bell, 42nd Chime.

A brawl broke out, and for once Kreig wasn’t the cause.


No, truly, for once he wasn’t the cause.

It all started all normal like as these tend to be, Kreig himself was at his usual spot at the bar with a mug of ale, ears stretching about to listen to discussing their days, their complaints, and their drunken banter. The usual assortment of laborers, shop-keepers and thugs spread about the place at their tables resting their weary selves from the trials of the day with food and drink.

All in all it was a typical day at the Pig’s Foot, but of course, typical days usually had the misfortune to disrupted. A card game at the table with low stakes, yet with the air of seriousness one could have misconstrue it with a life or death situation soon erupted into disagreement, one accusing the other of cheating while the accused fervently denies cheating.

Truth or false, the result was the same as the first punch was thrown.

Like oil to flame it soon spread rapid, either it was the drunken air or the opportunity to vent frustration. For Kreig these brawls, while fun and he tended to enjoy them immensely, failed to challenge him in ways that mattered anymore and he hadn’t partaken in enough drink to want to join in.

The brawler, dressed in a gray shirt and dark brown trousers, a pair of gloves covering his scarred hands, tilted his brimmed hat back slightly as he watched the proceedings. The fights were amusing, but part of Kreig couldn’t really call them fights in spite of the corner of his lip tugging upward lightly. Undoubtedly some showed a degree of knowledge and skill on fighting, but Kreig felt that if he put those people in Tall Johnny’s caged pit they’d be less than amateur entertainment.

“Oy, Kreig!” Came a voice sounding slurred and aggravated, turning his head to note a familiar face of a drunkard… well, familiar enough to tug at the memories but only just so. The drunk figure approached with an angry swagger as if about to tear Kreig a knew one “I ain’t forgettin’ the beatin’ ya gave me las’ you son of a wh- “ Whatever he was about say last ended abruptly as Kreig’s foot raised quick and hard as it struck between the man’s legs, hitting where no doubt many a disease clung and knocking the will to fight out of him.

As he fell to his knees, Kreig bent his knee and pulled the foot back, before launching it forward so that the sole of his boot smashed into his forehead and shoved the bastard on his back. Kreig could only sight as he grabbed his tankard of ale and chugged it all down as he got up, cracked the joints in his neck and looked forward at the sea of violence.

“Gods above, now I’m jus’ petchin’ irritated” He let out quietly as he stepped forward “Guess I might be lettin’ off some steam” And with that, the Son of Sunberth jumped into the fray.
.
x

[Sanabael]

Sanabael, somehow, someway, despite being born and raised in Sunberth, had never been in a bar fight. She'd seen plenty of them happen, watched them unfold, but never felt the inclination to get involved. Callie usually dragged her away, in any case.

So a brawl was the last thing on the mixed blood's mind as she sat broodily in a dark corner of the Pig's Foot, on her umpteenth mug of ale and feeling pleasantly light-headed. Sanabael took another deep drink, setting the mug down perhaps heavier than was necessary, and propped her chin in a gloved hand, black eyes scanning around absently.

She heard footsteps approach before she saw the man ease up to her left side, just out of her peripheral. The smell of hard liquor hit her hard as he noisily dragged a chair over. Her lips quirked in irritation, and she steadily ignored her visitor, instead settling her gaze on a heated card game across the room.

"Well hello there gorgeous," The man slurred drunkenly, and Sanabael went rigid when his hand found her arm, squeezing tightly. "Miss black eyes...if ye ain't all grown up now," And he laughed cruelly.

Sanabael went very still, frozen mid-movement as she turned to snap at the man, her arm paused mid-raise to wrench it from his grasp. She didn't recognize the man, but his lecherous grin suggested he recognized her. Bile rose in her throat, and something that she refused to call panic struck a chord somewhere in her chest.

"Get your hands off me, and petch off," She finally snapped, ripping her arm free from his grip. The knuckles on her other hand had gone white from how tightly she was gripping her half-empty mug.

He laughed, loud and harsh. "Aw, come on now...I don't remember you saying that last time I saw you."

The desire to pull her gladius from where it rested, sheathed on her hip, and run the man through was difficult to resist. Quite suddenly, yelling broke out, and the sound of clattering chairs falling over drowned out the loud chattering in the tavern.

Her gaze flickered over, and she watched a brawl begin to break out. The man's focus was diverted as well, and she seized the opportunity. She may never have been in a bar fight herself...but that wasn't going to stop her. She'd seen enough to know what to do. With a snarl, Sanabael swung the hand that held her mug around, slamming it with a solid thud into the man's face.

Ale sloshed out over him and her arm, and she thought she heard a crunch as the man reeled back with a howl, spitting curses at her. "You stupid whore," He spat, shoving his chair back and standing. Sanabael was not short by any means, but the man loomed over her. Indeed, it seemed she had gotten lucky with her swing due to his distraction, for his nose was dripping blood. She hoped it was broken.

Around them, punches were being thrown, and people were shouting. With a sharp grin, Sanabael turned and fled into the crowd. She ducked under brawlers, weaving through tables and chairs, making a beeline for the door. Her rhythm of duck, left, right, duck, was thrown off when she quite suddenly tripped over a body that had not been on the floor a moment ago.

Sanabael grunted, twisting and throwing her hands out, just barely managing to catch the edge of a table and keep herself from hitting the floor as well. The man she had tripped over was groaning, clutching between his legs...clearly, someone had gotten a good blow in.

She glanced up, watching a man who she assumed had been the one to knock down the drunk currently on the floor chug his ale before standing and throwing himself into the fight. Like any good Sunberthian, Sanabael thought dryly, but she had paused too long.

Strong arms wrapped around her middle from behind, and she screamed more in anger than surprise as she was suddenly lifted into the air, legs kicking. "You're going to regret that," A voice hissed in her ear, and she threw her head back hard in desperation, hearing it connect with something. "Oh for the love of..." The man snarled, clearly in pain, but he didn't release her.

She refused to scream for help; she knew nobody would come anyway. Sanabael wriggled in the man's hold, continuing to thrash her legs about, probably accidentally kicking one or two other fighters in the face as she did so. She felt his grip on her slip just slightly as someone bumped him, and took advantage of it, throwing all of her weight forward.

His grip released and she hit the floor. Sanabael rolled instantly, and wheezed as a booted foot kicked her in the ribs. She scrambled to get to her feet, but a knee connected with her face. It slammed into her nose and her cheek and sent her flying onto her back, her head spinning. That was definitely going to bruise...she could feel blood trickling out of her nose and down onto her lips, but she didn't think it was broken.

The man crouched over her, looking down with a sneer...but he hadn't watched where he was crouched. Remembering the man who had dropped to the floor earlier clutching his groin, Sanabael glanced down to make sure she could reach. She grinned up at the drunk viciously, blood staining her lips and teeth, black eyes gleaming, and jerked her knee up. He fell back with a howl as her knee hit between his legs, having been too focused on his victory.

Taking the chance for what it was, Sanabael turned over, scrambling to her feet, panting heavily. A bruise was beginning to form on her right cheek, swelling up under her eye, and blood trailed from her nose down over her mouth, smeared over her chin. Her long, dark hair fell in a mess around her face.

Impatiently pushing it back, Sanabael turned to flee again, knowing she couldn't fight the man pursuing her; she could still hear him cursing, but had no idea if he'd gotten up yet or not. Not paying attention, she promptly smacked into someone. "Shyke," She muttered, reeling back, bringing her arms up clumsily, ready for them to fight her.

Glancing up, she recognized the man who had chugged his ale before jumping into the fight. "Well, come on then," She said, through gritted teeth. "Either let's go, or move the petch out of my way." Even as she spoke, she risked a glance back; the man was hauling himself to his feet, and he did not look happy. Quite frankly, Sanabael would rather take her chances with the stranger in front of her and just have her teeth knocked out instead.

She looked back at him, face in a grimace, swallowing hard; impatience was written in every line of her body as she waited for the man to swing first, if indeed he was going to fight her.

Ledger :

Mug of ale: -4 CM

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig saw her plight, saw how she’d handled it and came to a simple conclusion.

She was terrible at fighting bare fisted. Mind, the same could be said for most everyone here so really the assessment was a tad unfair. Oh he was going to join in the fray, knock some random heads, knock a few more heads because why not, and then simply call it a night.

Instead he took note of her after she spared him a glance, that part of his mind that treated the art of combat like some art form had to rear its head from the depths and decide that it had something to say about the whole situation.

And it wasn’t alone.

There was that other part of him that also deemed itself chivalrous long before Syliras was ever a name on his radar, the part of him that held a respect for women of the opposite gender no matter the species even if he did give back as hard they punched, a sense that only escalated after a dear friend became a victim of something that made him feel powerless to help. He’d only gained a hollow sense of vindication for the revenge that followed….

So it was with that he found himself approaching the woman, his eyes taking in her size, her build, that weapon neatly sheathe yet begged to be pulled out. She’d not notice him till it was too late as he ran into him, Krieg letting out a small grunt.

She spoke her words, impatient as they were and he couldn’t help but raise his brow.

There was nothing to be surprised of course considering the circumstances but still “Well don’t ya twist yer knickers, I’m ‘ere ta offer my expertise” He said honestly, eyes trailing and neck craning to look at the miscreant that oh so persistently tried to handle fire despite the burns it gave.

Mind, the fire wasn’t looking that good itself when he looked at her.

So he gently pushed her aside with the back of his arm like one would a door “See…”He began conversationally as he walked past “…I like brawlin’ as much as the next feller, but after a while a feller like me notices how ya all fightin’ like shyke” There was a jovial tone to it, not mocking but more like cheerfully stating a fact “ An’ then I gets all antsy ya know?”
He took steps closer to the miscreant who had had hauled himself back up and was now face to face to Kreig who was smiling cheerfully. The smile contrasted greatly with the cold look in his eyes, and soon the man found his breath taken as Kreig’s fist rammed itself in his stomach/

Before the fellow could even grasp his stomach Kreig grabbed the man his haird and delivered a headbutt to his broken nose, only to then knee the stomach again as he let the fellow drop before giving a gentle kick to the cranium so that the fellow will enjoy a nice concussion and sleep it off.

He turned to the lass with angry looks, black eyes, grabbed a chair and calmly sat on it “Now see what I did there? That there was me makin’ sure the petcher I hit was stayin’ down. Out like a candlestick so he is”

“Now ‘s easier said then done, but I find a good couple ‘a kicks to the noggin’ is nuff for most folk” He explained, extending his arms out as such “But if it ain’t enough ain’t no harm in usin’ a chair if yer willin’ ta risk Ol’ Merv getting’ angry” And now dout merve was already angry at the fact another brawl broke out, not at the brawl itself mind but at the collateral the mongrels he called customers were causing.

Kreig noted that another feller was moving onto their positions now, clear enough he could give the girl ample warning “Check yer rear lass, got company an’ he ain’t lookin’ choosy” It was a fellow of 6’2” by the looks of him, but he was more fat than muscle and drunk enough that he didn’t think that the woman would have much trouble “ Jus’ holler if ya want me to handle him” He said though, if she somehow proved incapable than Kreig would rush in no questions asked but still… He’d at least like someone to benefit from learning how to fight barehanded.
x

[Anja Nightwatcher]

Bars typically weren’t Anja’s scene, at least not for the usual reasons. He was known to drink occasionally, but certainly never enough to cloud his mind. In particular since having received his gnosis, the Drykas had cultivated a strictness of personal behavior. Anything that might alter his behavior, or cause him to miss vital information was something to be avoided. This wasn’t a tenant of Dira exactly, more a personal mantra. Anja was far too devoted to his God given task to risk anything getting in the way of it.

That said, the Drykas found bars interesting. Just as the spiritist was fascinated by death, so too did he find great interest in the other side of the coin, the hummings and rumblings of a life being lived. Bars were melting pots of activity, and Anja liked to people watch. As per usual for his deity he tended to be a silent observer during the interactions that happened in such places. Neutral parties were ignored for the most part, and Anja’s association with Jeb had afforded him some degree of tolerance among the masses of Sunberth, if not yet respect. Anja wasn’t overly concerned about it. He hadn’t been mugged yet and that was a start.

So Anja watched the people in the bar, sipping at his mug of watered down ale in the most remote, quietest corner of the room. Any eyes that roamed across him would feel a vague sense of mystery about the man that they wouldn’t know how to pin down. The aftereffects of Anja’s gnosis were amenable to him. It usually meant that he wasn’t disturbed. Anja was able to quietly note several of the bar’s patrons. Two in particular stood out among the writhing masses. A man more muscle than human who looked like he could deadlift Maisa. A dark haired beauty with unsettling black eyes. Anja watched curiously as the two, acting separately, joined in as the bar fired up in a brawl around them. Anja had no plan on joining in. He simply politely watched.

Regardless of how neutral one was though, it was difficult to remain a solitary observer when a random thrown chair shattered over one’s head and showered one with splinters. Anja stood up from his chair, mildly annoyed, and dusted wood shavings off of his black coat. A moment later a man was tossed in Anja’s direction and collided solidly into him, sending both of them crashing into the ground and shattering Anja’s mug of ale against the wall. Anja gritted his teeth painfully, his ribs still sore from the fall he’d taken off Maisa while possessed by the ghost horse. Anja shoved the smaller man off of him with little effort, but the stranger turned towards him in a rage and drunkenly screamed at him for the offense.

Anja knew nothing about fighting hand to hand and was reluctant to draw his bastard sword for anything other than defending himself from eminent death. So he wasn’t quite sure what to do when the man charged him, sending them both colliding against the wall with a crash. Anja brought his knee up instinctively and felt it collide with the man’s chin with a crack. He howled and jerked backwards, giving Anja the opportunity to disengage and rush away.

Unfortunately the center of the room was a melting pot of writhing bodies and it was hard not to get yanked into the mess. He pushed towards the area that seemed to have the least amount of ongoing combat, namely because of the fear circle seeming to emanate from around the battle hardened man who had already delivered several knockout blows. Before Anja could take a breath to try to make for the exit, he suddenly found himself collided into from behind with a scream. Anja’s previous opponent, from which he had tried to disengage, apparently still held a drunken grudge. The momentum from the tackle sent Anja colliding, first into the battle hardened man and then into the woman with dark eyes. Anja, embarrassed, muttered an apology to them both as he struggled to shove the shouting man off of them.

[Sanabael]

Sanabael waited, tensed, jaw clenched, for the fist to her face; but it never came. It truly must have been her lucky day, for it seemed she had encountered one of the few, if not the only, person in Sunberth who was not total scum.

Sanabael stared in surprise, then suspicion at the man's words, but he seemed to mean them as he strode past her with a gentle nudge of his arm. Around them, the brawl continued to rage, yet he swaggered over to her assailant, casually talking the whole time.

Sanabael dropped her arms, trailing after, baffled. A part of her scowled at being treated like a child who knew nothing, but, well...she supposed that wasn't entirely wrong. She snorted a laugh, then regretted it at the pain that lanced through her cheek and nose. "And I suppose you're going to teach us all how it's really done," Sanabael said, with a raised eyebrow, and then shut her mouth when that's exactly what he did.

She craned up on her toes to try and get a better look, watching the man's fist powerfully slam into the drunk's stomach, a wicked grin crossing her face fleetingly. That looked like it hurt. Sanabael noticed the way the man grasped his opponent's hair to yank his head back, his forehead slamming into his already injured nose, knee raising into his stomach. The final touch was a kick to the head as the man hit the ground.

With the remnants of a vicious smile still on her face, Sanabael turned to her saviour as he calmly drew up a chair and settled himself into it, as if there wasn't a bar fight currently raging around them. What a strange fellow, Sanabael thought, slightly amused. She had to admit, he did at least know what he was doing in a fight.

She nodded slowly as he spoke, his voice raised just slightly so he could address her audibly over the ruckus around them. Sanabael cast another glance to the floor thoughtfully, where indeed the man who had been pursuing her was unconscious.

Sanabael registered the man's warning, and glanced over her shoulder, black eyes narrowing. Indeed, not one, but two men were stumbling their way towards her. By the looks of it, one was simply along for the ride. She made to move out of the way, let them rush past her, but was too slow. The wind was knocked out of her in a huff as the shorter of the men crashed into her, sending her stumbling back; she barely heard his muttered apology over the din around her.

The mixed blood could have laughed at that. Who ever heard of apologizing to anybody in a bar fight? She pegged the man as not being from Sunberth, though she couldn't say for sure. The taller man, the one who looked particularly angry, had his back to her as he wheeled around to continue his assault on the one who had apologized.

Sanabael's eyes darted around; she didn't want to use a chair, because she liked spending time at the Pig's Foot, so she snatched an upturned beer mug off the nearest table. It had worked well enough the first time. With a grunt, she raised her arm back and swung as hard as she could, slamming it against the back of the man's head. He swore, staggering, and turned to face her, his previous opponent forgotten.

Her black eyes met the gaze of the other man over the drunk's shoulder; Sanabael wondered if he was as bad at fighting as she apparently was, to have been herded into her like that earlier. But there was no time to waste. Mimicking her saviour's movements, she balled her hand into a fist and drove it into the man's stomach.

He coughed slightly, but other than that, he seemed fine. He snarled down at her, and Sanabael narrowly dodged an elbow flying at her face. She ducked around his side, dancing a few steps back until she stood beside the blue-eyed man. "Not from Sunberth, are you?" She asked, with a sharp laugh, the fight making her blood pump hot through her veins. She hadn't felt so lively in a long time.

To the man still sitting, she called, "We could use your expertise, oh brawler extraordinaire." She was too proud to blatantly ask for help. The drunk had turned to follow her, and was gearing up for another punch, though whether for her or the man beside her she didn't know.

He was approaching, and when he got close enough, Sanabael drove her knee up, but she wasn't used to pushing her leg quite so high, and while it hit the man's stomach it didn't seem to do much. With a grimace, the black-eyed woman turned and dodged behind the poor man that had gotten sucked into the fight; she absolutely was not above using a stranger as a meat shield.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig was watching intently, one leg crossed over the thigh as he watched. Credit to her she heard his warning in time, except she wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid tumbling with the two fellows. Still, at least she wasn’t on the ground where she could have been had she lost her balance completely, and were the two gents not railing one on another… well upon closedr inspection one railing on the other who looked so out of sorts with the whole affair and uncomprehending on how to fight back.

In a way he looked like a puppy.

It tugged at some emotional strings really.

The human shaped pup would find a savior in San though, who held no compunctions in using another mug as a bludgeon against the back of the aggressive man’s head thus directing his focus upon San, who took the opportunity to try and mimic Kreig’s own punch.

Kreig hummed at that, thumb and pointer on his chin. Wasn’t quite an effective punch, Kreig noted, either the man steeled his abdomen, or the more likely explanation was simply the black-eyed woman’s inexperience or lack of power behind her punches or even both.

Still, it was enough to affect the man thus slowing his movements briefly and giving her time to dodge his clumsy elbow strike, allowing her to shift aside and stand beside the puppy fellow. And then came the call for help, sarcastic as it seemed. Kreig pondered but a moment, just a moment, on wether or not to interfere.

Now if it was the girl, Kreig would have just shouted at her to aim between his legs, fellow seemed to aggressive too note Kreig’s words. But the drunkard seemed to be aiming for the lost looking fellow, and Kreig wasn’t sure he’d flinch before he’d make use of the split second although Kreig reasoned he had enough time to dodge.

Kreig sighed, standing up and taking a few quick steps to grasp the fellows pulled back’s fist by the wrist. The sudden contact giving the man pause before Kreig kicked the back of his leg to force him on his Knees before driving a hard elbow to the side of his leg.

His gaze fell upon the two “Ya know, either one of ya coulda jus’ dodged or kicked his groin. I feel like I just’ denied the two of ya a valuable learnin’ experience” He said with a hint of exasperation and raised finger, said finger now pointing at the puppy looking fellow with a stern gaze “ An’ ya coulda least try an’ throw a punch or somethin’”

He then pulled his hand back and scratched the back of his neck, eyes looking behind and around the two, to the left noting a fight spilling towards their direction. A bulky looking Svefra hammerin’ on some unfortunate scarred looking fellow. Taking a couple of steps back, Kreig watched the scarred fellow fall upon the form of the unconscious angry drunkard, looking he wasn’t far from passing out.

The Svefra, bald with hooped earings looked upon his new opponents, letting out a growl of intimidation at the lot of them. Kreig was unimpressed and when the Svefra turned his gaze to him, he lashed out his left fist in a jab with knuckle connecting the Svefra’s left eye.

“Now don’t be hesitatin’ ta hit where its soft an’ hurts” Kreig remarked as the Svefra yelped as his left eye was now bruised, letting loose another jab struck the nose albeight lightly enough as to not break it, though blood did lightly trick as the Svefra staggered back again “Eyes, nose, lips, ears ya name it. Got a punch o’ things ta punch on the face”

The Svefra attempted to retaliate, swinging his arm in a wide right punch which Kreig blocked with raised left, pushing the arm away as he stepped in closer and his left fist slipped a finger in one of the hooped earings and yanked… hard.

The svefra yelled bloody murder as she staggered back, a tear in his ear lobe as Kreig tossed away the earing with a slight fleshy bit attached “An’ if they got things attached, dun’ be afraid ta pull ‘em, jewelry, hair, shyke even their nipples”

His gaze turned to the Svefra and they hardened as the Svefra stepped forward with a cutlass pulled and attempted to run Kreig through. The brawler stepped aside, the back of his fist touching cold steel as it knocked aside the flat of the blade before the fist buried itself deep in the Svefra’s stomach, knocking wind and energy from the Svefra, who fell to his knees clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

Kreig collected the man’s fallen weapon, keeping it safe in his grasp as he returned to the chair he was sitting on and placed the cutlass under the table so no handsy drunkard or thug would think to pick it up. He cast a pleasant, if vicious, smile to his two impromptu students.

“Now, how’s about you two finish him off” He indicated to the Svefra, only for the scarred thug he was wailing rustling as well. The Svefra scowling at Kreig while the scarred human, who was scrawny but seemed menacing just seemed to be in a state where no target mattered so long as his fists hit something.
x

[Anja Nightwatcher]

Anja watched the battle with a sort of detached fascination that would have made Maisa scream at him. He thanked his lucky stars that the horse was safely back at their tent in the Dust Bed, or this bar fight might now be dealing with a raging horse forcing her way through the door and with the intention to destroy everyone who put a hand on Anja. She would probably fuss over and scold him for his bruises later. Ah well.

Anja managed to get an arm underneath the raging drunk who had crashed on top of him and turned towards him in a furious rage. Anja shoved his forearm against the man’s chest, pushing him back a few steps. As though it had been elegantly planned (though it certainly wasn’t) Anja’s shove perfectly coincided with the dark eyed woman shattering a mug against the back of the drunkard’s face. The man swore his rage and turned on the woman in a flash. Both Anja and the woman met eyes for just a moment. Perhaps she wasn’t a battle hardened monster, but an irrepressible toughness shone in those fierce eyes. She might not have skills but she certainly had spirit, a trait Anja could admire.

She seemed a little smug as she drove her fist into the man's stomach, though he seemed barely affected by it. He watched her swirl under a punch and fall to his side with a cheeky grin. Her words prompted a smile from the spiritist. “I haven't even been here a season,” Anja chuckled.

He was not particularly surprised nor offended as the woman ducked behind him to hide. He braced himself as the man swung at him and managed to bounce to the side, while still keeping the woman behind him so the offending punch didn’t strike her. The drunk turned towards Anja with a snarl, but that snarl was caught short by a grunt of surprise as the battle-hardened veteran seized the man by the wrist, kicked his leg so he fell forward, and delivered a third blow to his leg. It was so clean and efficient that Anja was momentary struck with awe.

The man’s scolding drew a quirked eyebrow from Anja, followed by an apologetic smile. “I’m very new to this, I’m afraid.” Anja told the man.

Anja listened intently to the veteran’s lecture as the brawler calmly explained methods of fighting, and demonstrated those techniques. Ripping out the sverfra’s earring was brutal but, Anja noted, effective. He tensed and reached for his bastard sword as the svefra made to run the man through, but it was unnecessary. Anja relaxed as the brute was handily disarmed with what seemed to be no effort from his opponent.

When the veteran called for the pair of them to finish the svefra off, Anja considered the lecture that the brawler had given. He stepped over a couple of downed and unconscious opponent's then carefully drove his heel into the gasping sverfra’s eye. His aim was slightly off, and his foot connected with the man’s jaw. Based on the screen of anger that burbled from the man’s mouth, Anja guessed that the blow had still been very painful.

[Sanabael]

Sanabael could have laughed at the way the man chastised the latest addition to their little lesson; it was true that the blue-eyed man seemed rather lost. A laugh did tear itself from her throat when the new addition to the fight admitted to being new to the city; that much was obvious. A bald man with hoops in his ears edged closer to them with his fight, and made the rather unfortunate mistake of locking eyes with her impromptu teacher.

He seemed particularly fond of advertising weak and soft spots; Sanabael could get behind that. There was no such thing as fighting dirty in Sunberth; anything was fair if it got you out a victor, and more importantly, alive. The mixed blood's own ears twitched in sympathetic pain as she watched the Svefra get his earring yanked out, blood flowing freely from his ear lobe.

The fight had instilled a sort of manic energy in Sanabael, running through her veins light lightning, crackling beneath her skin and making her itch to throw herself back into the brawl. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, blocking out the pain from her injuries for the moment.

The air around their little group, an island amidst the sea of brawling, grew tense and more serious when the Svefra suddenly pulled out a blade. However, it was easily knocked aside. Seemingly satisfied that his students weren't about to get impaled, he took a seat again, motioning for Sanabael and the other stranger with the blue eyes to finish off the two thugs.

Her co-student seemed to take their instructor's words to heart. His movements, Sanabael noticed, were smooth and almost calculated; even in a brawl there was something almost aloof about him. It intrigued and annoyed her all at once. She watched his heel come down on the man's face, a sharp grin crossing her face and baring her teeth.

"Now you're getting it, baby blues," Sanabael said, approving but mocking at the same time. "Welcome to Sunberth." She tossed him a wink if he bothered to look her way before striding forward towards the scarred thug who had finally found his bearings and had settled his gaze on them.

She was a stark contrast to the man beside her once in action; whereas the stranger had been careful, calculated, one might even say cold, Sanabael was all fury and fire and chaos.

A silent snarl curved her mouth as she curled her hand into a fist and drove it into the thug's stomach. It was about as effective as before, but this time she was ready with a follow-up, keeping her mentor's words in mind. Where it's soft and hurts. The thug lashed out at her head with a closed fist; Sanabael ducked, though she was still grazed with a solid enough of a knock to send her stumbling to the side.

She planted one of her feet firmly to catch herself, and while her opponent was recovering from swinging at her, aimed her fist for his eye socket as she had seen the other man do. The blow was probably lacking, but she hit where she was aiming; she felt her knuckles dig into the soft skin around the man's eye and grinned viciously when he swore and reared his head back, the eye she had just punched clenched shut.

Taking the opportunity, Sanabael didn't hesitate before launching into another attack; it was tactless, and she moved without thinking, acting on instinct. She raised her thigh and then swung her foot up and out, aiming the toe of her boot for the man's groin.

He seemed to catch on, however, and managed to grab her foot before it could connect. Sanabael yelped as he twisted her leg, her body forced to move with the motion at risk of breaking her leg. With all the strength she could muster, she jerked her held foot back hard, but that only served to throw her off balance, and next thing she knew she was tumbling to the floor.

Her chin hit the wooden floor hard, and she felt her teeth slice into her lower lip, probably splitting it. Sanabael could feel warm wetness dripping down over her chin, mingling with the half-dried blood from her nose.

The man released her foot, letting out a harsh laugh as Sanabael rolled over, already scrambling back to her feet. A booted kick to her already sore ribs made her let out a grunt and fall back to her hands and knees. He stopped, standing in front of her, no doubt gloating.

Sanabael's eyes flickered around, and she made a decision. Reaching for her waist, she unsheathed her gladius, gripping the ridged bone handle tightly; she kept her head down, long, dark hair falling around her face in waves. Inhaling, she reared up suddenly onto her knees, and drove the point of her gladius into the man's foot.

He roared in sudden pain, stumbling back as she yanked the blade free. Sanabael watched in smug delight as he crashed into a table, springing to her feet to watch the blue-eyed man, curious to see how he was handling his own fight. Probably better than she had.

The brawl was beginning to dwindle as people either became too injured to keep fighting, or decided to cut their losses and leave the scene; which only meant that the three of them, still up and kicking, were becoming more and more viable targets from those that were left to keep fighting.

Sanabael sheathed her blade, making a mental note to clean it properly once she wasn't in the middle of a brawl, stepping back, and cast her black gaze over her shoulder to the man who was sitting and watching her and the stranger fight.

It seemed like as good a time as any to take their leave; if they stayed longer, they would either end up fighting everyone left in the tavern, or knocked out with their own injuries. "Think it's about time to go?" Sanabael called, mostly to the man sitting down, but also to the blue-eyed stranger. As much as she was still eager to burn off the energy she found rushing through her, she wasn't stupid, and she knew the odds were against her.

Normally she'd not have cared about them and would have slipped away on her own when she deemed it time; but something about the man stepping up to try and improve her abysmal brawling skills had made her soften to him. Not to mention fighting alongside someone was probably the easiest and quickest way to build a feeling of camaraderie.

The thug whose foot she'd stabbed had hauled himself back to his feet, clearly favouring his injured one and obviously furious. Despite his injury, he looked to be out for blood. If the men decided it was a good idea to stay, Sanabael would turn to face him, ready to keep trading blows.

Otherwise, if they agreed with her that it was time to leave, she would grab the blue-eyed man's wrist, her fingers a tight hold, jerk her chin to their teacher in a gesture for him to follow; she would then lead the way out of the tavern, ducking behind tables and chairs and stepping over the occasional unconscious body.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig couldn’t really fault the lost pup, but being who he was Kreig always felt it was better to learn at least some unarmed moves or methods before moving on to anyform of weapon…. It reminded him of one of the things he had found himself disagreeing with the Knights; for a martial order he’d thought they of all people would appreciate the off-chance that even their warriors would be without weapons.

Still those thoughts had no place in the current time as he watched his two impromptu students go at it. While the lost fellow took in Kreig’s words, it seemed to be the black-eyed woman who really took it to heart. It also was heavily apparent that she was the one most likely to be taken in by blood lust, the air of bar room brawl getting to her head like alcohol.

The two of them were also contrasts, one was calm, the other more wild. He let out a wince of disapproval as the woman pulled out a dagger however, even if she did need to even the odds to make up for her lack of physical strength and skill. At least she didn’t go for a lethal blow, Kreig had memories of one brawl turning massive and riotous when someone blatantly murdered someone openly in a brawl… Ovek was probably tilting the odds in their favor that day.

“Ay, I’m thinkin’ its might time ta be walkin’ off. Come on “ He said, taking in the air. If it were just him doin’ the fighting, he reckoned he’d no trouble. But he couldn’t reckon he could defend his two students if folks decided they were the bigger threat… all it would take was one moment where he wasn’t looking for a dagger to slip between ‘em.

Standing up, he looked up with a savage smile and a thirsty glare, trying to keep away any oppertunists before looking back to Sanaeble and Anja…. And the thug whom San had stabbed in the foot, Kreig stepped in close to throw a haymaker at him, fist colliding into cheek and bon and downing the man for the rest of the evening.

“Now we can ditch this place” He chuckled, then followed his two adopted cubs out into freedom.

x

[Anja Nightwatcher]

Anja was not the sort to interfere in battle, and the dark-eyed woman was unlikely to be the sort to accept assistance even if Anja were in the position to offer it which, clearly he wasn't. So Anja watched the woman’s fight with an unpracticed eye, or at least as much of it as he could before a bloodied man rose from the floor and made a stumbling attempt to grapple at Anja. He was already beaten, he just didn't know it yet. Hit them where it hurts. So, with the same apathy as before, Anja kicked the man in the groin, and watched him sink to the floor with a wail. A second kick to the back of the head reassured Anja that he would not be rising any time soon.

Groans of pain rose from one side of the bar to the other as the brawl gradually wound its way to its inevitable conclusion as more and more collapsed people filled its floors. In spite of the impromptu lesson, Anja would be the first to admit that this kind of battle was not his scene, and the suggestion offered by both the dark eyed woman and their efficient teacher was welcomed. Anja nodded to the pair in agreement. “A departure would be welcome, I think,” he said with a wry smile. He gave the woman a curious look as she grasped his hand. “Am I a small child being led to safety?” he asked her with a faint smile. Regardless, he didn't protest or jerk away from her. Her fingers brushed against the gnosis mark nestled in his palm. Sanabael might feel an unnatural coldness there, or the way the mark rose from his skin like a scar.

Together with the dark-eyed woman, Anja stepped over the sprawled bodies, shaking out the aches that were creeping into muscles the Eiyon wasn't used to using. One of the collapsed hands grabbed Anja’s leg, and the drykas reflexively jerked out of the grasp, brought his foot down on the hand, and heard an echoing groan of pain. He cast a pointed look at the dark-eyed woman. More carefully this time, the pair picked their way through the sprawled bodies, making sure the strangers were definitively collapsed before they proceeded.

Once outside, a wind blew through the street, cooling sweat off of Anja that he hadn't even noticed he'd had. People still spilled out from bar and into the street as the battle inside still continued.

“Well, that was an interesting diversion,” Anja said, taking back his hand. “Might I know the names of my battle companions? My name is Anja.”