[The Drunken Fish] Bar Brawl! (Open)

[Zenai]

Season of Fall, Day 45, 511 AV

It was a hard day’s work being one of Old Legs’ Taggers. It was your typical day of lifting heavy crates, looking out for danger and chasing down thieves. He was glad that he was done with the day and just in time too, he had invited Eridanus over to the Drunken Fish for a bit of drinking. Zenai wanted to get more familiar with Sunberth, his new home, especially the docks so why not visit the local tavern to check out the scene, get to know people and to assess the ale and food of the fine establishment. It was sunset when most people got off their day shifts and would have decided to come to the Drunken Fish to drown out their sorrows and miseries in ale and whiskey. Of course, some people do it by being violent and getting into a brawl or even brawls. There a few people who do it just for the fun of it. These crazy Sunberthians! Sailors and dock laborers of all kind were already taking their tables and calling for ale to be served. Some went upstairs to take advantage of the Drunken Fish’s other services which included beds and whores and both.

Zenai took a seat so he could claim a table before anyone else does. The table was bigger than what he needed but first come, first serve. Zenai also had this feeling that Eridanus won’t be the only one going to join him for a few rounds of drinks. He was parched and looked around for one of the servers to come by. “Ah, excuses me. Excuses me, miss. Yeah, can I get some service around here?” Zenai waved for one the slavers who worked as one of the tavern’s barmaids. “Y-yes, milord.” She quickly ran for his table as if Zenai would drag her to his table himself. She was a dirty pretty thing. Zenai could see bruises and marks around her wrists which would point out that she has been a slave for quite some time. She had a collar of some kind but Zenai paid no attention to it least his knightly honor burns even greater within his conscience. “A mug of ale and your soup of the day if you please.” Zenai ordered. The girl seemed happy enough that Zenai didn’t grope or sexual harass her in any other way. “Right away, ser.” She ran off to get what Zenai wanted. It was a shame; do these people need to be enslaved? Forced into labor and expected to do a good job or die? There were other ways to motivate people and little kindness goes a long way but this was Sunberth; it is what it is.

While Zenai waited for his order to arrive, he further inspects the Drunken Fish and its inhabitants. The tavern had its own styling and décor; mostly naval and sailor stuff. Something you expect from a tavern that caters to mostly men and women of the sea. Zenai assumed it comes with the stench as well; he can very well smell the stench of sweat, seawater, fish and kelp. Zenai breathed through his mouth least his nose will rot away if he continues to use it. Otherwise it was your typical tavern but Zenai could hear noises and continuous bumps from above. He had heard the tavern offer other services but Zenai will pass it. Then the inhabitants; dock workers, sailors, privateers, merchants, slavers and just about anyone else associated with shipping and trading. There was no other authority in Sunberth other than the three main factions and especially the Daggerhands which controls who goes in and out of Sunberth’s docks. Zenai assumes duties, tariffs, fees and bribes were still need to be paid like any other dock. Other than that, Sunberth was a free-for-all city who welcomes illegal activities of all kinds including pirating, privateering and slaving. Though Zenai had ethics and moral values, he knew enough not to challenge them all or try to undo Sunberth and to turn it into another Syliras. He was just a small time guy and he knew his place. Another time and place, he will help those whenever he can; for now, he was just being polite to the barmaid. That should be enough to keep her hopes up and bring a little bit of sunshine into her day. Zenai hoped that would be enough for her.

The barmaid veered in and out to avoid being groped by itchy fingers of drunken sailors as she tried to make her way to Zenai’s table. The ale and soup shake violently on the tray she was carrying from all the dodging she needed to do. She seemed fine and able; she must have worked in the Drunken Fish for some time as well. One does not simply learn to carry a tray full of food and drinks, and learn to dodge and evade perverts without spilling any of them. Despite her skill, she was tripped by an unscrupulous privateer who laughed as the barmaid fell down. It wouldn’t be so bad but the soup, which Zenai assumed it to be hot, was going to spill on Zenai. He just sat there stunned; he doesn’t know whether this was real or he was just in a comical situation written by some lousy writer.

He didn’t have time to evade it and the hot soup spilled all over Zenai’s nether regions. Zenai, quickly thinking, shouted in pain, “By Nikali’s whip, that feels so good! Thank you, barmaid! Now, that I’m satisfied; please get me another bowl of your fine soup so that I may eat it instead of having it spilled all over me by you. Thank you! Gah! Krysus’s dagger, this hurts!” The patrons all around him laughed at Zenai’s discomfort but at least, the barmaid wasn’t hurt and should appreciate the gesture. She apologizes profusely but Zenai just politely dismissed her; he just wanted his ale and soup and maybe a wet cloth to clean himself up a bit.

OOCDepending on the participation, I will try to leave it for 2 days before I post a reply. This would give enough time for people to join in if they want.

[Eridanus]

Eri rushed to the Drunken Fish, for he was quite sure that he was late for his meeting with his friend Zenai to just catch up on things as they were both pretty busy lately. He had been spending the day running around the city delivering missives for Master Tua, and he swore that the rest of old Tua's word-runners simply decided to all take leave on that day, leaving him to be the sole courier. He knew that it wasn't probably the case, but it sure as hell felt that way, for it was an insanely busy day, him barely having enough time to catch a breath between stops. It was bad enough that there was an insane amount of messages to deliver. it was bad enough that the recipients of the messages were in different, and seemingly random, parts of the city. It made it worse when somehow the jobs he got were on a tight deadline and most of the time requiring him to run like Rhysol was chasing him, climbing on the rooftops in a desperate attempt to reduce his travelling time so that his salary would not be deducted from failing to deliver the messages on time. Finally he was done with the last one, and it was with a grateful sigh that he left the Establishment, looking forward to his relaxing evening of hanging out and hearing stories from his friend about his day, which Eri was sure could not be worse than his. Then again, the two of them had to feed themselves, and so they had to do their respective jobs. The sun was beginning to set, and Eri's Ethaefal form transformed his usual playful Vantha appearance, turning him into a more sombre-looking and placated individual. It did not bother him, for Zenai was already familiar with both his forms and would be able to recognize him. As he entered the bar, he came just in time to see a barmaid tripping over a rowdy sailor's leg which was properly placed there on purpose, causing a bowl of soup to upend into Zenai's nether regions, with the human uttering a series of colourful phrases invoking different gods. He watched the whole scene with disbelief, for it looked like something that gypsies would do in a play for comical entertainment, except that now it was happening for real in front of him. He winced for his friend, for he was sure the soup was pretty hot. He chuckled to himself as he remembered how Bob head-butted Idue's nether regions as well, though he supposed that having hot soup on one's manly parts was not as harmful to the ego. The Ethaefal strode towards Zenai, and his instincts made him pause when he saw that same sailor jutting out his leg again presumably to trip him. Well, that may have worked on the barmaid, but he had already seen that incident and would be a fool if he left him repeat her mistake. He eyes glittered wickedly as the grinned innocently to the sailor, and proceeded to stomp on the man's leg. The sailor's eyes widened in surprise, the pain somehow not getting to him yet probably due to his drunk state, and the rest of his associates at his table laughed. Eri gave them a thumbs-up, and the group roared in appreciation. The privateer was not amused, and he grabbed his plate of half-eaten food in front of him and threw it at the Ethaefal. Eri's combat reflexes took over, and he quickly dodged the make-shift projectile, the plate landing right smack on another sailor's face behind Eri just as he was turning around. There was a collective "ohhhh" from the privateer's table as the plate dropped from the victim's face, the sailor's features now decorated with bits of food. Eri was not sure whether to laugh or not for the events were rapidly developing from one comical event to another, though the victim probably did not feel that way. "This is it you drunken lout. Tonight, ye shall taste the might of Zeltiva's finest seafarers!" The sailor, who was apparently from a Zeltivan ship docked at Sunberth for the time being, cried, his comrades yelling him on encouragingly as he proceeded to take his plate to throw at the privateer. The drunk man still had some sense in him to dodge, and the plate flew past his table to hit another sailor from another group. Eri had the common sense to quickly displace himself from the scene of the 'crime', and the situation soon deteriorated as retaliation led to more retaliation, and soon the occupants were beginning to throw food at each other, some already beginning to scuffle with each other in a half agitated and half drunk brawl. "Bar Braaaaawwwlllll!" Someone in the corner of the tavern yelled, and several more voices joined in unison, taking advantage of the situation to randomly pummel anyone they could get their hands on. Father Manowar, who owned the place, smacked his forehead with his palm, for the previous tavern-wide scuffle had just taken place only a few days ago. He gave a series of gestures to the staff, who began to quickly pack away anything sharp, dangerous and expensive. It was evident from their practised motions that mass bar brawls were common in the place, the only reason it being tolerated by the owner was because of the huge tips that were often given by drunken sailors which usually off-set the costs involved in cleaning up the mess and replacing anything broken.

[Azrael Solomon]

Azrael, sat in the corner of the tavern a journal open on the wooden table. His yellow eyes were glued to the journal as he read the extraction methods of venom from snakes again. He was on the use of a rat’s body and use of its blood in poison manufacture when one of the wait staff came over to talk to him. He had on a long, maroon cloak with a white shirt and pants on underneath. The edges of the cloak was frayed and tattered from use, signs of the amount of travel he does. His head and face was obscured by the cloak’s hood and a shawl wrapped around his head. In fact the only part visible of his actual body were his yellow eyes and the ebony claws that pierced through the gloves he wore. “Would you like a pint of our ale sir?” The girl asked and seemed calm at the moment. It was still early in the day, only a few tables were occupied at the time, occupied by some casual locals. They sipped away at their drink and chatted rather enthusiastically as they shared stories of adventure. Azrael finally acknowledge the girl’s existance, “No,” was his reply and turned back to his journal. The girl remained and looked back over her shoulder with a bit of hesitance. Her bosses watched her like hawks, apparently they didn’t like a free loader in their tavern. “Please sir, I need to get something from you,” She continued and garnered no response from the man, “I’m short in my pay, I need to kick it up to my sirs--” “This concerns me how?” Azrael looked up at the girl with his yellow and stern eyes. “Does your life depend on it?” Azrael’s eyes shifted from the girl and over to the bosses, “Sit with me, make it look like I’m propositioning to you.” The girl hesitated a moment, “Sit,” Azrael was quick with his word and relaxed in his seat when the girl took a seat across from him. He noticed the bosses didn’t like this, so he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small pouch of coin. Or at least what sounded like coin, this made the girl’s owner relax. “What do you want from me sir, pleasure, service, I’ll do anything.” She leaned in closer, Azrael fiddled with the pouch, “If I don’t make the amount needed, they’ll kill me.” Azrael’s leg made a sharp movement under the table and stopped against her leg. This made the server flinch in pain, even though Azrael only applied gentle pressure. He began to moves his foot up along her leg and watched as she winced randomly as his foot traveled, “Lets see, one bruise, two bruise, three, four, five,” Azrael paused as his foot reached her inner thigh, then continued to move his foot forward, “Seems you’ve been beaten quite a bit girl.” Their conversation was held at a whisper. His foot left the girl’s thigh, just before her crotch. He knew for sure this soul was quite desperate for pay, “Yes, they are going to kill me if I’m short again. I’m inadequate,” she frowned. Azrael continued to play with the pouch, “Tell me how much do you need?” The girl’s posture straightened, “I need at least 20 more bronze sir.” Azrael sat back and considered this a moment, “I will give you three gold if you do exactly as you are told or they will not be the ones to worry about.” Azrael made a nod toward her bosses. “What is it you want me to do,” a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Well it is simple my dear,” Azrael reached into his pouch and retrieved a vial, “By night’s end, I want you to dowse a knife of your choice with this elixir and cut one of the men that catches your fancy, no not fancy, someone you hate. I'd advice you do it during a brawl my lady.” “Is that poison sir?” The girl’s voice was a bit louder. “Muffle your tongue dear or I shall do you mercy and slaughter you here and now.” The threat quieted her down, “I don’t call my craft poisons, they are all medical. To much of a good thing can be quite deadly.” As if on que, one of the girls who sat in the tavern fell over in drunken laughter, “For instance Ale, it is quite good and makes you quite merry. However, drink to much of it and you will suffer from dizzyness, pain in the head, vomiting, sensitivity to light, symptoms of sickness.” Azrael, sat back after he rolled the small vial over to her, “Come by again at nights end and let me know when you have done the deed. Only then will you get you seek.” The two sat in silence for a moment before Azrael set his hand on the table. His nails clacked against the surface of the wood impatiently, “You are excused. I don’t want to see your face until the deed is finished.” The girl slid the chair back slowly and pocketed the vial. She left Azrael and back toward the back of the pub. She could feel Azrael’s eyes as they burned into her back. One of the girl’s bosses stopped her before she could vanish to her quarters. “Were are you going and do you have the money?” He roughly pulled the girl to the back and slammed her against a wall. “I will have your money and more. That man is very wealthy,” she lied, “All I have to do is finish a favor and he will pay me greatly for the service.” The man studied the girl’s expression and posture. He laughed loudly after a moment, “Does he want you to kill someone?” The girl flinched as if caught, “Relax it was a joke, but it isn’t a joke if this falls through, you will fall with it.” Azrael watched as the girl was pulled to the back and shut his journal. He looked around the room and decided to leave. He would be back at a later time, but he felt that he needed to retrieve and ready a few things. His journal was put away within his cloak and he walked toward the door. With great luck, he waded through the now crowded room with little confrontation he had a bit of other business to attend to.

[Zenai]

Eridanus came just in time; just in time to get involved in a bar brawl. He managed to dodge an attempt by one of the patrons to humiliate him. However, Zenai would think that if Eridanus just took it, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Zenai sighed as he ducked under a flying mug of ale. Speaking of which, where was his ale? Zenai supposed he won’t be getting any service from here on end; seeing as how the entire bar erupted into free-for-all brawl. There was no purpose to this other than sating your frustrations and dissatisfactions against anyone and anything in the way of your flying fists. For Zenai, he just wanted to get out but the bar was already full by the time the first shout came for a “bar brawl”. A sailor had grabbed a chair and decided to high-five Zenai’s face with it. Zenai rolled out of his chair and out of the way of the oncoming chair-blow. He ducked and hid under the table so he could have time to think of a way out of it. Another fellow came under the same table Zenai hid under but he was obviously thrown in there. The poor fellow was then pulled away by the legs. Zenai also felt something grabbing both his legs and slide him out from under the table. It was a privateer who thought Zenai was being a coward, and should have come out and fought like a real man. So be it…

Zenai wiggled and pulled his legs free of the privateer’s hold before proceeding to kick the man in the belly hard. Zenai got an audible “Oof!” from the privateer who fell backwards into another man who took offense and being bumped at. They both then proceeded to pummel each other for the trivial offense. Zenai got on his feet and went to grab his weapon but stopped himself from drawing the weapon. These brawlers seemed happy enough to beat each other silly with their own bare fist and drawing a weapon would only escalate the situation to a multiple homicide. He wanted to let go of his weapon but he was grabbed by the shoulder and forced to turn around so he would be face-to-face with an agitated sailor. “Ooi! Don’t ya be thinkin’ of drawin’ yer butter knife!” Zenai didn’t and only drew his fist which he used to swing it at the sailor’s fast. He thought he had hit the sailor too hard but apparently, the constant anarchy within Sunberth has made them tough and Zenai had regretted for not hitting him harder. The sailor came back with his own swing at Zenai’s face. Fist meets cheek as Zenai recoiled from the blow and stumbled backwards. “Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy. Time to kick butt!” Zenai declared.

Zenai pushed forward his right fist straight into a sailor’s gut as an upper cut. He raised his left elbow and brought it down against the man’s back. Zenai could feel his hips being grabbed at before being pushed away by the sailor. The Tagger knocked into a table and he saw the sailor charging into him, head down like a bull would bare its horn against an intruder. Zenai sidestepped and managed to avoid the charging sailor who crashed into the table instead. The Guppie rushed over to the collapsed sailor before he had time to recover. Zenai then proceeded to help the man get onto his feet before pulling then tossing him so he would crash into another table. Zenai again wanted to rush to finish off the sailor but another sailor grabbed Zenai by the arm and pulled him towards the sailor’s oncoming fist. Zenai immediately sent out his own fist against the sailor. Both of their fists meet the other’s face and send them both tumbling backwards. When Zenai had recovered his wits, he noticed that his opponent has grabbed a broken bottle to use it as a makeshift weapon against Zenai. While keeping focus on his opponent, Zenai grabbed what his hand could grab. He felt something and just grabbed it then throwing it at the sailor; it was a bowl of hot soup. The bowl broke apart on impact against the sailor’s head and the hot soup scalded his face. The sailor screamed in pain and Zenai almost pitied him. He checked around to get his bearings.

Zenai was pretty much in the middle of it all and everywhere everyone was beating everyone with everything. He looked around for signs of his friend, Eridanus but to avail; too many people shifting around for Zenai to get a good measure of who was where doing what. Another one came at him for no apparent reason but Zenai ducked under his charging fist and got under the man. Zenai reached around the man’s stomach and hold onto him tight. Zenai then lifted the man off his feet, with his legs, and bent over backwards so Zenai would bring the man over his head and shoulders before bringing the man’s face crashing down onto the floor. Zenai let go of the man and bend forward to bring himself upright. He raised his left elbow and fell backwards onto the man, hitting him in the face with the falling elbow. The elbow blow would have broken the man’s nose and disabled for the rest of the night. Zenai rolled away from the man and got to his feet once again. The scene was getting too chaotic for Zenai’s taste and he made his way through the crowd, dodging and ducking random blows. He needed to find Eridanus and get themselves out of this pickle of a situation. Another one came for Zenai with a flurry of punches; some of it Zenai was able to dodge but the rest was able to land. Fortunately, Zenai still had his armor on and soften most of the blows. The Tagger didn’t want to get bogged down so he hit out at the attacker forcing to withdraw and Zenai quickly jumped onto the table to escape his attacker. He continued to jump from table to table which were quickly sinking under the sea of people.

[Eridanus]

Eri struggled to find Zenai amongst the chaos, and he ducked when he saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eyes, narrowly avoiding getting a fist in the face. He quickly stepped towards his assailant and released several punches into the man's gut. His movements were controlled and fluid as a proper unarmed combatant should be, not messy and chaotic like these brawlers. Still, he had no wish to actually permanently injure anyone, and so he did not put much force into his hits, though there was enough force in it to knock the wind out of them. A drunken sailor, beetroot-red in the face, chuckled at Eri as he passed by, and tried to swing his mug into Eri's er, nether regions, and Eri quickly brought his knee up, knocking the mug out of the sailor's hand. The drunkard was surprised as to where his mug go, and as he sat there blinking stupidly Eri shoved the man further away, and the chair tipped backward, the man comically falling down and remain sprawled on the floor, too drunk to stand up properly.

"Zenai! Zenai, where the hell are you?" Eri yelled, eyes scanning the environment but finding it hard to concentrate in the mess. He quickly ducked again as a chair flew over his head, and he stood up just in time to intercept a poorly aimed punch with his forearm. He stretched the blocking hand forward, gripping the man's shoulder and he stepped forward, backhanding the man's chin and slapping him in the face. He half-turned and used the momentum to jab him with the other elbow. He redirected another punch to let it sail harmlessly beside his head, and he shoved the man backwards, delivering a side kick that made his opponent stumble sideways. Eri moved forward to gain the upper-hand, and he swung his legs for another kick, but the tavern-wide scuffle caused another group of people pummelling each other to push another chair in his path, and his powerful kick first landed on the wooden object. The chair flew forward a couple of yards and cluttered down loudly, but Eri winced in pain as his shin hit the hard wood. He quickly wiped off the involuntary tears of pain, and he hobbled forward, shouting for Zenai while looking for his friend. In the noise and chaos he doubted that he could be heard anyway.

He ducked again, this time dodging a short sea-man being thrown by several other sailors, and he wondered if that would what throwing Bob be like. He shrugged, and soldiered forward, pushing his way through the crowd while occasionally dodging blows. These blows were actually not aimed at him, but they were blows that missed their original target and found themselves aimed at the Ethaefal. He stepped up on a table with his good leg, and he tried to gain a better vantage point. Not that it was of much use anyway, considering the chaotic situation. At least the bruise in his shin felt better.

Suddenly, he felt the table he was on tremble and he flailed his arms wildly trying to gain his balance. Another sailor was trying to remove the table while he was standing on it, and he cried, "I have enough of this, you scallywags!" He had no idea why he said that, but he was probably beginning to be affected by Bob and his inappropriate remarks. Eri leaped off the table, sailing into a kick that pushed off against a random brawler, and he vaulted straight into two scuffling men, their bodies helping to cushion his fall as they landed with an "oof". The people trying to upend the table apparently lost interest in him, and as he pushed on the unconscious man while standing, the man's opponent now adopted him as his new opponent.

This was insanity, and Eri asked his new opponent, "Peace?" The man seemed to be surprised by this question, and Eri shrugged, continuing "Just kidding," before leaping forward with a choke-hold, slamming the man into the wall behind. He blocked a weakly aimed chop, and he pushed the man's arms away while he pummelled the sailor briefly, though he had to actively restrain his blows to avoid severe injuries. Eri blocked another punch, and he leaped backward, crouching and sweeping his leg forward in a powerful kick aimed at the man's knee, and the destabilizing kick collapsed the man. By the time he had recovered from that Eri would be somewhere else, dodging random flying projectiles, leaping over people, blocking a hit here or there while trying to find Zenai.

"Zenai! Zenai! Agh for Leth's sake. Zenai! Fly or something I can't bloody see you!"

[Azrael Solomon]

Azrael made it home a little before sun down. The house he resided in was owned by a sailor. The man had gone away for a few days and enlisted Azrael to protect his belongings while out at sea. In return he will have shelter at least for a little while. It was a fair trade. Azrael shuffled around the house and kept it tidy. It was a simple box, more or less a shack. A bed for sleep, a kitchen to cook at with a stove that doubled as the heater on those cold evening nights. “Now then,” Azrael thought to himself as he planned the evening, “if that girl does as she is told I should be able to follow however the unlucky person is and take him out in private. I’ll be eating like a king tonight, hopefully.” Azrael fixed his white shirt. He moved over to another small stack of clothes set out on a chair’s seat, “Thanks to be Jared, he left some spare clothes. They are a bit large for my body, but then again I don’t need muscles to hoist a ship’s sail. Besides,” he checked himself out after he test fitted a clean brown red shirt, “It conceals my fuzz pretty well. Just add the shoes and some cover for my feet, I should be fine.” Azrael peeled off that, most likely blood dyed shirt, and retrieved his bit of life insurance, “Never know when a bit of chain mail armor might come in handy,” he slid the jingly mesh made of linked metal over his undershirt, “Its my friend and protector, never know when some hateful person might take a stab at you.” Clearly Azrael had been on the end of a blade before. His cautiousness might have been silly to some, but in Sunberth in addition to his bloodline, made him a prime target for violence. Azrael found that as ironic, he had been so pointlessly violent during his younger years, now it could come back to bite him on the rear. Azrael buttoned up the rusted, red, shirt smoothly with his long claws and tucked it into his pants before he picked up a tan cloak. He tied the strap to his body and flipped up the cloak’s hood. He looked down into a bucket of water and used it like a mirror. He swiveled his head back and forth and took not of how well it covered his head. “Hmm, I still need to wrap the entire head.” Azrael sighed and moved to his pack again. He retrieved small, rolled bundles of blue cloth, almost like bandages, and brought an end to the base of his neck. He began to wrap the strips around his head until his entire head was covered by the fabric. A final check, Azrael picked up his pack and flipped up his hood. Just before he left the house, he grabbed his scythe, the only weapon he trusted and made his way back to the tavern. The walk was uneventful but what he was greeted with at the tavern was much more lively. He approached the window, which had no glass but instead was thin paper that had been oiled to give it a semi translucent quality, it was a cheap method. However, when you get rowdy crowds like this every night, one would guess the luxury of glass would be more of a curse. He cursed under his breath and ducked as he observed a shadow that started large and then rapidly became smaller. His head ducked out of the way just in time to miss a heavy pint exit through the primitive window. “Well that was close,” Azrael said as he brushed himself off. He searched the ground for his scythe and found it on the ground near some young children. “There you are--” Azrael was cut off by an imposable to dodge object. The man had slammed through the window and into Azrael with enough force to knock him off his feet with the man. He landed on his back with a hard thud, the heavy man and his momentum mad Azrael’s chest cave in and loose his breath. He quickly tossed the innocent man off himself as he coughed and gagged. Those coughs and gags soon turned into a loud cackle, ‘now his is a party!” Azrael’s head shot toward his scythe and noticed some of the kids had made a move for it. Azrael snatched it out of a boys hand before he could take off with it. His gloved hands then found the top of the boy’s head and held him steady while he talks. “Look boy, I will reward you with 15 bronze if you watch after this and my cloak while I go in there.” The boy stopped his struggles and looked up at Azrael. Azrael took off his cloak and gave it to the boy to take care of. “Besides, you shouldn’t be stealing things you have to sell.” Another yell came from behind him as another man was tossed unceremoniously out the tavern’s door. “Get your friends and mug the ones that come out, check their pockets!” Azrael chuckled as the kids eyes lit up. Azrael began to walk toward the tavern as more kids began to arrive on site, news travels quick in the underground. he chuckled to himself, “Corrupting the youth of our world to be great anarchists and criminals.” He had to force his way into the tavern, to get around all the loud men and even women as they chanted and encouraged each other on. Glass, wood, all sorts of liquid, and furniture littered the floor as Azrael cautiously made his way through the devastation. “Kick em in the knockers!” “You hit like a woman--” “Excuse me?” Wham “Help!” “I got all the help you need right here boy.” “Found a tooth!” “Zenai?” “I’ll teach you to mess with Dirty Harry.” “I’ll see you in Hai!” All matter of chatter rang in his ear. Azrale remained passive through all of this but he couldn’t help but get in the way. A man was shoved into him and caught him off guard. He turned the man around and gave him two slugs to the side of his head before letting him fall tot eh ground, “Not the time sir,” he said with a sarcastic grin hidden under his cover. A man picked up chairs since the start of the brawl and had broken them on other’s back. A cheap move but hey, drunkenness doesn’t equal cleverness. Azrael didn’t notice him as he approached up behind him, chair in hand. Azrael had blocked and kicked a man over the bar when the chair crashed on his back. It broke and the first thing Azrael could think was, “What crappy craftsmenship.” A board dropped beside him atop of some glass and he placed his palm on it to lift himself up off the ground, “Oh yes sir, that hurt so good! May I have another,” he yelled, though muffled by the noise and cloth. He stood up and brandished the board, some bits of glass had stuck to it’s surface. Azrael’s yellow eyes looked at the man and noticed he had no chair to hit him again with, “Pity, I was beginning to like you.” He didn’t say it loud enough for anyone but himself to hear as he slammed the board across the side of his face. He gave a few harder slams to the center of his chest before finally he chucked the chunk of wood at him and knocked him down. Azrael felt searing pain as well as the sound of his shirt as it tore. A woman had approached behind him and attempted to stab him . Azrael winced as the adrenalin in his blood kicked in quite well. He turned on a heal and grabbed the wrist of the assailant and twisted her arm behind her.It took him a moment to realize it was the girl from earlier. “The flesh wound will not deduct from my original price, have you finished what I have asked?” The girl growled for a moment before she remembered the deal. “Fly? Lets through people!” “Incoming!” “My leg!” She stopped her fight for a moment and scanned the crowd, “That on sir is the one I did it too.” She pointed to a lithe man with black and blue streaked hair. “Come on big boy, you got smaller balls then my sister.” “You punch like a limp dick.” Azrael pulled the girl a little closer and tucked her tight against his body. His sharp claws trailed along her chest. He seemed to fondle her body and very boldly dipped his hands into her clothes in front of anyone who’d stopped to care. “Are these the same garments you wore earlier, my darling?” “Someones doing the ol in out in out!” Followed by a combined cheer. “I’ll kick your butt!” She gasped in bit in fear and apprehension, “yes sir?” Azrael chuckled and removed his hands from her, “You really are in a poor situation. As promised, here you go.” Azrael tossed a coin pouch over to the girl and quickly vanished back into the crowd. Not after he pocketed the vial that was still full of poison. The girl lost site of Azrael and she was quick to open the pouch. She shoved her fingers into the dark opening and pulled back with a shriek. Long, needle sharp, thorns were stuck to all of the fingers that entered the bag. The thorns were painted brown by a solution of the powdered poison known as Phantom’s Shell, which made the skin more sensitive to pain for the next four hours. Of course the girl didn’t know this and desperately pulled the thorns out of her finger before she dumped it’s contents onto her opposite palm. All that was in the pouch, were more thorns and piece of parchment. Written on it was this simple question, “Why didn’t you follow directions and achieve true mercy? Suffer.” The effects of the poison soon became apparent when the pricks on just her palm, began to feel like full on pierces. It’ll be a painful end indeed. Despite this, Azrael began to fight his way through the drunken crowd. Someone pulled at the cloth on his head and he jerked around quickly and delivered the hardest punch he could muster right into the man’s ribs. he could hear a dull snap as he broke rib. “You don’t touch a disabled man’s bandage, its just rude.” Azrael began to busily fix his wrap, while he kept an eye on Eri, the strange man who didn’t seem to belong in the normal crowd.

[Zenai]

The bar brawl continued on and its most of its participants were still in the game; either too drunk to feel the pain or are used to his kind of punishment. Zenai doesn’t want to be amongst those who had fallen but he doesn’t want to keep on brawling as well. Whenever he tried to get out, he would either be pulled or pushed back into the fray and would need to continue to defend himself from a barrage of drunk-punches and flying projectiles of all sorts including thrown-people. He also tried to find his friend, Eridanus is all this mess. Who knows what has happened to him? The chaotic and ever-shifting environment has made it difficult to locate him.

Another drunk came charging at him with a chair above his head, ready to smash it down on Zenai. The Tagger grabbed whatever he could to shield himself from the blow; he grabbed an almost-comatose drunk who had taken to many hits on his noggins. He didn’t seem to mind Zenai using him to block the other drunk’s chair-strike. The chair smashed and broke apart upon impact against Zenai’s “meat shield” but like Zenai suspected, his “shield” didn’t had an opinion on the matter. Dissatisfied with he wasn’t able to hit Zenai, the drunk threw punches and jabs at the Guppie. Zenai used his shield to good effect and managed to block all of the drunkard’s blows. He then kicked his “shield” so he would stumble and fell onto the drunk while he escaped and made his way through the crowd once more.

Zenai had to bend over and stalk under tables whenever he could to try and avoid most of the fighting. He didn’t feel that he needs to waste his time and energy dealing with these brawlers. His main objective now was to find Eridanus and get out of here. He would wait for his path to cover to be clear before running for it. Eventually, there wasn’t any tables left to hide under and Zenai just had to make do by running the gauntlet. He pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the spits and curses along the way. He dodged a few poorly aimed punches as well as of those that actually missed their mark and almost hit Zenai.

A surprise strike against Zenai’s left cheek put him on the back foot. Another sailor with too much alcohol in his system but kept enough of his sense to fight effectively. The sailor came charging with haymaker punch but the technique wouldn’t be effective while Zenai still had his wits about him. He easily ducked under the punch and Zenai delivered an upper cut against his opponent’s jaw. The sailor backed off and wanted some room between himself and Zenai but Zenai came charging in, grabbing and wrapping the sailor’s right arm using his left arm and delivered a right punch-left kick combo into the sailor’s head and groin. Zenai deliver a systematic series of punches and kicks into his opponent until he was satisfied that the sailor wasn’t going go for him anymore. He let go of his right arm and the sailor just fell on the floor, clutching his bruises and wounds. “Dammit! Eridanus, where are you?”

[Eridanus]

Eri was completely unaware of the half-Zith watching him, for he currently had more important concerns on his plate right now, like dodging a flying chair. Eri ducked again, and he heard a drunken yelp of pain as the person behind took the chair in the face. There was one thing that he had always wondered about sailors, and that was their seeming invulnerability to physical damage especially when they were all doped up with booze. The guy who took the hit for him merely grunted in pain and began to lumber forward to grapple Eri for his booze-addled mind had somehow identified the Ethaefal who caused the chair to smash into him. He was half-right though, for Eri was indeed the cause since he dodged which resulted in that collision.

Eri spun around with a back-handed lash, raising both elbows to deny the man access to circle his body with his arms, and struck out with both palms, staggering the sailor back. He stepped forward nimbly, intercepting the sailor's slow attacks before reaching close enough to strike him with his palm. His intention was to manoeuvre the man further back so that he could have more space towards the side, for there was a huge table in the way just now and he did not want to repeat the spectacle of smashing his shin against a hard wooden object when he did not wear armour.

Now that the space was clear, he gathered his momentum by stepping back slightly, then unleashing a powerful round house kick that slammed the man sideways, and that impact helped the alcohol already in the sailor's systems to hasten its impact, putting him to sleep.

The Ethaefal was closer to the door already, and he fended off several more blows while shouting for his friend. Rolling across the floor to avoid another thrown obstacle, this time another heavier man who was obviously too knocked out to even take notice that he was being thrown, and he wondered why the brawlers were throwing slumbering people. Then again, he wondered about plenty of things, and he wondered most of all about the logic processes, or lack thereof, of these happy brawling sailors.

Eri spotted a table near the exit that was not there before, and he made his way towards it, narrowly blocking a punch and responding with several jobs to push the man back before stepping back to deliver a high snap-kick to the chest, stumbling him back to the rest of the brawling crowd. He happily pummelled a closer opponent and left Eri alone. The Ethaefal grunted as he lifted the table up to its proper standing position, and he quickly climbed up on the table again to take a look. This time it was clearer for he was away from the bulk of the chaos, allowing him to observe properly.

He noticed a strange cloak figure at the side who was somehow unaffected by the chaos, and he could have sworn that it was looking at him, though the figure seemed to be suddenly looking somewhere else. It might be his imagination anyway. Eri scanned the crowd, and finally he saw a bunch of reddish hair that belonged to an armour wearing human. There was no doubt who it could be.

"Zenai! For Leth's sake, Zenai I'm here!" He hollered at his friend, but apparently his voice was lost in the scuffle for there was no reaction from the human. Zenai seemed to be looking for him as well. Eri saw another sailor approaching Zenai from behind, and he bent down to grab a piece of splintered chair that was leaning against the table, standing up again to resume his superior vantage point and he threw the shambled mess at the sailor behind Zenai. Hopefully it hit its target, but should it miss and hit Zenai, well, the man was wearing armour anyway. Either way it should get his friend's attention.

oocI'll let you decide if the chair (or what's left of it) hits the sailor (about to attack you from your rear) or you.

[Azrael Solomon]

Azrael brought a hand to the side of his arm and felt the wetness of some of his blood that saturated an area of the rusted red shirt. He wondered if the kid with his cloak and scythe was still outside. But the sense of worry was short lived as he received a mug to the chest. The metal container hit hard and winded him for a moment. He only chuckled though instead of gasped, familiar with the pain. His hands fumbled and caught the mug in hand, it was only somewhat filled with liquid, “Only in Sunberth,” he proclaimed then brought the mug to his mouth and tossed it back. When finished, he chucked it at a sailor and hit him right on the tailbone. He noticed the man the woman fingered watched him as well. He didn’t mind it and instead made his way through the crowd that began to thin. When he observed Eri pick up a piece of wood and chuck it at someone, he took that moment to join a group of jolly drunken sailors, beaten pretty well, as they sung a merry tune and walked out of the tavern. Whenever Eri would try and find him again, Azrael would be nowhere in sight. Azrael peeled himself away from the trio of men, who despite being a complete stranger to them, had accepted him in their merry ways. Whenever he was able to untangle himself from the strong arms he looked around the tavern. There were some men, passed out on the ground, and kids who still remained and acted as vultures. They fed off the drunken bodies and stripped their bodies clean of anything of value. A young boy approached Azrael with cloak and scythe in hand, “Here sir I kept your things for you. It was a great idea to steal from the drunks, the group gained a lot.” Azrael took what belonged to him and slid back on his cloak. He winced as the fabric rubbed his wound, “Damnit,” He hissed under his breath as he realized he’d have to wash his cloak as well. Azrael took his scythe as well and then reached into his pocket. He pulled a small pouch from his pocket and handed it to the kid. “Here you go my friend, this should keep you going for a long while.” The kid jingled the pouch skeptically, it felt much lighter then what was originally promised to him. He opened the pouch and shoved his fingers into the pouch. He was not met with thorns but a cool surface. He gripped one of the three coins and brought it out into the light. His eyes brightened as he realized he had been given three gold. “Take it as a token of my generosity, you did what you were asked without fail, people with that honor should be rewarded.” Azrael ruffled the boy’s hair and departed. The boy left as well with a grin on his face. As Azrael began to walk home, he stopped mostly out of curiosity. Something nagged at the back of his mind, he needed to see where his, would have been test subject, was located or why he had called frantically for a man’s name. He went back to the tavern and leaned against a wall in the shadows. His cloak wrapped around his body, which concealed him in the dark perfectly.

[Dhalvasha]

Left, right, Left, Right.

Duck and Weave, Bob, feet to the ground. Stay out of your opponent's reach. Strike, retreat, strike. Stay limber, stay lithe.

Be worthwhile.

Dhalvasha should not have been there. Crowded by hulking shoulders and bulging biceps, the fragile Symenestra was hardly at home. The bar was a wild scene this evening, the sort of rip roaring madness he had come to expect of humans...especially those in Sunberth. Live loud, live short.

He wasn't here on any official business, dodging suspicious head hunters in the alleys had landed him here of all places and for a crack in the wall, the spider had sure chosen a loud one. Dhalvasha refrained from any drinking, keeping red-rimmed eyes trained on the larger and brasher of the company. Some faces he felt he recognized, bits and pieces here and there of life and familiar flesh but his attention was self focused.

Best that it was.

When the bar erupted, Dhalvasha's table was one of the first to be upended. Hitting the ground and scuttling across the floor beneath stampeding feet, Dhalvasha hurled himself into every duck, dodge, and leap. He was a phantom, a pale bit of hair and skin edging toward the outskirts of the tavern brawl.

He was not successful.

A face, enraged and contorted with alcohol's grip, settled on the Symenestra and he roared, a surprisingly small shout amid the scuffle. Dhalvasha edged across strewn cups and upended stools. Holding out his hands, black claws glittered briefly in the firelight of the tavern. The old lessons came to him quietly, whispers mostly.

The man charged, prompting the Symenestra to retreat, leaping onto a table and swinging himself to the ground, pulling back from an entanglement with all the balance his acrobatics could muster before approach the side wall. The drunk followed him, swinging what appeared to be a chair in wide lazy loops. Cornered, he swung it down on the Symenestra, but Dhalvasha slapped a hand above him on the wall and lifted himself away from the chair in an instant, utilizing the close distance to kick the fellow in the jaw twice. Letting go of the wall, Dhalvasha swung around his left, claws flashing as he scratched and sliced.

His father would be proud, at least till the drunk took a wild swing and smashed the slight doctor from his feet and hurled him across the room.

His vision swam.

His heart beat

He tasted blood.

But by the absent gods he wouldn't lay down in defeat, not again.

He stood and faced the drunk, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood to the side. There was nothing more to say.