Closed [Rearing Stallion] Good night for a brawl?

[Kaie]

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Kaie

Sliding a mug to an impatient patron, Kaie's brown gaze checked the room casually. An involuntary action that conveyed her mental absence from her task, a tiny hint of boredom. It was in that insignificant glance the Myrian caught the sight of a red haired woman collapsing from her chair. She watched the woman smack against the floor face first, a sight that naturally would cause Kaie to find some amusement. Yet before a glimpse of an entertained smile could cross her face, another man demanded another round. As if he needed it. Bloodshot eyes conveyed the drunkenness of this guy clearly. Nonetheless, she did her job, promptly filling a silver mug with beer. This time when she turned back to the counter, the scene of the bar had changed. None of the people at the counter were looking at her expectantly now. All of them were focused on whatever was behind them. The already absurd volume of voices in the bar had risen, and their tones had become full of animosity. Great. What looked like an exchange of a few punches had turned to full blown brawls. Chairs were being tossed causing splinters to fall like rain over the masses. The dull thud of mugs being bashed into heads was almost constant. Women screaming and ducking out of the way. To say there was some bloodied faces would be a complete understatement. Red was starting to line parts of the floor where drunken bodies were laid out. Their split faces staining the wood. What the hell caused this chaos? No way it was all connected to the falling woman. Or was it? Some of the men that sat before her shoved themselves from their chairs. Barking insults and threats, already forcing their way into joining conflict. Kaie hadn't been behind the bar long. Was there even protocol for times like this? The fact was she had only been there for a short period of time. She knew the owners of the bar and Seth, the man she bartended with. The others were just familiar faces. In some way or another she neglected to find the time to make a proper introduction. Always busy with the usual alcoholics. Sadly enough, the old pub was the closest thing she'd been able to call home in this big city. The only absolute constant filled with the same people she saw on an almost daily basis. Kaie's Myrian instincts became prominent in the few moments it took for her to gauge the situation. To adjust her entire frame of mind and lose the pleasantries she adopted when dealing with patrons. Now, she wasn't so far from the "savage" image her people were often labeled with. Without warning a mug came flying at her skull. With little distance between, she just barely managed to side step out of its path. A couple bottles behind her shattered on the shelf. A foamy liquid started to pour down the cases, a thick river flooding over the kegs. Bold, brown eyes glared in the direction the projectile was thrown. It was in that moment she caught the sight of two girls caught between warring fractions of drunks. One of them Kaie knew to be a barmaid. Without pausing to think, the Myrian woman simply acted. Putting her hands on the counter, she lifted her body and shot her legs right over the surface. Clearing the object, her feet landed on the other side of the bar facing the brawl. Bodies were moving this way in that in angry waves, leaning to and fro like some sort of ocean. Finding a path would prove to be a tricky task. She'd just have to assert herself. Lifting a bar stool, she held the seat against her chest so the legs faced outward. With her battering ram, she barreled forward toward one of the combatants cutting her off from the pair. Crack. The chair legs snapped upon impacting his back, the force sending him reeling forward. As the man toppled back deeper into the crowd, the brunette was quick to take the space. She dropped what was left of her tool and began her challenging weave through the tightly backed bodies. All she could smell was sweat and ale. Disgusting. Eventually she reached them after a long fought battle. People continued to knock her every which way as they moved. A few times she was almost taken out by a collapsing brawler. Just as she was about to speak to the woman with brown hair supporting the barmaid, a mug swung into her back. Petching vagik! It was all she could do to keep herself from drawing on him. Instead, she shot her elbow back into the guy's solar plexus for good measure. She didn't even bother to see what became of her hit. The bartender was far more preoccupied. The two girls seemed to be friends or at least friendly with one another. Might as well get them both out of this damn mess and into the safety of the back room. "Hey! We need to drag our asses! Follow me." The Myrian said practically shouting to compete with all the noise. There was no time to sit idly and chat while furniture was being smashed over heads. She'd have to pass on that one. Without any further explanation, she turned back in the direction she came only to see her hole had caved. Shyke. There was no time to go searching for another way out. This was it. Hands close to her, she began shoving mercilessly. Not moving too quickly but acting as a sort of wedge for the others to follow. Out of no where a fist came right in front of her path, causing her to slam on the brakes. The strike landed on some other opponent's chin causing him to fall back. She took off again, weaving behind them and toward the counter again. She was close now. Just a thin group in the way now. Breaking through the last few she turned her head to see if they had in fact followed behind her. Kaie didn't get much of a chance to look before something broke her focus. A hand reached around her waist and pulled her back suddenly. She felt herself smash back against some guy's chest. Alright, I'm so set. She immediately slipped one hand into her cloak to remove something just as she turned. Facing her attacker now, she now saw it was the creep who had his sights on her earlier. "There you are, love. With all this commotion I'm going to take you away. How 'bout that alley? I'd love to see a little savage girl like you on her knees for me." He stated with a dark smirk, a rough hand caressing the side of her face. You have got to be kidding me right now. Slowly, the sinister look began to drain from his face, his eyes widened. "Mmm, I don't think so." She said with a false sense of pity, big brown eyes looking up at him like she held sympathy for him. The edge of her food knife tapped deep against his inner thigh. He moved like an elder then, releasing his grip and backing away from her blade end. "Uh, okay." He said with a less confident voice, a bit shakier than before. "Good boy," she thought. Once he had moved away she put the knife away before a Syliras knight could catch a glimpse of it. Attention turning back to search for the two woman. To check if they actually did make it out of the fray unscathed.

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[Fallon]

People entered, an isur, a myrian, a knight. Words were exchanged with the barkeep, the cries of men in fits of laughter. For tonight, the Rearing Stallion was indeed alive. She caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces, a mumble of words and happy conversation. Then it started.

Chaos. That’s what it was, absolute chaos. Fists were raised, chairs were wielded, tankards flew across the room. But where did it all begin? What started it off? Fallon stared out from beneath her hand, and from the temporary safety of her corner. The mage Azcadelia went into a rage, over by what she could tell from her position was the simple miss of her seating. It seemed almost pathetic as she gave out empty threats to a ghost, which in turn seemed to cause something to at least start. One man shouted at another, voices were raised, and a single punch was thrown. Which in turn ignited the entire situation.

Fallon gave a long drawn out sigh as she watched the waitress Shiress try to defuse the situation, and promptly failed miserably. A punch struck against her and she was sent to the floor in an instant, left to be scraped up from a face that she remembered, but the name was lost to a previous night of alcohol and heavy drinking. Still this mystery woman was guiding the dazed Shiress to the bar, armed with a trusty mug and ready to strike against those that came her way. There was a shrill of a cry above it all, from who exactly was far beyond her, but it was of no immediate concern to the observing squire. As far as she was concerned she was quite happy staying out of all the trouble.

And then the Myrian kicked off, and promptly seemed to do as a Myrian do best. Raising her mug to her lips, Fallon went to take a drink from it. A clay tankard smashed against the wall just to her left, the frothy ale running down the brick work after it. For a moment there was silence her lip twitching as she just registered what happened. A brief flicker of annoyance hung there, and then the long drawing out of “petch” escaped her lips, almost in a resounding disbelief of the shattering tankard against the wall next to her. She gave a frown, and cautiously stood up, eyes darting to either side of her. She knew what she wanted to do, but whether or not there would be such chance for a hasty retreat. And knowing her amount of luck, she knew she would be drawn into the situation.

She lowered her tankard, and slid along the wall eyes fixed on the mayhem that unfurled itself. Her eyes on occasion glanced towards the door, and then back to where everyone else was in the sea of noise and fighting. A rough hand however stopped her in her path as a patron towered over her, with a look that said he was either looking for a fight or he was trying to stop himself from laughing at something. Her thoughtful question was answered when she watched the drunken fist pull back for a punch.

“Uh… behind you,” she pointed over the man’s shoulder. His expression turned gormless as he looked over his shoulder and a mug was smashed over his head. The squire gave a shrug, and whilst brushing the crinkle out of her coat she sighed, “Well… I did tell warn you.” Now all she had to deal with was the slightly more intoxicated patron that had a fixated mean look in his eye that was steadily advancing on her.
Right… now how do you jab again? she raised her clenched fists up, her stance changing as she remembered the events in the training ground. She gave a smile at the patron, “I’m so, so, so very sorry…” and promptly shot a fist out at him. Knuckles met flesh as her fist made contact with his jaw, and he swayed on the spot stunned if anything that a little girl like her had managed to throw a punch at him. Like that! I think. Oh… just… Move yourself! Preferably quickly!

[Leda]

Leda Leda never usually got into fights. Ever. Though far from fragile, her delicate size meant that she would undoubtedly have come out of them the worse for wear. So when the chaos exploded and a man was punched head over heels into to the table she was sitting at, scattering her drink to the floor, she decided that the best thing to do would be to run from any onslaught. The exit to the tavern was blocked and it was in a moment of panic that Leda found herself taking cover under the bar. On all sides, shouting, chairs with the legs snapped off and being used to hit over the heads of opponents, mugs of beer being flung at the walls and splashing everywhere. To her eyes, it was almost surreal. Of course, being raised among the Svefra, who did rather like to frequent taverns whenever they docked into port, she was accustomed to fights breaking out, but this was on a legendary scale and she had never been alone amidst a fight before. The Bar stools fell like dominoes and Leda stood up quickly, only narrowly avoiding a plate of some slimy food or other flying by her left ear. Maybe she could make another run for the door? However, this most sensible idea fell dead as the man in front of her ducked and she was hit by a wave of some strong smelling liquid. It took her a moment to register that she was wet, but when she looked down and saw her white blouse soaking wet and, consequently, see-through, she lost her temper. She had had a tiring day and all she wanted was a drink, not a fight and she certainly had not wanted to flash her assets. With a cry, she looked up at the culprit - a large man built like an ox - who had just let out a raucous laugh, ogling her unashamedly before turning back to beat his opponent on the head. Losing all sang-froid, embarrassed and incensed by his reaction, she ran at him and leapt onto his back. He yelled and swung to pull her off but, her grip considerably better than her fighting skills, she hung on and proceeded to pummelling him viciously on the head, scratching at his neck with her fingernails and leaving long red marks across it. Under normal circumstances, she might have understood that her reaction was disproportionate to the man's crime but this was not normal circumstances and her probably alcohol-induced courage pushed her to being reckless. A few of the other patrons were watching with ill-disguised amusement as she continued pulling hair like a wildcat. Then, by chance, one of his flailing fists caught her slightly on the chin. Deciding that it was probably better to try and disappear from his sight quickly since he was visibly getting more furious by the second, she jumped off quickly (receiving applause from one of the men who rapidly got hit across the face by the ox-man for his appreciation) and hit the ground. She was not seen by her attacker and proceeded to trying to crawl to the exit, weaving in amongst legs and avoiding a few suspicious puddles. "Where is she? Where is she? I'm going to kill that Vermin." Leda looked back and noticed that her aggressor was simultaneously managing to massage his head (which must have throbbed rather a lot, on balance) look for her amongst the crowds and hit a rat-faced man repeatedly. Yes, she decided, she had much better get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, at that moment, she was grabbed from behind by someone else entirely. "Evening Darlin' - What you say you and I have a little fun 'eh?" With a frown, she swung her left fist around and punched him squarely in the jaw, which was obviously the wrong reaction. He visibly darkened in countenance and tripped her up so that she fell backwards onto a spindly table which then broke in two, and she dropped to floor. She made a valiant effort to kick him in the stomach but before she could say anything, she was slapped violently across the face and her head started spinning. "Leave me alone you Petcher." she croaked, her face stinging from the blow.

[Aidan Sutter]

A cheerful smile and an armful of empty mugs. Aidan couldn’t have been a more pleasant fellow that night, absorbing the energy of the room as if it were substitute for the firewater Kevith expressly forbid him to have while his chef was using sharp objects in the kitchen. Not that he could fault the older man for showing some discretion when it came to keeping appendages attached. It was just that, a night like tonight made such libations quite unnecessary.

Breathing in the musty air, Aidan nosed his way through a host of sweat kissed bodies, the mugs rattling under his precarious control as he made his way back to the bar. Everything seemed to be going perfectly well, not a hint of menace to be found…until his ears caught the sharp climactic gasp of several patrons off to his right. Such a noise could freeze the blood in one’s veins and make knots twist in their throat, a precursor to trouble that rolled in like a sudden tide.

Turning his head to the right, Aidan’s mostly superior height gave him a glimpse of the terror unfolding, one man’s head rushing forward towards that of another man’s. The hackling silence preceded a wet and sloppy smack of knuckles pounding into another man’s flesh, the sharp grunt of pain tarrying in its wake. But what the cook couldn’t tell was what had provoked the argument in the first place, a small river of bodies flowing between them. All Aidan knew, was that it did not bode well for the Stallion.

Bodies began to move like gravel being siphoned down a chute. One by one they gravitated towards the center as limbs fell and tempers rose. The fuel of alcohol was more than enough encouragement to let loose for most, but for a sober Aidan, it only filled him with dread.

He could feel the fight drawing near, a stout body shoved directly in front of him as the woebegone patron’s arms flapped hopelessly out to his sides like that of an unfledged chick. One of the swings, it just so happened, caught Aidan stiffly in the the forearm, the cook’s eyes growing wide with horror when he felt all the mugs he’d been holding tossing unstoppably into the air.

No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!

The angle at which they were carried saw them in line with a table of excited onlookers…all but one. An Akalak, who showed a surprising disinterest in the fight, did not scurry away from the table as his friends did who saw the mostly empty mugs scatter their way.

Aidan grimaced while his heart sank. Time slowed down long enough that he could see with an appalling clarity as each mug fell, cracked, shattered, and then flooded the remainder of their foamy contents all over the table. Most of which happened to seep onto the blue-skinned fellow who had been so somberly enjoying his drink.

Quite suddenly, nothing but empty space lay between the Akalak and the accidental mug tosser, one man's eyes filled entirely with fear, the other with a dark and brooding glare. Aidan could hear the hoarse whispers of those who had cleared the area close by over the din of the room, a mixture of expletive and prayer in a manner that was surprisingly reconcilable. But then, the Akalak lunged…

”Wait, no! UrrrKH!”

A dark blue hand easily wrapped halfway around the circumference of Aidan’s neck, crushing his windpipe and threatening to break far more. The cook could feel his feet lifting from the ground quickly, to the point where he felt more marionette than man, his puppeteer a truly apathetic soul. The cook's pale hands stretched out with futility to grapple with the arm that was holding him so measuredly. All his beryl bright eyes could focus on at that moment, however, was the sneer between the Akalak’s dark lips and the inferno toiling beneath his pupils.

A quick surge up preceded a thunderous crash straight down, droplets of ale that had covered the other’s dark skin splashing away to the floor as Aidan’s body came to an abrupt halt with it. His legs and arms flapped uselessly to each side, momentarily splayed as though he were being drawn and quartered. The cook’s head and shoulders hissed with pain from being the spear tip of the impact, but thankfully one small mercy had been shown to him. The Akalak was no longer crushing his throat.

Choking for air and with eyes practically crawling out onto his cheeks, Aidan rolled over onto his stomach and flattened both palms against the dingy grime that many a foot had tracked in that night. All he could think to do, aside from hack up a lung, was crawl towards the bar and hope that Kevith saw him. The ex-knight stood a better chance than he ever could against the likes of these Riverfall brutes. But as his eyes gazed across the floor to the host of legs standing between him and salvation, he realized this would not be an easy thing to do.

Clawing the ground, Aidan lifted himself up onto all fours and began scrambling towards the varnished wall of the bar counter. If I just move fast enough, I can av--oh no…no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no! A firm blue hand around his belt gave the cook a sterling realization that he would not be getting away from this one so easily. His heart sank.

”Gerroff me!” he growled, feet kicking haphazardly as the Akalak turned to the side to avoid catching a boot to the groin. This near miss only seemed to make the cook’s adversary more upset, which prompted Aidan to stop flailing all together and try a different approach. ”Maybe we can work something out! Maybe we can--!”

Another quick lift into the air preceded another sharp spike down, Aidan realizing all too late that the Akalak had drawn him over a chair this time, abdomen smashing into the seat without remorse. Pure agony proceeded the wind being torn from his lungs, the chair’s flimsy structure collapsing down along with the body as splinters from the legs danced across the floor.

Laying upon the ground, wondering what in the world he’d done to deserve such karma, Aidan’s hand meagerly slipped to the charms surrounding his neck and began praying to Kelwyn that the blue man would have the decency to leave him alone this time.

x

[Azcadelia]

Azcadelia Rosan

Before Azcadelia could even direct her rage at the ghost child she had stumbled backwards, caused a domino effect of patrons and now the entire bar was in an uproar. Azcadelia still fumed along with everyone else who threw their mugs, shouted obscenities and tried to crush their neighbor's skull with their bare hands. "Where is that pre-pubescent child!" she shouted in a whisper as her angry jade eyes searched the crowds for her.

In her rageful search she moved through the crowds, imitating a hulking beast stalking a poor village child. Though, because of her petite form and small frame she looked more like a dire witch who huffed and puffed through children's tales. "When I find her..." she huffed, "I'm going to kill her!" she puffed. Her chest was heaving her her throat was on fire the Res within building and almost igniting every time she spoke.

The rules of the city were invisible to the rageful woman which could be told when a rather large man bumped into her. He looked down right crazy, almost as crazy as Azcadelia but she reacted first. Looking to the floor she searched for anything that could spark a flame to save her own Res but when her scouting yielded no results she turned back to the man. The man reared back, getting ready to throw a drunken, heavy fisted punch at her. She ducked between his legs, crawled through them and appeared on the other side of him before he was done with his kick back.

When his punch fired he flew forward, the heavy fist carrying him away into a table. The man's torso lay on the table in his bewildered state. For good measure Azcadelia tip-toed over in her slippers and promptly and roughly sent her foot up between the man's legs leading to howl of pain that could rival that of an opera singer's vibrato.

This howl sent the red haired acorn kicker out of her angry lust and she stopped to analyze the scene. Around her the entire bar was in the middle of the fray. Men, chairs and condiments were being thrown every which way. The sound of mugs cracking against the heads of another man... or woman's was deafening. "Oh gods, what has happened here..." she whispered before blowing a loose curl from her vision.

She scanned the scene once more as the battle revolved around her. She was in what seemed to be the eye of the storm - the calmest area of a hurricane. Her eyes landed on her friend, Shiress, falling to the ground and the other brunette girl, Hadyn, leaping her way towards her. Feeling some obligation and guiltiness she headed that way aiming to follow them into the kitchen in the back.

[Fubuki Kouri]

Fubuki Kouri Fists launched, mugs crashing, bodies flying, chairs splintering, and tables crushed. The Rearing Stallion had become The Angry Bull, it was like Chaos itself had blessed the tavern with its touch. Rhysol would be proud seeing the brutality and strife severing the peace that once banded these Sylirans together. Perhaps, the god of evil could consider the mischievous little girl as his champion or something... "Ufufufufufu~♪" Kouri's haunting giggle echoed in the tavern, but it was obviously drowned out by the shouting and screaming. Kouri peeked her head from her position under the stone floor, her floral headband jutting out from the ground and her eyes scanned the amazing spectacle before her. "Waha! Wahahahahahahaha!" She couldn't keep her cackle. She was proud, feeling evil pleasure from the chaos she screated. She turned her head and noticed the raging scarlet-haired reimancer stomping around, obviously in search for the offending ghost. "Ehehehe~" Kouri wasn't afraid of her anymore. In a situation like this, she wouldn't be able to even touch a single strand of her ethereal white hair; a mug or a fist would come crashing down to her first. She also spotted a human being beaten by a hulking blue-skinned man. "Bwahahaha!" It looked like Laviku himself had painted him, his blue-coloration would soon plastered itself in the human's eye by his fist. She then spotted another interesting scene, a bronze-skinned woman was threatening another drunkard with a... knife. Kouri had the feeling it would not be the last time she would see this woman. She also saw a short-haired woman lifting her fist and seemed to be ready facing a sweaty drunkard, she looked like she knew she was doing. A squire? It was possible, women warriors in Syliras usually meant she was one of the order. Kouri decided she would observe this play from a bird eye's view. She rose up from the ground and launched herself to the Stallion's ceilings, grabbing an ale-filled mug with her tendril while she's at it. "Hehehehe! Fight fight fight!" She clapped her hands and giggled like an excited little girl. She scanned for a prime target and... a mischievous smile appeared on her face. Why not upped the ante? She was already angry anyway. *Woooosh!* A mug fell down from the ceiling and was heading to a certain reimancer's scarlet head. If Azzy didn't dodge immediately, she would be greeted by another dropkick; but it was a dropmug this time.

[Daniel Connor]

Daniel had just wanted to enjoy a nice beer in a nice bar with the pleasant sound of soft chatter in the background. But instead, he got this ball of chaos and the sounds of cracking ribs. Not to mention tables. He looked into his drink, deciding whether to join the fray or to stay here for a while longer at his corner table a few meters away from the brawl. Coming to the conclusion that he should observe for a while, to learn his future opponents, he took a long drink of his ale, and watched. A woman was being knocked to the floor by a rather large, drunk man. A man painted blue seemed to be the antagoniser of a poor chef, his load of mugs lying scattered on the floor. A echoey girls laugh cascaded around the room, making him look up, to see Fubu doubled over in glee, hovering at the ceiling. He rolled his eyes, which turned a bright shade of yellow. He knew that somehow, for some reason, she was the cause of all this mayhem, being the mischievous girl she is, or was. The blue man looked to be a good candidate for a long, forced sleep. “Side effects include pain in the torso, headaches, and in severe cases, death.” Daniel said to himself, smirking at the small bit of humor that he had produced. The smithy lass, Hadyn, started to help the woman of the floor, Shiress, he had heard her name spoken as. The smith could handle herself, so his attentions turned to the blue man, who was slowly approaching the dazed chef, splinters of chair as his bed, who was groaning in pain. Daniel took another sip of his beer and setting it down with a soft thud. He sighed, and got up from his chair, it seemed to be one of the only ones not shattered or being used as a weapon, and gave his arms a quick stretch while twisting his neck, producing a loud pop. He took a deep breath and joined the fray. Drunk punches directed at him were met with an open palm and a twist, sending their owners’ howling in pain. The blue man was almost upon the poor cook when Daniel stepped up behind him. He taped a blue shoulder, making the sweaty blue figure turn around to set his beady eyes on him. He concentrated and felt energy flow away from his legs and lower torso to be redistributed into his arms and shoulders, with just enough left in his bottom half to maneuver properly. The blue man sent a fist flying towards his face, the poor guy did not stand a chance. Daniel dodged the fist like it was a slow moving butterfly, and returned to the man two of his own. His right fist slammed into the man’s gut, causing him to double over, gasping for air. With his left, he hit the man’s upper rib cage, right below the armpit; a nerve cluster. The man dropped like a rock, his mind not having a way to cope with the pain, so it told him to sleep. Daniel threw him out of the way with a grunt, then turned back to the chef, offering him his hand. The man groaned and took it, lurching to his feet. “You can join the brawl if you wish now, or wait this one out. It is just getting started.” Daniel calmly, grinning, his eyes turning a metallic silver. But, as he had said, the battle was far from over. A mug shattered against Daniel’s right shoulder, bruising the arm, and probably something more serious, he noted, when blood started to trickle out of his arm. He clenched his teeth against the pain. He heard someone say, “Leave me alone you Petcher,” and he looked around the room for the source. His eyes came to rest on a girl with dark hair, quite beautiful she was. And maybe that is why there was a man looming over her, trying to take advantage of her in the midst of the fray. He spat in disgust, his eyes flashing blood red for no more than half a second, then turning a coal black. He advanced towards the scum at a brisk pace, which, when he was 3 meters away, turned into a lunge. He felt the energy within him shift flawlessly from his arms to his legs, then back again. He hit the rather big man from the side, taking him along for the ride. Luckily the man was there to cushion the impact, or hitting the wall going faster than running pace would have really put a damper on Daniel’s mood, though, that was not so good to begin with. Blood trickled out of the man’s forehead, but he still managed to wrap a thick arm around Daniel, and before Daniel could react, slam his head with a table leg. The leg did not shatter, unlucky for Daniel, as the force that could have gone into breaking the leg, went into his head. He had rolled his head as much as he could in his restricting bonds, enough to avoid permanent injury, but not enough to stop black spots from consuming his vision. He blindly struck at the man’s temple, finding his mark. Daniel collapsed onto the floor, and the man slumped down the wall. He coughed, and tasted rust, blood leaking onto his face. His last thought before he surcomed to unconsciousness was of the woman’s safety. He murmured a final, “Help, please,” then the mist of sleep fell on his mind.

[Hadyn Skellig]

Gripping Shiress' arm a little harder the brunette hauled her to unsteady feet, the girl's free arm instinctively covering her face to avoid errant blows. A woman appeared bearing a visage of recognition, but the blacksmith had no memory of her, inducing a bemused stare. A friend of Shiress' perhaps. She hollered something directed at them over the din but Hadyn's brow furrowed with an inability to understand her words. Ready to respond, the woman raised her mug to avoid behing hit by disembodied arm. But other woman had quickly become engaged by her own distraction. Unable to multitask and quickly calculating the lady would manage just fine on her own, Hadyn maintained her focus on getting Shiress to safety. The barmaid was woozy and dazed by the hits she'd received but appeared determined to stay vertical. Satisfied that she wouldn't topple over again Hadyn released her hold and pushed the girl ahead, the vague outline of the bar nearly visible. Shiress for her part did a marvelous job of squeezing between bodies, hunkered down like a mouse weaving amidst the crowd. Hadyn kept the mug ready, shadowing the auburn haired girl at least until they made it to the bar. It was no easy task.

Arms, chairs, and gods know what else went whizzing past every few steps and the women were constantly reevaluating their path. It was absolute madness. The blacksmith paused as Shiress encountered a blockade, ducking to miss the swing of a man's arm. The brunette shoved her body against the offending individual, jostling him enough that Shiress was able to make it through the tiny gap between bodies. Hadyn, however, was not so fortunate. The space closed up after the girl passed, leaving the blacksmith trying to peek on her tiptoes above shoulders to find her friend.

Using her upper arm to remove sweat from her brow the brunette used what muscle and brawn she possessed as she began the task of elbowing folks aside. Her feet found difficult purchase on the befouled floor, stepping on toes and tripping others with her heel. A scowl situated itself on her damp face as she spied Shiress' auburn hair snaking through the crowd. At least she was making some progress.

The woman was about to reroute again when hands grabbed her, one clamping around her arm the other brusquely squeezing her buttocks. Whipping around the brunette tore both body parts from greedy hands to stare at their owner. A horribly intoxicated face gazed back at her in throes of confused lust. He liked what he'd seen so he reached for it, like a damn animal. Hadyn raised the mug threateningly to which his eager expression fell. Taking at step toward her despite the pulsing mob surrounding them the drunk reached again, this time for her breasts. Hadyn swung the mug but he dodged, to her hesitating surprise, the man ducking beneath her arm to move in even closer, unconcerned by flying pottery.

"Come're," he drawled, reaching with talon fingers to curl around the fabric of her sleeves. A couple men having caught sight of this display stepped back to give the drunk room, lewd grins on their lips as they watched. Her aggressor tripped over his feet and Hadyn dropped the mug, aware of the tiny space afforded to them if only for the grotesque pleasure of watching the assault. But she'd lost track of Shiress and she had no time to play these silly games.

As he came in to either kiss or lick her (for it did not seem his mouth knew which yet), the woman placed her hands solidly on his upper arms, eliciting a toothy smile as it appeared she was bending to his will. But jerking back as he moved in and pulling him close, Hadyn threw her head forward quickly, knocking with a bony crack against his. His skull was thrust back as he stumbled on pedaling feet and she released his arms. No longer counterbalanced by her weight the drunk fell away, reeling from the head butt. Hadyn swooped down to pluck her mug from the ground, drawing it up like a sword in one hand and sweeping it at arms length before leveling with the audience.

"Any you shykes want a go?" Hadyn gripped the arm of the mug as she glanced around the tiny group, the man she'd hit rolling on the ground unable to stand. A chance glance caught sight of what looked like Daniel Connor doling out a punch and was that... Aidan, perhaps? So many familiar faces. But no Shiress. Perhaps she'd made it to the bar and Kevith. Said location was at Hadyn's back as she spoke derisively to the men she kept at bay with the mug. She was ready to depart this company when the space between them was rudely violated by a felled and tossed Akalak who sprawled nearly in the lap of the drunk Hadyn downed. The blacksmith dropped the hand holding the mug as her eyes rolled with annoyance.

"For petch sake," the woman griped as she turned to see a rather haggard Aidan. If he wasn't incapacitated he'd be able to get her to the bar where Shiress hopefully resided. Stepping back into the crowd, her threats now moot, the woman called over to him with a wave of her mug. "Aidan! Aidan, y'old dog, over here! Y'alright, mate?"

[Kaie]

Kaie's expression darkened as she scanned the front of the crowd. The bodies closest to her and around the bar were not familiar ones. Neither the barmaid nor her companion appeared to be close by. Well, not in her line of sight anyways. The Myrian scowled some, debating with herself on whether it would be best if she continued to wait or plunged back into the fray to find the two. That's when her brown eyes captured the back of Shiress's head somewhere in the cluster. Though which direction was she headed? Deeper into the cloud of aggressors or out of it? Better to be safe than sorry, though by the bronze woman's attempt at heroism, safe is something Kaie might not bless herself with. Gone again, she was another fleeting figure in the shadow of the battle. Doing her best to dodge the bodies that continued to fall and noticing there were some who weren't finding their way to their feet again. Luckily, the barmaid wasn't too deep into the crowd anymore and Kaie found her far easier than previously. She was glad she had found her though. Looking ahead it seemed the roughest bar goers who had taken out amateurs were slowly finding each other. No doubt the four corners of the room would collide before the brawl ended. One way or another, by exhaustion or enforcers. Kaie reached her hand out to catch the barmaid by her forearm before she disappeared again. Internally, she hoped in the heat of the moment Shiress didn't turn to her swinging. Thank Myri she didn't. The bronzed woman wasn't too much of a talker. After all why would anyone in their right mind try to talk between punches? So without further explanation, she yanked the auburn haired barmaid toward her, doing her best to avoid whiplash. An opening was still present to Kaie's relief, so she took advantage. Slipping through the crack with the woman at her side, whether by will or otherwise, she made it through. They were back by the bar counter and away from fists that seemed to center in the middle of the room. Where objects like tables and chairs laid. Well, what was left of them anyways. "You alright?" She asked the woman casually as she leaned back against the worn counter behind them. The way she spoke made it seem like she was perfectly at peace with her surroundings. As if no brawl was going on at all or at least it was an average thing. Then something dawned on the Myrian and she found herself scanning the crowd again. "Your friend. Not with you. Where?" Kaie questioned with a furrowed brow, gesturing from Shiress's area of space to the crowd. Now of course she knew well enough none of these other people were her problem. No, not at all. In fact if every patron beat each other dumb with their fists, Kaie wouldn't have complained. Might've even cheered them on if she was in the mood for it. Yet she felt as if she couldn't quite shake the feeling she was responsible for ensuring the barmaid's friend had escaped to safety as well. Kaie had initially seen the brunette aid Shiress in her escape. Well she at least attempted to anyways. Risking her own neck against the barrage of fists and makeshift weapons to get the barmaid out alright. Goddess only knows what kinds of personalities were in the center of that brawl. She knew enough about the vast numbers of creeps would found their way off the streets and into the pub on warm nights like these. Wouldn't it be wrong if Kaie didn't at least look to see if she got out alright?

[Fallon]

Fallon took her opening with much haste. The drunken man that she had just managed to pull back a punch when the squire took the opportunity to duck underneath it and behind him. This was no training after all, this was the real thing. Her feet snapped together as she weaved between people, her focus set on making her way through the sea of bodies to the door. She needed to get out. And upon getting out she would sound the alarm to the knights, and hopefully they would take action against the chaos that had broken loose.

Syliras was a city that strived on keeping peace. She was one person. A squire. She could not deal with all of this by herself.

Pushing her way through, the squire took a stumble as she dove threw chaos. Her arms were raised around her head, her body hunching in as she swayed with the fighting. Fists flew, legs kicked, mugs cracked, tables groaned. For a moment of safety the squire threw herself towards the floor, and among the legs and table. She crawled on her arms, disappearing from sight behind the people, and then rolling under a table that had yet to be tipped over. It shook violently as a man caught up in the fight landed heavy upon it, before he was ripped away. Her eyes darted once more to the exit. Past the feet and bodies that were in the way, Fallon laid eyes upon the distant door. Her point of exit, her escape.

Her hand patted her back, the fingers reaching up to touch the scabbard and the Kukri that still rested there in place. There was a sigh of relief, and bringing herself up into a crouch she begun to think upon the next stage of the plan. Leaping out, Fallon darted through a gap, her left arm brought across her to serve as a point to barge upon. Feet dug in as she, pushed her way through feet tripping as she was pushed through the crowd. She met the bar, her back slamming against it as she arched across it. A wild punch came in her direction, knocking her off her target into a dizzied blur.

Arms planted themselves against the bar as she leaned back across it. Her leg recoiled back, knee bending up into her chest and without a second thought she gave the owner of the stray punch a firm solid kick. Space was made, and the squire wasted little time in clambering over the bar and into the safety behind it.
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