A Knife in the Dark [Nyahna, Damselian]

[Gravon]

Without focusing his eyes towards the two strangers, the Isurian glanced through the side of his vision to notice Sasin motion his arm towards his waist. It was a familiar gesture from cautious men like himself, which at the same time caused Gravon naturally to tense up as he shifted slightly in his seat to sit a bit farther from the bar, putting one foot on the ground, while the other rested on a stool limb. When he finally turned to look towards them all, he caught the brief glance from his brother. His own eyes replied with harder look that spoke of caution, a common gaze from the introverted Isurian. He had also stopped drinking, leaving it half full.

After listening to his brother's continued goal of befriending the sullen stranger, he found himself shaking his head. Cordial, but annoyingly tenacious, he thought.

[Nyahna Sasin]

For the briefest moment, his fingers gripped the hilt of his dagger. Then he relaxed, and shifted in his seat to be more comfortable. Glancing first at Rhuryc, then at Damselian, he noted that the tension between the two seemed to be very one sided. Glancing at the Isurian, he made a mental note to keep an eye on him, as he seemed to be the one most suspicious of him.

He turned to watch the exchange between the Akalak and the Human. Rhuryc seemed very moody, and was obviously disliking the conversation more and more. With the sword strapped to his leg, he did not seem like someone who anyone should piss off. Still, the Akalak was doing it.

"Why don't you go sulk in the library if you want peace and quiet? We're in a bar, you rotten mutt. What d'you expect?"

He raised an eyebrow slightly, once again prepared to leap out of the way. There were probably a dozen ways to defuse this situation. What had actually happened was probably going to make it worse.

[Rhuryc]

You rotten mutt? Too far. Rhuryc was not one to lose his cool. He often puzzled through a situation with logic, remaining clam and collected under almost any scenario. Even in the face of certain death the man felt an ease uncommon in his race, but like his fellow man, alcohol had a way of screwing things up. Inhibitions were handy. They were what made him so honorable. It was the layer above his instincts that he applied to his impulses, that thick sheen of steel that kept him from indulging in the wiles of passion and idiocy. Without that one, all-encompassing protection Rhuryc was no more than a set of muscles with a penchant for pain and a practiced strike. Damselian did not get much farther than the insult.

Though Rhuryc did not go right for his blade, the violence was evident as he turned. He did not brandish his blade or take up his mug, he did not even move for the stool. No. His approach was personal. With a start of motion, Rhuryc twisted and a single fist came around from his right side, the knuckle of which made for a clear and pleasant reminder that he did not want to talk. Albeit he was seated with the attack, that did not serve to make any less dangerous. Or powerful.

[Damselian]

Alcohol did have a way of screwing things up. Things like good manners, tact, physical coordination, subtlety. Dams could see the expression on Rhuryc's face growing more livid with each word he spoke. By the time Rhuryc decided to strike, it was pretty obvious what the blonde swordsman was going for. It was difficult to be subtle under the influence of alcohol, and the brawler telegraphed his intentions long before he swung. The Akalak had noticed long ago that Rhuryc was not the type of guy to screw with. He looked dangerous, the type of man that needed to be pacified immediately, before a fight could erupt. Aware that it would be risky to have a slug match with the warrior, Dams instead opted for an unconventional technique, something that would hopefully catch him by surprise. It was a maneuver he had learned at the Tuvya Sasaran, an obscure gem of the Akalak martal arts. As Rhuryc swung at him, Damselian rose quickly and abruptly from his stool. His arms moved in unison with his step, left hand reaching in an attempt to contact Rhuryc's shirt and catch the fabric just above his elbow. His right hand would attempt to palm Rhuryc's opposite shoulder, while the Akalak stepped in as close to his opponent as possible. Standing would serve to dampen the effectiveness of his blow by taking it to the chest instead of the face. Because he would be closer to Rhuryc, it would also prevent him from using his full strength. His fist would slam into Damselian's powerful chest at about half of his arm's full extension, elbow still bent at maybe 70 or 80 degrees. As most of the force in a punch was generated near the end of extension, arm held straight, this would weaken the strike significantly. As soon as his hands made contact, just a moment after the fist struck his chest, Dams would attempt his counter-attack. He had to improvise a bit, modifying the technique because of the fact that they were seated at a bar. But, he briefly considered, it might even be more effective with a bar stool. His right foot shot forwards, heel catching on one of the stool legs and shoving it quite hard. At the same time, he attempted a two-point push-pull technique on Rhuryc's upper body to work in tandem with the sweep. His left, near Rhuryc's elbow, would try and pull the swordsman's arm back and away from him toward the left side. His right hand would attempt to shove Rhuryc hard with the palm on his shoulder. In combination the three point maneuver, known as the large outer reap*, was very effective in brawls. His drunken adversary would hopefully be caught off guard by the bold and calculated maneuver, and be thrown to the ground with tremendous force. Dams would quickly capitalize on the situation by attempting to jump on top of him, straddling his chest with a knee on either side. Ground and pound was one of his favorite techniques, one that had gotten him in quite a bit of trouble at the Sasaran. It was brutally effective, reducing even the most skilled warriors to a bloody pulp. He wouldn't attack just yet, however, giving Rhuryc the opportunity to surrender and agree to a truce. (*known as Osoto Gari in Judo, the art of origin.)

[Rhuryc]

Rhuryc was drunk. But he was not that drunk. He was not stumbling and his vision was still clear; his mind even worked in all the proper manners, perhaps except for the singular exception of lacking restrain. So when his initial assault floundered it only served to draw the conflict deeper. Before he had no more desire than to just hit the Akalak and continue drinking, but the fact that his new-found opponent possessed a degree of skill was unexpected. And it annoyed him. Greatly. Of all the nights this one, of course, had to erupt into a heinous act of idiocy. Of all the nights. A glinting fire burned in Rhuryc's eyes as Damselian came upon him and the man was up in a flash. He felt a palm on his shoulder and a hand scuffed against the thick leather of his coat (his tunic was only partially exposed around the chest). What the hell was the Akalak doing? No doubt it was some queer martial, more of that flipping and hand tossing that Rhuryc had came to detest with most of his being.

He knew how to solve that problem.

As Damselian's foot removed the stool Rhuryc was on his feet. He did not wait to be over taken or out done. His left arm did not respond to commands, locked in place as it was by the Akalak, but the push to his shoulder did nothing. Rhuryc did not even budge. With his body saved from the attempted knock-down and following straddle, the man was quick to provide a counter of his own, unsure of just what his opponent had intended. No matter. They were close, damn near next to each other. Without a single moment of hesitation - after the push came - the man retaliated. He did not step away, but instead he reared his head back and shot it forward his forehead used as a temporary weapon against the Akalak's face. Dam's additional height - albeit the difference was not much - made for the perfect target. The head-butt was followed swiftly by Rhuryc's right arm, the one he still had control on, as his hand balled into a fist and was sent with a reckless strike into Dam's left side.

The Akalak would find no lack of power or ability on the part of Rhuryc. The adrenaline soared through his veins like a ferocious flame.

[Nyahna Sasin]

Glancing from the human to the akalak, Sasin could almost see the tension in the air. He kept his eye on Rhuryc, knowing that if anything was to start, it would be with him. He was almost certain that there would be some thing happening. He tensed up again, ready to escape if needed.

He knew it. He knew this would be an interesting day. Eventually. He reacted quickly to Rhuryc's first strike against the Akalak, and even before the punch landed, he was on his feet, standing by the table, watching them.

He saw the boy, Seth run to the back. Going to warn his father, more likely than not. Ugh. He had no desire to be kicked out of the tavern, and he knew for a fact that the Brewmaster was a former knight.

Something was going to have to be done. Fast. If Gravon wasn't going to move, he was. Watching the two of them, it was obvious that Damselian was going easy. Rhuryc was the one out of control, the one that needed to be dealt with.

[Damselian]

[OoC: By no means a big deal, just wanted to note. Dams isn't taller. Dams and Rhuryc are actually the exact same height AND weight. Both men are 6'4 220. I noticed that last night on our sheets, funny coincidence eh?]

Rhuryc stood up at absolutely the perfect moment, ass rising from his seat fractions of a second before the stool was kicked out from under him. Deus ex machina, or skills? He couldn't be sure. The push came just after Rhuryc rose to his feet, an instant too late to catch him off guard. With his footing secure, Rhuryc was a formidable wall of a man, much too strong to simply push over. Damselian cursed inaudibly under his breath, noting mentally that the shit was about to hit the proverbial fan. He had just one last opportunity to salvage the situation. If his technique failed again, Dams could be brutalized, kicked out of the tavern, and even thrown in jail. He didn't waste even a single second, beginning to step again as Rhuryc's head visibly withdrew for the headbutt. As Rhuryc's head swung forward, Dams completed a step toward the swordsman's right side. The warrior's forehead slammed against his shoulder, well off it's mark now that he had moved. He could feel a great stinging pain in his collar bone from the tremendous force of Rhuryc's strike. He could tell from his opponent's strength that he didn't want to take many hits from the swordsman. Thusfar he had minimized the damage, but a direct hit could potentially demolish him. The purpose of Dams' step forward was threefold. First of all, it would keep him in the fight by directing the headbutt to his shoulder instead of his face. What could have been a very devastating strike would instead cause only moderate pain. Secondly, it positioned Dams to sweep out Rhuryc's leg much more easily and efficiently. Third and most importantly, because Dams would be holding onto Rhuryc and pulling him backwards, all of Rhuryc's weight would have to be charged on his back leg in order for him to keep his balance. Most, but not all victims, generally slide their leg back in order to improve stability, playing right into the technique. Just after the head butt, Dams would go for the sweep again. His right foot lifted off the ground and attempted to hook behind Rhuryc's kneecap. Just like last time, all three motions would work in unison. Dams would sweep the leg, push the shoulder, and pull the arm all at once. After the outer reap, Dams' game plan was basically the same as before. He would leap on top of Rhuryc and pin him. He would stay his hand for the moment, wanting Rhuryc to tap out and call for a cease-fire rather than face the much dreaded ground'n'pound.

[Dusk]

There weren't very many who heard the initial exchange who were surprised when the fight began. The Akalak seemed determined to annoy the rather drunk fellow sitting at the bar, and the drunkard seemed determined to be annoyed. When a round of blows were exchanged, several of the patrons did as Sasin did and backed away.

But this was the Rearing Stallion - a tavern run by an ex-Knight and populated by many of the Knights on their time off. The combatants only got one round of blows in before the law of Syliras jumped into the fray.

While the men were distracted with each other, several people stepped back as another Akalak slid to his feet, towering over the mostly human population of the inn. He was at least a foot taller than either of the fighters and, unlike Damselian, his skin was a deep emerald instead of the usual cobalt. He wore rather simple brown leather pants and a linen shirt, a pair of Lakan untouched in their sheaths - but more intimidating than his weapons were the three silver swords pinned to his collar.

Damselian pulled off his leg sweep this time as Rhuryc tried to back away and got tangled in one of the bar stools. Rhuryc hit the floor hard, landing half-atop the stool and shattering one of the legs, though he managed to keep from hitting his head on the floor.

Before Dam could pounce on top of him, a thickly muscled green arm looped around his neck and squeezed hard enough that his air was cut off for a moment and his feet nearly lifted off the floor. "Calm down, little brother," a deep voice rumbled in his ear, "or else you'll find your head abruptly facing the wrong way." Once he got the message, the grip around his throat eased off enough to let him breath, but he still held him fast.

At the same time, Rhuryc would find himself caught just as neatly, a small hard-soled boot planted just hard enough on his throat to let him know that if he moved, he'd be breathing through his neck instead of his nose. As if to accentuate the point, the razored head of a half-spear appeared just beneath his left eye. If he looked up the length of its intricately carved shaft, he'd find a small, startlingly-young blond girl frowning down at him with an odd look of curiosity and annoyance. Unlike any of the others who responded, she was in the obvious chain-and-plate uniform of the Syliran Knights; she, too, had three swords pinned to her tunic.

Three others made their way through the crowd, two of them standing behind Gravon in case he got any ideas, and another at Sasin's side - though that one didn't look quite so disdainfully at him since he had had the sense to immediately back away from the fight.

The woman sighed through her nose as she stared down at Rhuyrc with blue eyes too old for her face, and the other Knights waited for her to decide what to do. "Well," she said softly, a child's voice echoing across the sudden silence of the inn. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

[Rhuryc]

Whoops. That was stool. Rhuryc went down. And he went down hard. As always, his old wounds acted up at the additional of a new bruise, a fantastic reminder on his back-side that brawling in Syliras never ended well for any participant. He did not even realize the Knights were there at first, so concerned was he with his current state of being. Indeed, now on his back, Rhuryc had all-but forgotten the conflict with his Akalak companion and instead focused his attentions on the ceiling above. Strange. The man could not remember the last time he looked at the solid application of architecture. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought. Yet that was the least of his problems.

The greatest was a boot. Not a friendly, soft shoe, no, this boot was of a harder caliber and it made for one hell of an arrival. Pinned, the man made no effort to struggle. He instead glanced upon his conquerer with a half-bemused gaze, his expression one of deep contemplation and observation. Was she a child? Her foot did not feel like a child. No, she was a Knight, a high-ranked one, but still a girl. Blond hair, wide eyes, she had a stare that bespoke of experience, one that had seen its fair share of death. For a moment Rhuryc considered fighting back. He could grab her leg and twist it, no doubt that would give him a temporary upper hand. And the rest of the knights? Why, he had a sword; he could overpower four! Five. Ten? How many were there? Maybe he would save his strength. Sure.

His ears twitched at the voice. Young. In return he grunted and weaseled his neck away from the crushing strength of his assailant. With his wind pipe freed he spoke. "Tyveth be praised." He started, his own voice hoarse and wracked with a drunken stupor. "The Knights have come to save us." In retrospect, Rhuryc could have chosen better words. Should have. Hindsight was a bitch.

[Damselian]

He rounded on his fallen opponent, ready to leap atop Rhuryc and hold him down. He bent his knees, preparing to spring. He audibly choked in surprised as a bright green arm closed around his neck with an irresistible grip. Damselian loosened his whole body, going limp on his feet. He didn't want to give the powerful man behind him any indication that he was going to struggle. He could tell that there was a fellow Akalak behind him, it would verge on suicide to fight back in such a vulnerable position. One of his brethren would surely snap his neck in a second, there could be no victory here. "Calm down, little brother, or else you'll find your head abruptly facing the wrong way." Dams nodded slowly, and quietly cleared his throat. He was acutely aware of the fact that being loud and ruckus in the presence of the knights would be extremely unwise. When he spoke, his voice was considerably tamer than before, brought to a lower, quieter tone in order to convey a sense of calm. His eyes drifted from one knight to the next, examining the formidable circle of warriors that seemed to materialize from thin air around them. They showed up much quicker than he expected. He had heard that law and order was of prime concern in Syliras, but he never imagined he would get himself in trouble on his very first night in town. Strangely, the youngest and most diminutive member of the team seemed to be the commanding officer. She was a pretty girl, with blonde hair past her shoulders and thick, sensual lips. He didn't estimate her to be any older than 18, but appearances were prone to lie. Finally, she sighed and broke the silence, "Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?" "Tyveth be praised. The knights have come to save us." the drunkard stated, prompting a quirked brow from Damselian. Shaking his head, he spoke again, his voice firm but calm. "I didn't come here looking for a fight. This is my first night in Syliras. I came here with my brother to meet some of the locals and have a good time. I show up here and this man starts giving me a brutal attitude. Still, I didn't want a fight. He took a swing at me, and I fought back. Am I to take a beating with hands tied? I wasn't going to hurt the man here, I wanted to hold him down until he was done feeling violent. Now, I apologize to you, because I never meant to start trouble in your city. If I was too friendly, that was my mistake. But please, I implore you not to throw the three of us in jail." he gestured to Gravon and Nyahna. "It was an honest mistake, I didn't mean anyone harm. If I need to apologize to the innkeeper as well, I'd be glad to do so. This gentleman.." he pointed towards Rhuryc. "Well.." he paused, choosing his words carefully "Of course it's your judgement, but I don't think he meant any harm either. He just needs a night in the drunk tank, some rest and relaxation will clear his mind. He does seem quite befuddled at the moment though..." he looked down thoughtfully at the man lying on his back, assessing his condition. A few moments after he finished speaking, Damselian turned his silver orbs up to the leader of the knights. He looked into the young woman's eyes, trying to perceive what she might be thinking. Up until now her gaze had been stony and imperceptible, but he tried anyway to judge what decision she might be coming to.