Flirting with the Dark side.

[pretty-little-red]

Ooc: Open unless no one takes interest in it than it will become a solo.

---

The streets were busy today leaving little to no space to maneuver around the bodies, shops and streets. The climate was warmer than usual leaving a light Spring-ish breeze to sweep across the city. The sky above was clear with a few clouds gliding across the vast pool of the light blue. Today would have been a lovely day to be with ones family; if you had one. As the community of people hustled and bustled up and down the streets, bumping into one another, exchanging pleasantries, shopping or what not.

I made my way down the clustered street minding my own business, deep in my own thoughts. I am still not any closer to finding out who I am.. Damn it why is it so hard to figure out who I truly am! My thoughts were bitter as I mentally scolded myself, making my sweet innocent features turn into a scowl. The twisted facial expression looked foreign on such a pure looking face, I only know that because a few townspeople looked at me slightly weird. Not caring I shoved my fiery, wild mane over into a deep part to the left side. This caused the curly locks to cascade down in layers framing my freckled face. I knew that I looked innocent for the simple fact that I was small framed, a few delicate feminine curves here and there. Creamy completion splattered with freckles added to my innocent façade, slightly large doe like eyes that sparkled a hauntingly beautiful blue. To make it even better I have a "cute" button nose to make me look much younger than I think I am. The only thing that was womanly on me was my slightly full lips.

A strain of unlady like curse words few from my lips in Gaelic earning me a few more uneasy stare which only deepened my scowl. A huff came from me as I tried to shove past the crowd only to be smooshed in between a sea of bodies. My short fuse was fading quickly as I couldn't help it, I hate when people touch me and there were one to many body parts where they shouldn't be. A squeak left my lips as I felt a hand on my small yet round rump.

"Hey!"

I shouted at no one in particular because I had no idea who the hell did it. I had no idea where I was going and even if I had there was no way on God's green Earth that I was going to be able to fight this current of bodies. All but diving into a side street I could finally move freely allowing me to breathe with ease. My small five foot four inches of body stood slightly slumped from the work out it was just to walk in the blustering streets. Not wasting any time I moved deeper into the ally way humming slightly to myself. The sound of the city slowly starting to fade as I found myself in the more abandon area of Corone. The streets riddled with trash and rubble, tripping slightly on a rather large rock. "Dang it!!" My voice rang out in the emptiness around me.

A shiver ripped through my body as I was starting to feel uneasy, pushing forwards I only turned another to be pinned against a building. "Hey what is the big idea there Lurch?" My voice dripped with venom and a mixture of annoyance, though my air way was being pressed against I still was able to glare at the person. As if the shadows melted away from the figure revealed a man, his face looked gruff in a way. His stubble slowly growing into a beard, he had a scar above his left eyebrow that seemed to have been a deep lash once. He chuckled his strong features showing anything but amusement. "What is a young thing like you doing out in these parts?"

"Visiting my granny Mr. she is real sick!" I gave him an innocent look batting my eyelashes at him, his face twisted with confusion on how I had switched my demeanor. His hand slowly fell to his side, taking this advantage I headed butted him, cracking his nose as blood leaked out and he howled in pain. My poor skull raddled as I groaned rubbing the spot where his nose met my head. "Good God! That looked so much easier in the bar fights I saw last week!" The man was too busy calling me names and bent over holding his bloody nose to see me take of sprinting.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I chanted as I hopscotched across the unsteady rubble under my feet, turning left and right turns as quickly as I could. The rogue man seemed to have rounded up some friends by the sound of the search party that was now looking for me. I found a building that looked half decent jumping through one of the broken window. I ran into what looked like a storage closet leaving the door ajar to see if any one was coming. I looked for an escape route just in case. It looked like a run down tavern, a few tables broken others over turn. The stairs leading to up to the rooms looked dingy and the railing missing.

"Come on check in here for that little bitch!"

Placing a hand over my mouth to cover up the sound of my heavy breathing I waited to see if my fate was sealed yet. So this is what happens when you flirt with the dark side.. I thought bitterly though a little part of me found this all exciting and thrilling that was until the door to the room I was hiding in flew open. "Hello there poppet." The pit in my stomach grew tighter as I waved at the now group of males, "hey.. guys.."

[The Phoenix]

Elisdrasil floated through the webs of fate, allowing the threads the gently and briefly caress him as he passed. Often his meditations were focused on a specific place or event, some critical moment where his presence would make a difference in tipping the scales of Althanas’ future towards the light. But that wasn’t the case today. Today he simply meditated free-form, allowing the future to pass through him at will. It had been far too long since his last vision, since he had last had a solid glimpse of where he should be and what he should be doing.

And then the shouting started.

Startled from his reverie, Elisdrasil jerked himself back to full awareness of his surroundings. Before he could really even think about it he was on his feet with his naked blade at hand. The steel of his curve blade caught the dim light that weaseled through the warped window. Three days had passed since he’d taken residence in the old ruined tavern, and he had planned on staying here for quite a while more before someone with the authority found him and came to run him out. Three days, that was a record for the local authorities. But as he re-centered himself in the present, Elisdrasil realized that the authorities were most definitely not who had come smashing into the building.

There were four men, Elisdrasil saw from his vantage point in the inn’s back room. They looked like rough men and the young woman that they had backed into a closet told the Raieran that their intentions were less than noble. From his time spent here, wandering the back streets and living in the slums, Elisdrasil knew that most of this quarter’s inhabitants wouldn’t lift a finger to aid the young woman. Fortunately for her, Elisdrasil was not a local.

Sighing, he slid his sword back into its sheath and instead grabbed a heavy walking stick which he kept near to hand. While they may be horrible people, Elisdrasil doubted that they deserved to be simply slain out of hand. Pulling his cloak tightly about him, the Raieran slipped out of the back room.

He moved silently though the broken furniture and rubble which lay strewn about the common room. The speed and grace with which he moved giving away his inhuman nature. Within two seconds he had slipped up behind the back man, thanking fate that their attention was locked firmly on the young woman who had drawn them here. Elisdrasil tried to meet her eyes and give her a reassuring look as he moved up, but he wasn’t sure just how attentive she would be in the face of her aggressors.

The walking stick came up silently, with one of Elisdrasil’s slender hands on either end. In a single swift motion he put the stick over the man’s head and pulled it tight up under his chin. Then with a set of his hip and a twist, Elisdrasil pulled the man straight off his feet and slammed him hard into a smashed table. The man fell with a hard grunt, accompanied by a loud snap as something under him gave out. He shuddered once but then fell still, his chest rising and falling in a happily unconscious rhythm.

Elisdrasil skipped back from the remaining three men. He noted with satisfaction that their attention was no longer locked on the young woman in the cabinet.

“Leave,” Elisdrasil barked in a low threatening tone. “Leave now.”

[pretty-little-red]

Yanked out of the storage closet by one of the brutes I fell to my hands and knees, hissing in pain. "Thanks for the help!" I gritted my teeth standing up and brushing myself off. Glaring at the group of mongrels as if that was going to help this little predicament I got myself in. Pursing my lips slightly as I looked for the exit I had been looking before. "Listen you little brat! I was only gonna rob you but now I think I will skin you alive! Maybe let my friend Rupert here have his way with you first!" Thrusting his thumb over to a large man that looked like he hadn't taken a shower in months. My stomach flipped threatening to empty the breakfast I had had this morning. The look of disgust on my face must have been apparent seeming as how it made the large sack of meat that was Rupert grin a toothy smile. Placing a hand over my mouth to repress the bile that was slowly rising in my throat. Shaking my head causing my curls to jump and swing before I took a small step back which encouraged them to take a step closer.

"Before I decide what to do with you, what exactly is a kid doing here? Spy, bounty hunter or just wrong place wrong time?"

He is taunting me, that no good filthy bastard! "Hey! I am not a kid! I don't think a child would dress like I am!" I pointed to my attire, though it was nothing flashy I feel like it would get my point across. I wore a simple pair of white skinny jeans that now had dirt on them, a deep royal purple sweat heart cut shirt. My shoes were simple black combat boots that looked a little worn out. Okay so maybe a teen would wear this but hey it was the only thing I was able to lift from someone's clothes that were hanging dry. The group cackled at me causing me to glare at them which only made them laugh more.

"Listen Lurch I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, you can't blame a girl for trying to resist being mugged.."

I offered him a shy smile but only to be interrupted when a voice seemed to boom across the room. "leave, leave now." The room got slightly quiet as my heart sunk; looking at the man that had taken one of the thugs without any one noticing. I bit down on my lower lip shaking my head, "gladly!" I tried to walk only for my hair to be pulled which led to me to yelping in pain. My hand shooting to the person's that held my fiery locks firmly. "You aren't going any where little red!" The man that I had named Lurch for his lengthy appearance held on to my hair tightly.

"Listen I don't know what you want but if you could help me out by letting go of my hair!" I stomped down on his foot which made him shout in pain, he released my hair as I tried to run only for my legs to get tangled up. Falling to the floor with a thud I looked at my legs to find I had twisted my ankle. Looking at the mysterious man, my large doe like eyes pleading him to help me in some way. I hope I am not trading a pack of psycho paths for another one.. Than just like that all hell seemed to break loose in front of me. Oh Goddess please let me make it out alive...

[Mixed-blood]

Three days.

Three long sleepless days:
Three sunrises and sunsets full of interrogations, investigations, and sifting through clues from signs and hearsay; this long tri-rotation of a globe that had blended into one leading him to this spot, in this place, at this moment in time.

He was here for a man, just one man.

This sometimes horse thief, now and then card shark, occasional cat burglar, purse snatcher, and bandit, was currently running with a fellow by the name of Marcus clayton, along with a trio formally known as the Brimstone Boys. What they were calling themselves now, the mutt named Lothar had no idea, as everyone that he had questioned had given a different name to the trio. Not that it truly mattered. He had found them, or rather one of them, who even now were leading him to his target.

That meant that there would be five of them in that room, with a female, not the best odds he’d ever faced, but far from the worst.

There had been a crash before Gorge ‘the hillock’ Grosser past through the aperture that had been at one time a door, meaning that one of the four, going on five, men in the establishment was hurt, as the sound was to distinct to have been the lass.

He moved in with all the care of a leopard stalking his evening meal, with all the silence of a graveside ghost.

The dismal dilapidated structure had been a tavern once. Erica’s Eatery was what it was called in its glory days, but like the aged proprietress for whom the eatery had been named, the place was a desiccated husk, a broken wreck of what had once been a picturesque establishment.

The speed and stealthyness of his entrance gave one the impression, if they happened to be glancing his way when he entered – and most of the room’s occupants were not – that he simply appeared there, like some sort of otherworldly guardian spirit come to the woman’s aid.

One of the Brimstone Boys was indeed down, a result of a cane wielding man, whose identity was unknown. His presence, and the ineffectualness of one of the opposing groups members, even the odds a little. Both George and his cousin Rupert were letting their flexed muscles do all the talking. Trying to let the rippling mounds of bundled sinew force the man, no, elf, to back down.

It wouldn’t work.

Anyone with half a brain would have known that from the get go. Lucky for him neither human had much brains. That was clear from their current intimidation tactics for one thing, and the fact that they were both standing with their backs to an open door.

The crack of the oaken butt end of his crossbow into the back of George’s thick skull was the only enouncement he gave to his presence.

“Get those hands away from those pig stickers now, or someone’s going to get a bolt through him.”

Lothars crossbow danced from target to target, his finger ready to press the trigger that would send one of three steel bolts somebody’s way. His face could have been carved from granite for all the hardness it radiated, and a salvarian blizzard was mirrored in his eyes.

“Lucas Bitterwood, you stand accused of crimes against the people, you can either come with me quietly, or I can put a bolt in your thigh and drag your stinking hide screaming back to judge Fergus for trial, what is it going to be?”

[The Phoenix]

Elisdrasil watched the hostility shift from the woman to himself with a hint of satisfaction. The two thugs nearest him were obvious followers of the pack alpha, and would follow their leader’s chosen course of action without hesitation. If he ordered them to attack, they would do so rabidly, like trained dogs. But if Elisdrasil was able to cow the man, to convince him that continuing with his assault would be a poor idea, then this whole ordeal could possibly be solved without further bloodshed.

And then the half-breed entered into the picture and knocked one of them to the ground.

All eyes snapped around to the bounty hunter and Elisdrasil cursed. He had just wanted a nice, quiet, out of the way place to meditate. And now he was stuck in a three way stand-off with a bunch of violence minded ruffians, a crossbow wielding enforcer, and a slip of a girl. Fates be kind, this was just not his day.

“I’d listen to the half-breed, human,” Elisradil said. “I guarantee you this won’t end kindly if you don’t.”

“Except you ain’t as smart as you think,” the leader sneered. “Cause you don’t know that Georgie there had a head like a rock.” And then the room exploded into motion as George rose with a roar, hurling a broken piece of furniture at the elf even as he charged.

The other thug lunged at Elisdrasil, who ducked deftly aside at the last moment. Elisdrasil’s tattered cloak fell away from him as he dodged, bringing his Raieran features sharply into view. Frowning, Elisdrasil slipped away from another brutish swing. He was biding his time, allowing his quickly reflexes and combat familiarity do most of the work for him.

“Quit’cher jumpin’ bout,” the thug bellowed, taking another swing at Elisdrasil as if he expected the Raieran to simply comply and allow himself to be pummeled. Instead, Elisdrasil reversed his motion and, with a quick dart, smacked his cane into the side of the man’s knee. A loud snap could be heard as both the cane and the man’s knee snapped. Howling, now with pain, the thug went down. Dust filled the air as his heavy frame crashed into another pile of trashed tables. And then Elisdrasil silenced the man by slamming the broken haft of his cane into the man’s gut, driving the breath from him.

Could this day possibly get any worse? Elisdrasil thought.

[pretty-little-red]

Great another psycho path joining the group, I am up shit creek with out an oar...

As the fighting unfolded I watched so much blood spill my stomach flipped as the bile started to rise. Folding over I up chucked all the contents in my tummy as I whimpered. Wiping my hand across my mouth I didn't even have time to collect myself before I was picked up and slung over the big sack of meat for a man's shoulder. "Put me down you big behemoth!!!" I clawed and kicked as he shoved his way towards the door, a low laugh rumbled in his chest. "Listen pretty little red, after I have my way with you I am going to sell you in the slave market for a pretty penny." He dropped me so I was in front of him as his nasty, grimy hand caressed my cheek. Shivering in disgust I tried to back away but he wrapped a large beefy arm around my petite frame. Pushing against his chest, I was too close for comfort. I could smell the thick scent of old stale ale, body odor and unbrushed teeth made my stomach turn again. "I am gonna puke.." I warned him but it only seemed to encourage him more as he squeezed me closer.

A frown dropped onto my slightly full lips as I thrashed my head left to right to avoid his on coming lips. Oh Goddess please help me!! Tears filled my eyes as I whimpered loudly, all the shouting grew louder along with the fighting. His wet nasty tongue slide up the length of my face leaving a nasty trail of saliva in its wake. Panic clouded my mind as he seemed intent on having his way right here with me. Tears stung my crystal blue orbs blurring my vision as my lower lip quivered. "I- I am going to kill you.." Rupert laughed letting his hand slip from my waist as I stumbled back into a wall. Looking around for any thing to defend myself I picked up a large looking splinter of wood. The tip semi sharp, holding the point towards his belly with a shaking hand. He didn't seem to mind the wood that was pointed directly at his gut. Stalking me as if I was some helpless lamb he sauntered up, his demeanor all but screamed he was enjoying this. Another whimper threatened to come out only to be hitched in my throat.

"St- stay back!!"

"Now, now little red, I just want to play is all."

Shaking my head he swatted the piece of wood to the side as he slide in closer to me. Panicking I did the only thing my mind allowed me to do. Screaming bloody murder simply because my life depended on it. Taking the wood firmly in hand I jabbed it straight into his neck, the look of shock and disbelief crossed both of our faces. Than all the blood came, he sputtered chocking on it as he stumbled backwards. Coughing the warm crimson liquid sprayed my face like the harbor mist causing me to tremble. The gargling sound he made as he choked on his own blood only made it the more realistic. Finally falling over he hit the floor with a loud thud causing some to look my way. Looking down at my trembling hands were now covered in red, my face sprayed as well. I probably looked like something out of slasher film as I gulped air down trying to force myself to breathe. I could only utter a few words,

"I- I killed him.."

[Mixed-blood]

there’s something to be said for expected outcomes

He had known that George wasn’t out cold; his grown as he hit the floor had told him as much. He knew that the oversized hulk of flesh wasn’t comatose by the way his shoulder muscles had twitched as his boss started talking. He expected the enforcer would do something stupid the moment he started to move. In fact, the only way the group of humans could have truly surprised him was if they all had just surrendered and turned themselves over to him to receive just trial and punishment.

They hadn’t surprised him.

And they certainly hadn’t done something unexpected.

As casually as though Lothar was out for a morning stroll he side stepped the incoming missile, which sailed harmlessly out the open door, and with equal indifference put a bolt through the meaty portion of Lucas Bitterwoods thigh, just as promised.

Lucas promptly started to scream more loudly than a human infant, definitely more loudly than the human lass had done so far, as he unceremoniously dropped like a sack of bricks.

one

George was almost on him by this point, a stupid manic grin painted on his face, a little drool sliding its way through his ill-kempt curly fire hazard of a beard. The stench that preceded him would make Scara Brae forest bore smells clean by comparison. Both of George’s arms shot out, either to smash into the dark elf, or to grasp him, Lothar, and the room at large, would never find out. With the same speed the dark elf had used to dodge the initial attack, he had his crossbow slung and had dropped onto the floor, his open gloved hands easily absorbing the impact.

“You’re just gonna make it easy to…”

Whatever quip George ‘heavy hands’ Anthrows, AKA the hands, AKA first of the Brimstones, was going to make was abruptly cut short, as Lothar’s legs slipped round his right calf and promptly used his positions better leverage to send the larger, stronger human, face first into the door frame.

The sound that the man’s face made as it crashed into the wood, and the sound of his nose breaking was strangely satisfying to Lothar. He couldn’t say why, but it was.

Pushing off with his hands, lothar hopped back up to his feet just in time to see Rupert go down under the concerted efforts of the other elf, and saw that Matthew Brimstone lurching up from his previous prone position, knife in hand, to have a second go at the elf that had so soundly beaten him scant moments before Lothar’s arrival.

Apparently his previous beating, and the fact that the elf had just so easily incapacitated his older brother, who by all accounts was said to be a better fighter, hadn’t clued him in to the fact that he was sorely outclassed.

Lothar had no time to observe the following bout, however, as he only had time to glance Lucas’ way – to confirm that the man wasn’t about to become a concern, which he wasn’t, as he had only managed to crawl over to a wall by that juncture – before he had to once again turn his attention to the angry smelly bloodied mucus running mess that was Georg ‘I want to be a brute’ Anthrows. Who was coming at him with all the fury of a pained bull, if with less grace, knives in both of his hairy, pockmarked, big knuckled hands.

Now if anyone tells you size doesn’t mean anything in a knife fight, they either have never been in one, or never fought anyone taller than them.

The thought came unbidden as Lothar was forced to backpedal under the continued assaults of his human opponent. Even in his head Aden Arroborrows lazy drawl came through as clearly as if the man were right beside him. Of course if he had, the human would be dead by now.

For a few blinks after that all Lothar could do was keep the taller, stronger man’s knives from touching him, a task at which he mostly succeeded. A few got through his defenses, but only one managed to strike in an armored spot with enough strength to bight threw boiled leather and nick the flesh beneath. That ‘first blooding’ had been worth it though, as Lothar’s knee smashed into George’s gut hard enough to stagger the man for a breath, more than enough time to allow the mutt of an elf to go on the offensive.

Lothar’s right hand came up in a high arc, intercepting George’s second right hand forward jab before the stronger human could put full force behind it. The flat of Lothar’s blade forcing the offending weapon off target and locking the weapon up for a few seconds, as the knives handguards dueled for supremacy. George responded by swinging his left hand around, aiming to hook the blade into Lothars upper forearm, where his armor was the weakest, and thus likely immobilize the limb. If he could do that he could probably have ended the fight relatively quickly.

The explosion of movement that was the mixed-blood’s left hand intercept of the offending weapon, the strength of which was an outcome of back, shoulder, and arm muscles working in total harmony, denied that outcome.

The series of two quick upward stabs Lothar launched after that blocking action forced the larger man temporarily on the defensive, as he was forced to momentarily neglect the actions of his right hand in favor of blocking the thrust to his face and throat.

An action that played exactly into Lothar’s next move.

Never fight with two weapons, if you can only concentrate on one hand at a time.

The sudden smashing of Lothar’s iron toed boot into George’s ankle, and the roar of pain that it elicited, meant that the brutish human was utterly unprepared to the considerable downward force employed against his right hand weapon, curtisy of the combined efforts of Lothar’s sholder and arm muscles and the momentum of his turn – strong side facing his apponent – that Lothar had exacuted. The end result being that the offending armament went sailing across the room to plant itself in one of the many rotting planks that comprised the right most wall.

This action had seemingly raddled the big man, who, unsurprisingly, wasn’t used to fighting trained knife fighters.

George took a step backward, which was subsequently followed by a second, his left hand knife sailing from hand to hand, in a show of foolish bravado.

“You got skill kid, I’ll give you that…”

Once again Lothar didn’t give him time to finish, as the commotion over near the lass clued him in on what was going on.

The big man was going to block his boss’s escape with the lass.

unacceptable

He charged the larger man, who, unfortunately, had enough to time to prepare to meet the oncoming elf managed to block Lothar’s first right hand attack, and even managed to strike the elf hard with a left hand blow, the force of which nearly drove the wind from Lothar’s lungs, but in the end it didn’t save the man.

Before Gerge could retract his left arm, possibly for another blow to drive the air the rest of the way from Lothar’s lungs, the left hand blade of the elf of muddied heritage’s cut him in the wrist hard enough to lock up the implement, as it was well lodged into the bone. The roar of pain that George started to let loose like a thunderclap fell silent as Lothar’s other blade entered him, first in the abdominal and then in the lower thoracic area. The cuts were as brutal and as uncaring as a butcher slicing up a side of beef, as part of a daily chore.

The moment you knew you were dying, were being killed, all the composure would vacate and an individual would do anything in their power to stop that next blow from coming. There was no shame in survival when you were the one trying to survive.

Still in George’s world, in the world Lothar had to enter time and time again, George’s scramble, his wounded practically useless left arm trying to, knock Lothar away, his knife hand moving wildly hoping any cut he could land would repulse the next potentially mortal blow, was shameful; a thing to be ridiculed.

Perhaps the fact that his boss was occupied with the lass was a tiny bit of Thayne gifted mercy then.

It was undeserved.

Names, faces, things this man had done, past through Lothars mind like a hurricane.

Little Juley Kent, who this man had held near the family fire place, her face a burned wreck for five years afterwards.

The elder Kent beaten so badly that he could never eat solid food again.

Two more blows into the mid thoracic came, up under the ribs, quick blows, the knife only sliding in about four inches or so, but more than enough in the situation.

…Master and Mistress Alpine beaten to death….

The blows kept coming, the lass all but forgotten, as Lothar’s right arm worked methodically, seven, eight, nine...

George was letting out a shrill cry now, screaming for it to stop. His words falling on death ears.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...
The cries were now horse, hollow sounds as George allowed himself to fall and tried to crawl away, the blood beginning to thoroughly soak his clothes now. His voice sounded weak, tired, slurred like in a drunken state. A gurgling call for his mother, which went on for a count of three, before it stopped.

Only then did Lothar regain his senses to realize that the boss was down. Apparently at the hands of the lass. It was as ugly in a way as George’s death, if a lot slower. He was dyeing in inches do to the wood poking into his throat. With cold finality Lothar strode over and sunk his already right hand blade to the hilt in the leader’s eye socket, providing him with a much quicker death. He only removed the weapon after the man was clearly dead, as evident by the smell of his bowels releasing for one last time. The smell of urine joining the odors of vomit in the already mildly putrid stench of rotten wood and rat droppings.

His work here was almost done.

[The Phoenix]

By the time Elisdrasil took stock of what happened, two of the bandits were dead. The young woman seemed to be out of harm’s way at least, though it appeared that she had been the cause of one of the deaths. Not that Elisdrasil could blame her for defending herself. If he had to wager, he’d have guessed that the only person more shocked by action than the girl had been the thug leader himself.

“Guess he picked the wrong person to mess with,” he muttered, watching the body twitch one last time before settling to its final rest. At least the half-breed had been kind enough to put the man out of his misery. Elisdrasil knew that there was a time and place for killing, didn’t shirk away from it when it was necessary, but undue suffering was something to be avoided if at all possible. He then looked over to the ruination that had only moments before been another thug’s head. The half-breed didn’t seem to share all the same sentiments.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Elisdrasil said to the man. “The others are out and …” A sledgehammer blow slammed into his lower back, driving the wind from him and cutting his sentence off mid-way. The room spun in Elisdrasil’s vision as he was tossed across the room by the force of the blow. He landed in the door to the back room with a jarring bang, and winced as his shoulder connected violently with the door frame.

Damn the Fates, he thought, trying to steady himself long enough to see what had hit him. His vision focused back to normal just in time to see a heavy table leg come crashing down at his skull. Panicked, Elisdrasil jerked his head away, nearly braining himself on the doorway again. The table leg crashed to the floor hard enough to crack the wooden plank. If he’d only been a fraction of a second slower, he mused, it would be his head doing the cracking.

Elisdrasil lashed out with a kick. It was wild and unfocused, but at this range it was hard not to hit his attacker. He knew it wouldn’t do much but push the man back for a moment, but a moment to gather his wits was better than playing chicken with a two foot heavy oak table leg. Sure enough, his shin connected with something soft and Elisdrasil heard a grunt as his attacker staggered back. It was the first thug he’d dropped, back on his feet and freshly pissed off.

Stupid, Elisdrasil cursed himself as he shimmied away from the attack, using the stubbornly hard doorframe as leverage. Should have checked him. Stupid mistake. Stupid. The mental cursing stopped as the thug came forward again, a little more wary this time.

Elisdrasil twisted to avoid the table leg, only to receive a kick of his own from the man. It was his turn to grunt in pain as something in his chest popped and he knew that he was done for if things kept up this way. The table leg raised for another strike when Elisdrasil’s flailing hand met the scabbard of his curve blade on the floor. He’d left the sword tucked just inside the door when the thugs had appeared, thinking he wouldn’t have to need lethal force against them, but things don’t always happen as one foresees.

Funny notion for a seer, he thought as he slammed the scabbard between the oncoming club and his head. The thug went rigid for a second, surprised by the weapon’s sudden appearance and that was all that the Raiaeran to whip the curve blade from its scabbard and to invoke Breath of the Fire Dragon. The blade was suddenly and brilliantly encased in raging fire but the fire only lasted a second as the blade whipped across and severed the table leg an inch from the thug’s hand.

The thug dropped the still smoldering end with a yelp and scrambled away from the sword mage. Elisdrasil rolled quickly to his feet, grimacing against the pain in his side, and held the blade up.

“That’s as far as you go,” he said and the thug stopped, wild eyes locked directly on the three feet of Raiaeran steel in front of him.

“You should probably give up now.”

[pretty-little-red]

The hands I looked down at wouldn't stop shaking, they were sticky and trembling uncontrollably. Realization hit me like a mac truck, they are my hands, the hands of a killer. My chest felt tight and I couldn't force the air in and out fast enough, this isn't real.. The thought continued on repeat as if I said it enough it would be true. I glanced up and the body had stopped twitching as I stepped back, my body hitting the wall. I looked up at the other two people that had come to help me.

"Watch- watch out!"

I called but my voice failed me and the weapon already connected with the mysterious man's skull. A sick cracking sound slightly echoed causing me to shutter. I could feel myself swaying as my vision was starting to blur. I knew I was gonna pass out, the black dots slowly appeared in my sight. They danced around as my head slowly started to lull, reaching for any thing to stable me. Stumbling blindly I tripped over a table or a chair maybe falling to my knees. My knees stung on impact and my hands met the dirty floor, my stomach started to turn again. I was no use to the males that had come to defend me nor any use to myself. I wasn't sure if maybe I was going into shock or if the Gods and Goddess were punishing me for taking a life.

"I killed someone... I killed someone!"

I hollered as I cried, my body gave in as I laid there curling up into a tight ball. The sobbing drowned out the war that was waging on. Maybe it was exhausted because as soon as the darkness surrounded me I fell into the depths of it. Swallowing me whole like a simple swig of ale I was engulfed with nothingness. I could slowly feeling myself slip away, my face ashen, even my lips that usually held a soft pink-rose color were dull. I looked like something out of a fairytale where the fairy awaits the prince and for them to share true loves kiss.

This was all too much for me, flirting with the dark side was something that turned into a horrible nightmare I couldn't wake up from. This once pure soul now tainted with a black spot for the life I claimed.

(A bit all over the place and my apologies for taking so long to reply. I will clean this up more but just wished to get something up for you lovelies.)

[Mixed-blood]

Pea green eyes were turned towards the human lass as she wailed over her actions. Given that the Raiaeran now had matters in hand, a flaming bit of high-forged steel does wonders for keeping many a ruffian in line, the mutt of an elf only give his primary target a passing glance as he moved over to the lass’s side.

There was just a hint of concern on that face that had rarely known a smile, which was perhaps more telling than anything else Lothar had done or said here-to-for.

“they say the first killing is always the hardest.”

It was clear that the mixed-drow wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, as he carefully gathered the girl up and covered with a cloak, as he placedher near the wall. Long leather clad fingers were placed on the right side of the girl’s throat to check for a pulse before the elf of questionable heritage returned his now cold gem-like eyes back to the room.

“Quit that bellyaching Lucas, Thayne knows you’ve more than earned that one.”

He glanced Mathew’s way, before making eye contact with elf, “Keep an eye on his hands, Mathew likes to hide folding knives up his sleeves.”

“Nether take you.” Was the human’s response, and a rather unoriginal one at that.

“It’ll take us both more like it, now bight your tongue till it bleeds or else, someone here might lose their patients with you.”