Bar fight (1 on 1)

[mezz09]

Rauko had been travelling for a few weeks, looking for a strong mead he could get supplied for his inn. So far it had been unsuccessful and he was beginning to get irritable. His temper was pretty short at the best of times. He'd found suppliers that would sell to Fallion, but the mead was weak. He'd also found strong meads, but couldn't contact the supplier or they wouldn't sell to him. The bar he was in had been another failure so far. He'd had 3 mugs of their strongest and was still sober. He needed a way to let off some steam. He went into his bag and pulled out his tin mug. "One more for the road." He said to the barman, handing the mug over, and leaving his previous mug on the counter.

The barman filled the mug and put it in front of Rauko, as Rauko turned on his stool and stood up. Taking the mug and having a swig, Rauko looked round the patrons of the bar for a possible fight. If he was lucky he'd find an elfish or human ex-guard. He'd had a grudge on guards since his local town guard turned him down 4 times and insulted him, but a current guard would likely arrest him, so an ex guard would have to do. He'd always hated humans ant elves, for the way they'd treated him when he was younger.

He took another swig and belched loudly.

[Of Two Minds]

Wandering was thirsty work. At least it was when the sun shone bright and hot and the dust from the road seemed to cling to passersby with tenacious determination. It also didn’t help when one was forced to travel in the company of a man who just wouldn’t shut up.

”You remember that one girl that we met in that town a couple of months ago?” Syrian DeVries asked, his voice upbeat and chipper despite the miserable conditions.

“How could I possibly forget,” replied Jeren Silster, Syrian’s less-verbose travelling companion, in a manner that suggested that he, in fact, had no idea who Syrian was talking about.

”Oh come on,” Syrian whined, throwing up his hands in exasperation, ”you know, the one with the …” Syrian finished by pantomiming an extremely ample bosom. Jeren shook his head as if his life was nothing more than a bad dream and everything would be alright if he could only wake up.

”Anyway,” Syrian continued, nonplussed, ”what do you think the odds are that we’ll find another lovely young specimen like that here?” Syrian trotted a bit ahead of Jeren and then turned to face his stoic companion, thumbing over his shoulder at the small village that they were approaching. “I mean, a couple of eligible bachelors like ourselves can’t exactly live only on porridge. You know what I mean?”

Jeren’s crass look told Syrian that this time he knew all too well what his counterpart was thinking and that he didn’t exactly agree. “I’d settle for living on cold ale right now.”

“Fine, be that way,” Syrian laughed, ”More for me I suppose.”

Syrian’s enthusiastic chatter haunted Jeren all the way into town, distracting the veteran from the simple wooden structures and scurrying crowd. At this time of day the crowds on the streets weren’t too unmanageable, the majority of the merchant crowds having already been hauled out and set up. Jeren was thoroughly grateful that his only impediment to a refreshing beverage at the village’s tavern would be Syrian’s incessant chatter.

“Yes, I understand the joke,” Jeren said as he pushed the door to the small-town pub open, letting Syrian pass before him. “I just don’t think it’s funny.”

“That’s because you have no soul,” Syrian entered the cool pub interior with a laugh. Distracted as he was by what he saw as witty repartee, Syrian didn’t see the stocky, angry looking hooded man near the doorway until he had already bumped into him. Jeren made to apologize, not wanting any trouble from someone who already looked surly enough without having to deal with Syrian’s antics, but was cut short as his friend whirled on the man.

“Hey pal,” Syrian said, whirling around to face the cloaked man with enough force that his long hair fell loose around him. “I know you’re real busy being all brooding and mysterious, but do you mind stepping out of the doorway while you do it?”

On the other side, still in the doorway, Jeren moaned inaudibly and rolled his eyes skyward. ”I just wanted a drink.”

As a note, any dialogue in italics, either by Jeren or Syrian, is only in the man's head and can't be heard by anyone else who happens to hear it.

[mezz09]

A man walked through the door while Rauko was looking around for a challenger, and walked into him, causing Rauko to spill his drink. He growled and smirked, visible just under the hood. "Good timin'," he muttered under his breath, before speaking up. "You wanna take this out the back?" He said, then finally turned to look at the man that had hit him. Although the man was quite muscular, he was a stick in comparison to Rauko, but Rauko was no idiot. The long haired man was probably alot faster than Rauko, so it would be a quite close fight. "Or you wanna get me a fresh drink an' apologise?"

He cracked his knuckles then dropped his hood, revealing a head of thick, short, brown hair almost covering 2 small, black horns. It was meant to be intimidating, this man looked like the type to stand up to a challenge. Rauko downed the rest of his drink, dropped the mug into his sack, and drew his dagger. Finally, he pointed the dagger at the long haired man. "Alley round the back. I'll be waitin'." He stomped away and barged through to the door. Stood in the doorway, he shouted back into the room. "Don' make me wait." before bursting out into the street.

He relaxed his face at last from the cheesy smirk into a pure and simple friendly smile. As he'd reached a state of mild inebriation, he wasn't too upset any more, but he still wanted a fight. He strolled down into the alley and round a corner, while removing his cloak and putting in his bag, and looked around. There were a few sacks of vegetables outside a back door, and sacks of rubbish outside another. Apart from that, there was nothing in the alley. It was bricked off at 1 end and had simple brick paving. There was nothing fancy about it, it was just an empty alley, about 3 paces wide. Most importantly to Rauko, there was nothing to animate.

that better?

[Of Two Minds]

Jeren watched as the hooded man followed the inevitable path to conflict that Syrian was so famous for putting them both on. The guy was big, true, but he had seen Syrian’s scrappy finesse deal with larger foes. What he was more concerned with was the less-than-elfin appearance the man showed when the hood was finally thrown back. The knife in his hand seemed to take a much more ominous tone in that light.

“I think you should just let this one go,” Jeren said, shooting Syrian a warning glance.

But Syrian, as expected, was not one to back down from a fight. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Syrian mocked, jerking his thumb towards the departing brute. “Come on Jeren, let’s put this braggart in his place and then we can get that drink. My treat, what do you say?”

“Your treat with my coin maybe,” Jeren huffed, knowing that there would be no talking his exuberant friend out of a little sport-fun.

“Well at least come out and be my cheering squad,” Syrian said, leaning against one of the nearby tables while ignoring the annoyed looks he was receiving from the table’s occupants.

“As if you needed any more encouragement,” Jeren snorted derisively, ignoring Syrian’s look in turn as he scanned the room for an empty table.

“You’ve got to at least come out and watch my back,” Syrian protested. If he was consciously aware of the ever-increasing amount of looks turning towards him, he didn’t show it.

“Alright,” Jeren said in exasperation, throwing up his hands. ”But only so you’ll shut up and get this over with. I want my damned drink.”

Syrian grinned and, with a broad sweeping gesture, led the duo to the pub’s side door, with Jeren muttering as many apologies as he could manage on the way out.

“Alright big boy,” Syrian shouted as he kicked the pub’s side door open, “let’s do thi… oh gods what’s that smell!” Syrian threw his arm up to cover his nose in a pathetic attempt to block the rancid odor of rotten food and human waste which filled the alley. Jeren followed stoically, wincing as the smell washed over him but not giving into his partner’s dramatic overstatement.

“Why on Althanas would you want to fight here,” Syrian continued his theatrics, gesturing broadly around him with one arm while keeping his nose buried in the sleeve of the other. Even as he spoke, Syrian looked around the rest of the alley, taking stock of his surroundings. A quick glance to either side brought a frown to his face as he realized how cramped and cluttered the alleyway was with no route of escape besides the one his stocky foe was currently filling.

“Just great,” he muttered.

[mezz09]

Rauko held back a laugh as his foe came outside and covered his face from the stench of the alley. “Why on Althanas would you want to fight here,” stated the man, gesturing obsoletely. After a quick glance round, the both of them noticed Rauko blocked the end of the alleyway. The long haired man muttered something inaudible.

"Well, would yer rather get arrested for a public brawl?" Responded Rauko Rhetorically, as a bucket of potato peelings was tipped out a window. "Or jus' get it over with?" He pulled his long shield off his back with his left hand, and drew his dagger again with his right while shifting his feet awkwardly. "M' name's Ralph, and I' just got 2 rules. No killing blows," he started, putting his bag down in a dry spot. "An' don't touch my bag." Without waiting for a response, he lunged at the man and went to hit him with the knifes handle.

[Of Two Minds]

“Whoa there Ralph,” Syrian yelled, jumping against the alley’s far to dodge the brute’s pommel strike. The far wall, unfortunately, wasn’t far enough apart for Syrian to slip behind the man leaving Syrian with little choice but to consciously block out all questions as to just what he was stepping in.

“You must have been really fond of your drink,” Syrian laughed, noting Ralph’s enthusiasm, “but I’ve got to tell you how ridiculous you look carrying a tower shield with that knife.” Syrian held his hands up and backed away from his opponent, glancing down every few seconds to make sure he didn’t trip over some rotting bag of sundries. The distance between Syrian and the dead end was quickly closing, and Ralph at the other end, with his broad shoulders and enormous shield, looked almost like another wall closing in.

“Ok Ralph, here’s the deal,” Syrian continued, trying to hold back his laughter, “I stop laughing at how silly that shield/knife combo looks and you agree to at least think about taking this to the other end of the alley.” Syrian was a practiced warrior, but his fiery fighting style didn’t take well too closed in spaces. That was more Jeren’s forte, but since his comrade in arms was currently leaning against the door jamb with crossed arms and an amused look on his face, Syrian found himself in a bit of a bind.

“See, just look at what I have to work with here,” he said, finally drawing his side-sword with a flourish and casually sweeping the blade from side to side, drawing its steel edge lightly against either wall. “Be a pal, eh?”

[mezz09]

Rauko rolled his eyes. Nobody got the art of back alley brawls any more. Either way, he could adapt it if he had to. If he remembered correctly, on the other side of the wall at the end of the alley there was another alley. it was about twice as wide, but pretty much the same. He looked around for a makeshift platform, but there wasn't much but vegetables and waste. The wall was about 8 foot high, maybe 7 and a half. If he jumped, Rauko could pull himself over. "Other side o' this 'ere wall, we've got a bigger area." He said, gesturing to the end of the alley. "Wanna leg up?"

thought it worth mentioning, you're an ex soldier, trained to fight in lines, you'd not be able to fight full force, but you'd still be able to fight pretty well there. You're permitted to 'bunny' as you call it here to get the lift over the wall. If you want to stay here, that's fine too.

[Of Two Minds]

The point of Syrian’s sword dug into the thick layer of alley muck as the swordsman used the blade as a makeshift leaning post. His hand came up and scratched his chin thoughtfully, dragging along the rough growth of the day’s growth there. Finally he closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head dolefully.

“I appreciate the offer Ralph,” he said in a mournful tone, “but it just wouldn’t be the same you know?”

Syrian’s eyes shot open suddenly and his blade burst from the muck into a ready position, the filth covered tip swirling in tight, controlled circles. His other hand fell back as a counterweight, making a small figure-eight as his body flowed in its ready position.

“You seem like a rather rational guy,” he continued, smirking through the streak of long hair that covered most of his face, “not the type to get all worked up over a bit of drink at all.” Syrian’s blade punched forward a couple of times in testing thrusts that came nowhere near his foe. “So I have to ask myself exactly why you’re so damned intent on this fight.”

There was a moment of perfect calm as Syrian stopped, his fluid form coming to rest in complete stillness. The swordsman’s eyes flickered from Ralph to Jeren and back again, a silent signal of understanding. And then, without any warning of further banter, Syrian leapt forward, his blade a dizzying flurry of slashes and thrusts intended more to catch Ralph off guard and push him back than to harm the brutish elf-thing.

[mezz09]

Rauko waited and watched as the man attempted to distract him and bring down his guard with test thrusts and silly banter. “So I have to ask myself exactly why you’re so damned intent on this fight.” He finished, before stopping dead still and silent. Rauko grinned. The man had paused for a purpose, likely to mentally prepare himself to attack. However, the pause only lasted a second, before he leapt in and started waving his sword all over the place in what was probably a common pattern for them man. This was good, he had tells. If the fight were to last long enough, Rauko could learn to tell what he was going to do next.

Nonetheless, it was enough to knock Rauko back a little. He took all the blows on his shield but it was enough to push him slowly backwards. Without retaliating, he took advantage of the movement. He muttered under his breath, then kicked a bag of potatoes as he he passed it. After a moment, the potatoes slid down from the wall, directly towards the long haired man's feet, and Rauko took the opportunity to slam his shoulder into the shield, pushing it forwards with all his considerable weight.

[Of Two Minds]

A grin split Syrian’s face despite the rancid odor which even now gripped his empty stomach in its foul grip. There was little more that he enjoyed than an invigorating fight. A pretty, loose woman was one, a nice cold drink on a hot, dusty day was another, and then there was a heavy coin pouch, a relaxing smoke after a particularly hard hike, silk sheets on a soft mattress … Ok, so there was plenty of things he liked more than an invigorating fight, but the knowledge of that didn’t do much to lessen his enthusiasm as his flashing blade drove the brutish Ralph backwards through the muck and slime of the tiny alley. But as flashy and enthusiastic as his attack was, Ralph was not to be deterred.

“Please,” Syrian scoffed, dodging backwards lightly as the heavier man kicked a bag of moldy potatoes out to trip him up. It was such a blatant attempt to trip him up that Syrian couldn’t help but to shake his head in wry amusement. Even the stoic Jeren, still leaning against the pub’s side door, flashed a hint of a smile at the attack. And then, as if Ralph was blatantly the most unimaginative man the swordsman had ever brawled with, the elven brute counterattacked by hunkering into his shield and thrusting forward.

Knowing that irony went a long way in making life worth living, Syrian kicked at the bag of potatoes Ralph had pushed out to trip him. A taunt for the shame of Ralph having his own pathetic attempt turned back on himself buzzed on the tip of Syrian’s tongue, but as his forward foot flipped out to move the rotting sack he found that the bag had somehow managed to roll directly to his position. Instead of shuffling the sack over a step, Syrian’s foot caught just under the bag and dragged out long enough to throw the nimble fighter off-balance.

Syrian’s face screwed up in a confused, quizzical look, but the question that had replaced his taunt emerged only as a ‘whuff’ as the Wall of Ralph rumbled into him. Already put into a precarious position by being off-balance, Syrian’s back heel was unable to halt Ralph blatant but effective maneuver. In less time than it took to blink, Syrian was tumbling backward into the alley muck, his sword arm flailing wildly while his free arm reached out for the closest thing he could use for a grip, the edge of Ralph’s shield.

[mezz09]

Rauko saw the man grin as he kicked the spuds, and held in a grin of his own. As Rauko slammed into the long haired man, he slid on the sack and fell. Unfortunately, he was not expecting what came next, and it happened too fast for him to react. Rauko had ducked behind the shield for the inevitable flailing sword, but as a hand clutched the side of the shield, it pulled him down too. Rather than allowing himself to fall into the path of the flailing blade, he dropped the shield, abandoning his strongest weapon in terms of both physical and magical.

In the closing of that eventful moment, alot happened still. First, the flailing arm got Rauko in the side, leaving a cut. it was less than half an inch deep, and he'd had worse, but it pushed the balance far past making it a worthwhile first attack from Rauko. Then Rauko realised how much better he could have made the attack simply by using his pyromancy to heat the shield when the tall man had grabbed it, burning his hand and putting it out of action.

Finally, as if adding insult to injury, there was a loud splash followed by searing pain in the fresh cut and the stench of ammonia. Rauko winced and fell to the ground, momentarily unable to hold himself upright, due to the salty liquid flowing into the cut. He didn't need to look up to know what had happened. There was a call of apology from above and the sound of a window closing. Rauko spat, and dripped with the contents of a chamber-pot. Must have been from an inn.

[Of Two Minds]

What little air Syrian had managed to draw back in after Ralph’s shield assault rushed out of the man like a bursting balloon as he tumbled backwards into the alley muck. He had reacted without thought to grab at Ralph’s shield as he fell and was surprised to see that the brute had relinquished it so easily. His mind boggled even more was that he had actually managed to slash the man while flailing wildly in his descent. Sergeant Lorre had often cursed his bloody luck and how his blade often found its target most easily when he wasn’t trying. It only encouraged laxness in him, the Sergeant used to say, as Lorre used to equate Syrian’s jovial moods with laziness and lack of purpose. The swordsman wondered what Lorre would think if he could just see Syrian now.

But of all the things that had occurred within the span of the last three breaths, what really got to Syrian was the sight of his rough-and-tumble opponent rolling about in a fresh wash of excrement. The hastily tossed contents of the chamber pot had washed over where Syrian had been standing just before Ralph ran into him and had in fact smeared onto his boots as he lay in a heap. In a way, he reflected, he had Ralph to thank for pushing him over, as if the big man had randomly decided to take the foul blow destined for Syrian. Unable to stop himself, Syrian found his entire body instantly wracked with a fit of raucous laughter.

“I don’t think that went nearly as well as either of us wanted,” he said, laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes. Syrian pushed Ralph’s shield into a nearby bag of trash and rolled back to his feet, sparing another glance from his flattened opponent to check on Jeren. Still in the pub’s doorway, even the stoic Jeren had fat tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. A new wave of stench assaulted Syrian’s nostrils from the most recent addition to the alley’s populace, forcing the swordsman to cover his nose with the sleeve of his less unwholesomely spattered arm to ward it off.

“Somehow I think that the grand honor has left this brawl,” Syrian said to Ralph, still holding his sword at his side though he left the point of the blade down in the muck, “what do you think?”

[Of Two Minds]

Seeing as my partner in this hasn't been on the site in over a year and that we were basically finished anyways, I did some minor bunnying to close out the thread. If there's a problem with that I can go back to waiting forever.

Ralph’s eyes shot daggers at Syrian as the big man pushed himself back to his feet, wordlessly grabbed his shield from the trash pile, and then stormed past a very surprised Jeren and into the bar. A half second later the two swordsmen could hear a chorus of screams and a flurry of activity from the inn.

”Well I thought that went extremely well,” Jeren announced with a slow clap. A look of disgust crossed the stoic swordsman’s face as he scraped the sole of his boot along the side of the step, praying that he could dislodge whatever it was that had stuck to him when he had side-stepped to avoid the somewhat hygiene impaired bully who had stormed past him.

“Indeed it did,” Syrian saluted Jeren with a flourish of his blade and then spread his arms wide. “To the victor go the spoils.”

”I really do believe that you’ve gotten enough spoilage for one day,” Jeren waved a finger, indicating the slimy alley filth smeared across Syrian’s back and elbows.

“Touche,” he replied, wiping his blade clean on the non-filthy side of a bag of garbage. Satisfied that the blade was completely clean, Syrian sheathed it and turned his attention to the rest of the muck smeared over his body. He threw his hands in the air after a few cursory swipes at the stains, satisfied that they weren’t going to come out that way.

“Perfect, just perfect,” Jeren sighed. “All I wanted was one cold drink and now I’m stuck with the Trash King. He looked at the door to the inn behind him. ”I wonder…”

All of a sudden the door exploded outwards in a flurry of brooms, wet mops, cleaning wenches, and presumably a very unhappy Ralph. “Time to go,” Syrian yelled, grabbing Jeren’s elbow and dragging him out of the alley before the other swordsman could be run down by the squawking brigade behind them.

“And stay out until you clean up, you filthy sot,” the voice of the bartender roared from the inn’s back door before the wooden portal slammed shut.

“I guess that means that we’re not going to be getting that ale then,” Jeren muttered regretfully.

“Cheer up pal,” Syrian stretched his arms over his head with a yawn and then settled one around Jeren’s shoulders, sharing the filth that he had acquired much to Jeren’s annoyance. “I think I saw a stream we can bathe in about five miles back.”

Jeren groaned.

[Duffy]

Of Two Minds – Condensed Rubric
Featuring Of Two Minds & Mezz09

Story (15/30)

Character (13/30)

Writing (12/30)

Wild Card (4/10)

Total 44/100


Spoils:

Of Two Minds receives 308 xp and 100 gold.

mezz09 receives 264 xp and 100 gold.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.