A Day in the Park

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to Aurelianus Drak'shal.

There were few places that ever felt like home to me. There were too many terrible memories associated with the manor I grew up in to ever consider it home. Calling the bars I skitter between on weekends home would just be too tacky. Of course, there is The Janus Street Bookstore, I guess you could say that something I built from the ground up (twice) could be considered home; yes, I guess that is the place that I could closely associate with the concept of home.

But the one place I remember fondly more than that was the Dajas Pagoda.

Years have gone by since I last stepped foot in Scara Brae's world-famous fighting facility, where I formerly held the title of Warrior. I would spend my free time there, helping to train anyone with the will and the gold to become a better combatant. I would also be quick to deliver a harsh lesson to those who thought they could get an easy win against scrawny, pale, homely little ol' me on their way up to challenge Teric “Bloodrose” Barton, then-Grandmaster of the Pagoda.

Each ranking member of the Dajas Pagoda were tasked with designing their own arena in which to train and fight in. The only one that I ever really got a good look at was Joshua Cronen's rather unremarkable dojo, which was octagon-shaped, with dozens of weapons of varying shapes, sizes, and effectiveness hung on the walls.

But it was my arena that, when I was spending time in it, was the closest I ever had to calling a home.

And it was there that I found myself, after a small discussion with one of the friendlier monks of Radasanth's Citadel.

It was exactly as I remembered it; the sounds of hundreds upon hundreds of people mixed with the music of performers, the clanging and clattering of rides, the hissing and sizzling of food being cooked and served, and the din of carnival games being enjoyed.

I found myself standing in the midway; to my immediate left, a barker was trying to draw my attention, hoping to get me to play an obviously-rigged game where I would try and knock over a small pyramid of glass bottles with a beanbag. I ignored him, and began strolling down the well-trodden dirt path. The thundering whoosh of steel and children screaming passed me on my right—a rickety old rollercoaster that probably should've been condemned and torn down ages ago yet defied the passage of time and the eyes of safety inspectors towered overhead.

It was another lazy Saturday afternoon, and the throngs of people (who, mind you, were dead and present in spirit form—that was a key element of the arena back when I created it for the Pagoda) reflected that. They milled around the carnival grounds, paying me no mind as if I were one of them, as opposed to the only living being in this magically-created pocket of reality.

I closed my eyes let the familiarity of the sights and sounds fill me with a sort of warm happiness that one can only get from being home. As I stood there, content, I felt a flicker of longing for the Pagoda. What happened to it, anyway? At some point during my mental breakdown three years ago, it disbanded for reasons I never found out.

The feeling of warmth slowly faded, and I opened my eyes again. The nostalgia was nice, but I came here for another reason.

I was here to tear some poor sucker to shreds and bring myself up to fighting form. As a new agent of the recently-revived Bandit Brotherhood, I needed to make absolutely certain that my skills were up to the task.

And yet, the monks hadn't sent my opponent to me yet—and I would know when they showed up, because they would be the only other person in the carnival I could not see through.

In the meantime, though, I was craving a bit of junk food. I made my way over to a nearby food stand, and picked myself up a small batch of pink cotton candy before finding a bench on the midway to sit down on.

My opponent would come to me in due time.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

It had been a week since his last visit to the Citadel- Radasanth's main attraction, and the home of a thousand blood thirsty sods every day. Aurelianus was no exception; his blades were hungry to taste some other poor berk. He had woken up feeling.. rough, to say the least, in some brothel or other. It was hard to keep track after a while. After rinsing his mouth out with some Aleraran T'keela, and a pint of cheap bub, he dragged his armour back on, and staggered out, to bang around the streets of this anthill.

It had only taken an hour of wandering around before he got the yawn, and had decided he'd go for a bout in the Citadel. A decent shit-kickin' will wake me up, one way or the other, he smirked. He had thoroughly enjoyed his last scrap, so he made his way through the packed streets, shouldering and elbowing his way through the crowds.

In no time, the Warlock stood before the enormous building, looking up at the impressive spectacle. But, to someone who'd traveled as far as he had in his time, simple things like architecture no longer had any real impact on you. Still, even from here, he could almost taste the countless gallons of blood that had been shed in this place, smell the fear saturating the area.. it was more intoxicating than any bub, any woman.. the tiefling smirked to himself, thinking of the redhead he'd had last night.

"Well, maybe not any woman," he snickered, remembering vague images of bedsheets, flesh and.. other things. Readjusting his heavy coat, and checking all his weapons were in order, the Warlock started up the steep stairs, taking a hand-rolled cigarette from an inner pocket- he mentally congratulated whoever had invented the nifty little things. They were less cumbersome than a pipe, and more satisfying than a cigar. With a click of his fingers, a small burst of black flame lit the end of it, and he took a deep draw, filling his lungs with smoke. The huge wooden gates loomed above the arrogant half-breed, but he didn't even look up, walking through the postern and blowing a cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth as he entered, loosening his Baatorian knives in their sheaths.

There was an odd type of magic in this place, any berk could tell you that, but Aurelius had made studying portals, inter-dimensional gateways, astral conduits and all manner of planar shortcuts an obsession of his. Ever since he'd discovered he was somehow shackled to this world, it became a driving fascination. Even so, he couldn't fathom the Ai'Brone's magicks any more than anyone else. Still, an odd quirk he had noticed was a form of passive telepathy, almost: The times he'd entered the Citadel with an arena in mind, he'd been taken to the reception area, to be met by one of the brother-monks of the place. But, on days like today, when he was just looking for a fight, even on someone else's terms, the front gate just led him into a random corridor, lined with all manner of doors.

Taking another draw on his cigarette, the tiefling glanced left and right, idly fiddling with the many piercings in his elf-like ears. After a minute, he closed his eyes, spun on the spot three times and hurled one of his barbed shurikens down the hall. Opening his serpentine eyes, he saw the door, with the razored steel stuck deep in it.

"That'll do," he nodded, talking to no-one in particular, as he yanked the projectile out of the solid wooden door.

Shoving the portal open without any hesitation, the Warlock stepped through, letting it slam behind him.

A moment's disorientation, and a momentary loss of equilibrium marked the transfer from reality, to the birdcage the Ai'Brone had made. And it's a barmy one at that, he thought, glancing around.

The arena in front of him was unlike any he'd ever fought in- the strangest thing about it wasn't the hundreds of transparent people milling about, wraiths wandering between gaudily decorated stalls and booths. It was that the place felt happy. Aurelius sneered in disgust, glancing at his surroundings as he wandered deeper into this madhouse; odd contraptions screamed past on steel tracks, going through odd loops and twists, arcing high into the air; the smells of outlandish cooking drifted through the air, mingling with all manner of other strange assaults on the tiefling's senses.

After a few seconds, it dawned on him- this was a carnival.

The Warlock laughed, looking at the half-formed wraiths as they enjoyed themselves, crowding round the attractions, spending their money to have a few moments fleeting pleasure.. though Drak'shal couldn't really comment on that. He'd be a hypocrite; after all wasn't that exactly what he'd spent last night (and countless others) doing?

Shaking his head violently, Aurelius tried to stay focused. He had come here to gut some poor sod, not to try and win a prize at the bloody ring-toss. He was getting distracted, and that could easily get him killed. Now, while this death would be fleeting, and would last only as long as it took his heart to stop, the tiefling was in no rush to get himself lost like that. Well, if I'm gonna flush out whoever I'm here to murder, I better get started, he smirked, licking his lips. Turning to the nearest group of wraiths, the Warlock raised his hands, hurling a gout of black flame into the middle of them. He was disappointed to see the fire didn't hurt them in the slightest, in fact they took no notice of the half-breed at all. Snarling, the tiefling drew his knives, stalking through the spectral hordes, seeking anyone with a pulse to kill. Turning a corner next to a food stall, he finally found his opponent.

She sat casually on a bench, eating something fluffy and... pink. The scent of sugars reached Aurelius' senses, making him wrinkle his nose a little. The girl in front of him looked nothing special; raven hair, narrow, pale features, almost gaunt in appearance. Aurelius looked her up and down, sneering as he noticed her lack of a figure. It wasn't that she wasn't attractive, but Aurelius didn't think she looked like she'd be much of a challenge. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that was the case, though- he'd come up against countless enemies who didn't look like they could stand up to a mouse fart, just for them to have all manner of nasty tricks up their sleeves. Still, whatever the girl looked like, she was here in the Citadel. No-one was fool enough to waltz in here if they didn't know how to handle themselves.

But, he wasn't going to get the drop on this one like he had the last berk he'd fought in these walls. For starters, there were few places to hide in the carnival grounds, especially considering he was the only other corporeal person in this arena. If that didn't make him stick out like a sore thumb...

Instead, he decided to go for a much more direct approach than he usually did. Strolling across the open ground, Aurelius stopped halfway to the girl, giving her a barely perceptible nod. He checked one last time to make sure his weapons were in place, ready for the fight. He had his invocations as his main weapons, but having a knife close to hand never hurt either. When everything was in order, the tiefling took one last look about, trying to familiarise himself with the terrain- it wouldn't do if the girl had too much of an advantage over him.

"Well, enough pissin' about. Let's get this over with," he called over the hundreds of ghostly voices surrounding them.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I tore off a piece of cotton candy and quietly chewed on it, letting the tense silence grow between us.

The man, with his dark red spiky hair, ashen skin, serpentine eyes, and long black things twisting out of the top of his skull that would probably make the most experienced whores in Radasanth blush, spoke to me in a manner that told me everything I would need to know about him. Before me stood a person who was clearly here for the thrill of the battle, and nothing more. The gruff tones of his voice, the sophomoric vocabulary, his foreign accent--one used to a life of hardships in the dark alleys of the world, slitting throats and breaking faces, if I wasn't mistaken. A common thug, if not rather outlandish in appearance.

And possibly into BDSM, if the sheer amount of buckles, straps, and leather that comprised his jacket and gear were of any hint.

"Oh, come now," I addressed him in calm tones. "We don't need to jump straight into things. Let's exchange names, at least..."

No response from my adversary-of-the-day.

I held out the paper cone at arm's length, waving my snack around in the space that separated us. "At least have some cotton candy. It's a bit too sweet for me; perhaps a bite or two will wipe that sour look off your face." I frowned slightly as the man stood there, silent, his hand sliding towards a weapon concealed underneath his dark leather jacket but abruptly deciding against unsheathing it.

Disappointed at my rebuked offer, I said, "Oh, alright. You're one of those kind of people. I get it." I took one final bite of the candy before throwing the rest of the pink sugary goodness into a nearby trash bin.

I quickly took an inventory of my toys and tools. The delyn cable that was wrapped around my upper arms never left them under any circumstances, so there was no need to check for those. My drakescale corset tightly hugged my waist and ready to protect me from surprise gut shots. My damascus daggers shifted slightly in their holsters around the small of my back as I stood up. My right hand traveled down my leg, unsheathing one of the six steel throwing knives I kept handy.

"Very well, then. As you wish."

With a single, swift motion, I threw back the folds of my black sifan cloak, whipped my right hand into the air, picked a spot near the center of the dick-headed man's chest, and let the knife fly in a flash of flesh and metal.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Not much could make Aurelianus Drak'shal pause.

He'd been to Hell and back, quite literally made deals with devils and all manner of unspeakable horrors on all manner of unspeakable planes; he'd murdered men and women by the score, in some truly grotesque ways; he'd seen sights that should have left him a broken wreck, drooling all over himself as he rocked back and forth in a corner. But what he'd never seen was someone offer him candy and try to exchange pleasantries before he killed them. No, that was definitely a new one for the tiefling.

Barmy bitch, isn't she? he mused.

Not sure if the chit was mocking him or not, his hand instinctively slid under his heavy coat, ready to pepper her with shurikens. But he paused, waiting for her to make the first move. He wanted to know what this chit was capable of before he walked smack-bang into something nasty. So, for the moment, Aurelius stayed his hand.

**"Oh, alright. You're one of those kind of people. I get it."**

Aurelius raised his eyebrow, the three obsidian rings glinting in the flashing and glaring lights around them. He watched her closely, peery of any sudden moves, as she stood up and threw the odd pink fluffy "food" in a nearby barrel. Around them, the wraiths continued enjoying their night out, flocking around them by the dozen, all laughing and screaming in excitement. It was slightly unsettling- not many fights had a happy, laughing audience- but it was mostly irritating. Drak'shal stretched his neck, cracking audibly, circling his shoulders- he was loosening up his muscles before the bout. Limbering up a little more, the tiefling took off his coat, tossing it to the side (after the fight, he would appear outside the arena, with all his gear- and limbs- intact, anyway).

As his opponent squared off opposite him, the half-demon scanned her, taking note of the weapons and armour he would have to deal with; a corset of dense, hard scales protected the chit's abdomen from most basic attacks; he could see the hilt of two chivs sheathed at her lower back, exactly like his; and the cloak around her shoulders. That would be very handy for Aurelius- a cloak could tangle you up in a fight, get in the way of your maneuvers.. could get you killed. Finally, strapped to her right leg was a brace of knives, throwing knives judging by the shape and size. All in all, his adversary had a decent little arsenal to hand. Even as he watched, the bitch unhurriedly drew one of the throwing knives, not even bothering to try and hide the movement, or catch him off guard.

The arrogance irked Aurelius- if any one in the room was going to flex their ego, it would be him!

**"Very well, then. As you wish."**

Finally, I can nick this addle-coved bitch, he thought, licking his fangs in anticipation.

In one swift move, the chit drew her cloak back over her shoulder, raised her hand, and whipped the knife at Aurelius. But she should have tried to catch him off guard, or at least tried not to telegraph her attack quite so much. As the steel whistled toward the warlock, he casually raised his hand, firing out a pulse of pure arcane energy- the eldritch blast smashed the blade out of the air, sending it point first into the hard-packed dirt at the chit's feet.

"Gonna 'ave to try a damn sight 'arder than that, luv," he winked.

"But, if you want my name, girlie, I'll give it- Aurelianus Drak'shal, at your service," he smirked, sketching a bow but never taking his eyes off of his opponent.

As he bowed, his right hand subtly slipped inside the quarrel under his left arm, grabbing three of the viciously barbed shurikens. Straightening up, the tiefling scanned the girl, expecting another knife, but for now there was no other attack. With a lazy flourish, he threw the projectiles into the air in front of him- with another wink, he sent a nice big eldritch blast behind the three bladed discs, sending them hurtling toward the girl. If they hit, they would easily enter her soft, pale flesh; but on removal, they would tear the chit to bloody rags.

It was going to be a fun morning.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Aurelianus, was it? The thing easily dodged my half-hearted opening strike, and followed up with a nifty little trick of his own. Lazily tossing three bladed discs into the air in front of him, he cracked a sly grin. He raised a leather-wrapped arm in front of him, and it didn't take the brightest squire to understand what was going to happen next.

Dropping my right leg behind me and reaching up with a free hand, I undid the clasp keeping my cloak wrapped around my shoulders. The black sifan began to slide off my skin as a flash of brilliant red light emitted from Aurelianus's open hand, and I got the hell out of the way. The metal discs, propelled by the sheer force of the magical blast, whizzed past me, just barely missing the skin of my left tricep and instead getting caught up in my cloak as it fell to the gray, dusty ground below.

I shifted my weight once more, and bolted into a full sprint, closing the fifteen foot gap between myself and the demon in a split second. He dropped his center of gravity and raised his guard, expecting my onslaught. The sounds of the carnival faded from my ears; I could hear only my pounding footsteps as my boots hit the dirt. My vision narrowed so I could only see my opponent and the various placed that I could land a debilitating strike--his temples, his nose, his throat; all of which were viable options.

My opportunity fast approaching, I feinted left, drawing my left arm back and preparing a nasty haymaker. Much to my pleasure, the demon fell for my little trick; rather than throw a left hook as he predicted, I instead lunged forward and launched a nasty uppercut with my right hand, throwing all my weight behind the blow. It connected with incredible force. The loud crack! of my fist connecting with Aurelianus's jaw echoed throughout the haunted carnival. I heard the gasps of spirits nearby, taken aback by the sudden and spontaneous display of violence that was unfolding in front of them.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

If he'd had time to reflect, Aurelius might have been (grudgingly) impressed by his opponent's moves. She wasn't dead, or bleeding copiously yet, so that was a point in her favour.

Sadly, time was not something the chit seemed willing to give the tiefling and before he knew what was what, he was laid flat out on his back, white spots exploding across his field of vision. There was a tinnitus-ringing in his pointed ears, like someone had rung an almighty bell around his head, but he forced himself to focus; if he took his attention off his (now) worthy adversary, he was liable to windup in the dead-book. And despite the temporary nature of such a death in the Citadel, dying was such a bitch! That being said, however, the flashing kaleidoscopic lights and screams of merriment from the spectral crowds were not helping him any.

The half-breed shook his head viciously to try and clear his senses, but instead he found himself buffeted by waves of nausea. Aurelius clamped down, knowing his ego wasn't going to let him stay down after a single blow. Must admit, though, I love a chit who fights dirty, he smirked, almost regretting it when he felt the bone-deep ache in his jaw.

He lashed out on instinct, a lifetime of surviving the savage streets of his home-city once again saving his arse from an unpleasant day. The plane-touched hammered out with one of his hob-nailed boots, feeling a satisfying *thud* as the thick sole met flesh. His serpentine eyes managed to focus enough to see the boot had connected squarely with the chit's twat. His alabaster features split in a feral grin as his opponent staggered, her eyes bulging in pain. Can't imagine she makes a 'abit of gettin' booted in the cunt, he mused in the half-second it took for him to get up and moving again.

He only managed to get to his knees as quickly as he could before he was continuing his offensive.

The chit was starting to get the agony of a booted love-box under control when Aurelius grabbed her roughly by her collar, dragging her off balance. He tugged her toward him.. and directly into his vicious headbutt. Their heads collided with a resounding *crunch* that brought more gasps from the assembled incorporeal audience.

The tiefling was knocked back on his arse again with the force of the blow, his barely recovered senses scattered once again. He felt a warm trickle run down from under his quills, and around the base of his horns. Whether it was her blood or his, he couldn't see enough to tell. He let loose a blast of Hellfire to give himself some breathing space while he staggered, almost drunkenly, back to his feet. He shook the burning sensation out of his palm the second Shahab's Lash stopped, barely noticing the smoke starting to coil from the edges of his fingerless leather gloves.

Running a hand through his quills to keep them out of his eyes, Aurelius felt the stickiness of blood on his forehead, but ignored it for now. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Gutting this sucker-punching bitch, for example.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Crunch!!

The asshole's studded boot connected with the sensitive area that shan't be named between my legs. Now, I will fully admit to having done my fair share of low blows and cheap shots in my day--but to say that being on the receiving end of one would be a gross understatement. Imagine, if you will, having two dozen of the Corone Empire's finest at the sides of a battering ram, running full speed ahead as you stood there, picking your nose. At the very moment they collided with your body, the tip of the battering ram opened and a twenty-four pound cannonball was fired at you at point blank.

Kinda' like that, but far more painful.

To make matters worse, while I was doubled over and howling in pain, the horned bastard grabbed hold of my shirt and pulled me in for a nasty headbutt. As I was sent stumbling backwards, I could feel a small trickle of blood begin pouring out of my forehead. My vision blurred momentarily, but soon cleared itself up. I let out a small stream of curses as I continued stumbling backwards. Today was turning out not to be my day, after all.

Just then, I heard a quick fwooshing noise, and looked up in time to see a small jet of flame heading in my general direction. My eyes went wide, noticing that imminent doom was speeding my way. I cried "shit!" as I continued to try to regain my footing, but instead tripped on a rock in the path and fell to the dusty carnival walking path, embarrassingly plopping down hard on my ass. The brilliant flash of fire passed by harmlessly overhead and several inches to the left. I breathed a small sigh of relief. Several of the spirits that surrounded us, putting their enjoyment of the rides and games on hold in order to witness another kind of show, screamed and gasped as Aurelianus's flames dissipated as they approached them.

I quickly rose up onto one knee, the seat of my pants littered with dust, pebbles, and a discarded candy wrapper. I winced heavily, as the pain from his kick refused to subside. So, this son of a demon whore wants to use tricks, eh? Well, I have tricks for days!

I commanded the lengths of delyn cable that I kept coiled around my upper arms to come out from their hiding places underneath my shirt sleeves. Each end snaked around behind me, and wrapped itself around one of the hilts of my twin delyn daggers. With a flicker of a thought, the wires ripped the daggers from their sheathes.

As the pale, quilled demon scrambled to recover from the impact of his own headbutt, I sent the dagger-wielding wires outwards through the dead, haunted air in an arc, with their ultimate destinations being his face and chest.