High Tempers at Blade's Tip

[Sidhe]

Closed

The sun was setting over Knife’s Edge, casting what few orange rays that managed to pierce the snow-laden clouds of Salvar onto its citizens. The bitter wind roaming the streets of the ice nation’s capital was threatening to overthrow the regime of mild warmth for the evening, obliging its populace to find shelter from the cold indoors by crackling fires. One man, clad in layers of tanned leather, seemed unperturbed by the steadily dropping temperature. Sidhe was born of this land and, if anything, felt a sense of nostalgia in the excessive chill of his hometown, as if it somehow proved beyond a doubt that he was really back. The scent of burning wood and flowing alcohol emanated from a nearby pub. A smile flickered across Sidhe’s face as he saw the myriad of travelers and adventurers crowding The Chipped Mug’s main entrance for its promise of heat and liquor.

“I suppose I’ll use the local’s entrance, then,” he said to himself.

Sidhe lifted his staff and began to circle the building, crunching over the thin layer of snow on the stone ground. Most of the bars saw fit to show preferential treatment to its loyal patrons over those who simply stumbled into town. Though tourists and short-time visitors made up a good portion of the businesses’ income, the locals were consistent in their benefaction and less likely to cause trouble. So, some bars gave Salvarans special deals on ale and the like, seeking to curry favor with them. The owner of The Chipped Mug, for instance, allowed them to enter through the back door when the bar was crowded and even set aside a couple of tables that foreigners were discouraged from using. When Sidhe reached the iron door on rusting hinges facing the alleyway of the bar, he knocked exactly five times. After a long moment, he got a response.

“Who’s there?” came a harsh, accusatory voice from the other side.

“Only a faithful client seeking admission, Trenion” Sidhe countered placidly.

The door creaked open half an inch and an eyeball appeared in the crack. It looked Sidhe up and down for several seconds before widening in shock. The door flew open and a hunched over, wrinkled old man was hugging Sidhe about the waist. The avatar of nature laughed wholeheartedly and embraced the man with staff still in hand.

“Alexander, my boy, how are you? How are you?” Trenion could hardly keep his whole body from shaking as he released the man he had seen grow up from childhood. “It’s been too long.”

“Aye, it has,” Sidhe agreed. He didn’t bother to tell his father’s old friend that he no longer went by that name. He would always be Alex Rowle in Knife’s Edge. “Nearly six years now.”

“That’s right! You look healthy, son. At least you’ve been taking care of yourself while you’re off doing goodness knows what in the wide world. I could hardly recognize you. Have you seen your mum yet or-”

A loud crash from inside the bar followed by raucous laughter interrupted their reunion.

“Ah, yes,” Trenion’s eyes shifted toward the inside of the doorway uneasily ad his smile faltered. “You see, Alex, we’ve got a pretty demanding crowd. I think it’s best if you come on in and we catch up some other time. I need to get back in there. It’ll be a miracle if no one at least breaks a table tonight.”

“Very well,” he said as the sound of loud voices starting a heated debate reached them. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Trenion let Sidhe pass and led him through the dingy, ill-lit back room to the main bar. Here, he abandoned the younger man to attend to the newly broken glass on his floor. Sidhe stood still for a moment, taking in the scene inside The Chipped Mug. The multitude consisted mostly of humans, but there were at least a few ambassadors from almost every corner of Althanas. Some dwarves that seemed plucked right out of Kachuk were singing surprisingly well at a table by the fireplace. A pair of elves in brilliant white robes was speaking in rapid Raiaeran on the other side of the room. Even some of Fallien’s people who had braved the extreme climate variation now sought refuge in this boiling pot of a local pub.

Sidhe smiled at them all before spotting a familiar face among the throng and setting off straight for it, beginning to coax his way through the living barrier between them with some effort.

[Elijah_Morendale]

I took a deep breath as my hi-tops crunched against the thin layer of white snow that was caked on the streets of Knife's Edge. Exhaling a visible cloud, I felt a shiver creep through my body. It wasn't just the chilly air. This city... There was just something about it that freaked me out. A quick glance told me that nobody really paid attention to what everyone else was doing when they built this place--In the past forty minutes, I've stumbled through a well-to-do neighborhood, a small section of slums that needed a fierce overhaul, and on either side of and in between them, shopping districts. It was like walking through an urban planning nightmare, the way the streets wound themselves around the building in patterns that would make avant garde artists want to cry.

I guess the only reason I'm complaining is that despite my Salvic blood, this was the first time I had actually been in this city. I just wasn't used to it. None of its inhabitants seemed to mind the nonsensical construction job. But the real reason I was in the city in the first place was because I was returning to the settlement that I used to call home, and the caravan that I had bummed a ride from was going through here. We had stopped for a couple days' rest--my guess was that the Agents of the Church of the Ethereal Sway had some business at the Saint What's-its-name Cathedral.

But, as much as I enjoyed the company of Christoph the zombie slayer and chef extraodinaire, I just had to get away from him. We became close friends after the incident with the vampire lord--a team effort in wailing on the undead will do that to people--but constantly hearing about his stories about his stay in Corone was starting to get on my nerves. Making matters worse was Nadia's short temper. She would often complain to me about the irritating tone of his voice, the monotonous likenesses between each tale he wove, and how dirty his chef's coat was. Many times I had to quietly whisper her out of killing him with my hands, an act that aforementioned Agents would surely frown upon.

So, I decided to escape Christoph and give my imaginary friend and part time other me a little cool down period at a tavern. I was still rattled over seeing the army of zombie corpses that were slain by her in my name, not to mention that I was peeved at her allowing one of them to ruin the shoulder of my denim jacket! We both needed a drink.

Nadia and I walked silently in the cold, spotting a tavern called The Chipped Mug down the road. "What do you think?"

My imaginary friend shrugged. "It's as good a place as any, I suppose." Something was odd about her, though. She didn't have her usual grin etched on her face. Nadia was also conversing with me less and less--this had all begun when I befriended Christoph. There was something troubling her, I could feel it. And it felt strange to say this, but a night alone with her might do her good. But then I got to thinking. What have I become when I prefer the company of one who doesn't truly exist?

We continued down the road, reaching the tavern. There were plenty of people huddled outside the door. I ignored them as I snaked my way between bodies, finally reaching for the handle. I opened the door and took a step in. The heat was the first thing that hit me, giving me quite a shock. The noise followed; the numerous patrons packed inside the place providing a stark contrast to the relative silence out on the streets. I took a good look around the joint--my surroundings brought back memories of my own stay in Corone. There was a good mix of races here, a few of which I would never guess would show up in the frozen wasteland that is Salvar. They all seemed to be enjoying their drinks with relative good cheer. Nearby, a rickety old man was bent over, cleaning up a pile of shattered glass.

I sniffed. The air was ripe with tobacco and alcohol, as expected. I slowly shut the door behind me and tried to take a step or two inside. Beside me, a cheerful smile had return to Nadia's face. I wouldn't expect anything less from her; she had always enjoyed the chaotic atmosphere of taverns. She pointed a thin finger at a barstool that was just vacated by a tall, blond elf. "Come on! Let's get smashed!"

Uneasily, I followed her to the bar. I didn't have the luxury of being completely non-existent: I had to turn sideways and draw upon a repertoire of "excuse me" variants to make my way to the empty wooden stool. As I sat down, I could hear a thick, deep voice behind me.

"Hey! You stole my chair, you little brat!"

I casually glanced behind me. A giant of a man stood behind me, puffing out his meaty chest in an effort to intimidate me. He had a thick, bushy brown beard and dark eyes that were filled with an alcohol-fueled fire. His breath reeked of vodka as he snarled, exposing a set of rotting and grimy teeth. Your average barroom antagonist, really.

And frankly, I wasn't in the mood for his bullshit. I turned away, offering a simple response. "This was an empty seat in a tavern. Of all places, you'd think that here would be the place that the saying first come, first serve makes the most sense, right?" The bartender approached me. "Just an ale please, kind sir."

[Sidhe]

Sidhe’s journey through the crowded bar was made no less difficult by the unreserved rudeness of its clientele in such close quarters. A puff of smoke from a newly lit pipe met him square in the face one moment and a mild staining of ale on his sleeve from an overly energetic toast followed the next. Sidhe wasn’t bothered, though, because he was making his way toward one of the faces he had thought most about in his travels away from home. At the moment, it was concentrated on wiping down the counter with a rag that bore evidence of being used past its limits. As he grew closer, he noticed lines upon that visage’s gentle features he couldn’t recall being there before. Sidhe realized with a twinge of malaise that he mustn’t look much the same as his youthful form either. Not one to let the passage of time ruin his enjoyment of the present, he fixed a wide grin on his face and tapped his childhood love on the shoulder from across the counter.

She neglected to looked up from her chore and asked, “Can I help you?” rather robotically.

Sidhe did not speak. Getting no reply, the bartender looked up and caught sight of his warm, intense grey gaze. She was a few years younger than Sidhe, but they shared a similar amiability that followed them in all endeavors. Her hair was long and brown, elegant in its simplistic style. The glowing green gems of her eyes were shimmering even now under the task of working a full room. Eyes locked, they shared a moment that spoke more than a thousand introductions. Her hardened exterior softened noticeably as realization overcame irritation at being poked by what she’d thought a random customer.

“Alex!” she shrieked shrilly as she launched her upper body over the counter to hug him. He seemed to be having that effect on people tonight.

“How have you been, Lianne?” he responded, pulling her close into their awkward embrace.

The romance they shared had once been a product of youth’s passion, filled with proclamations of undying affection and shared secrets kept from all the rest of the world. Sidhe’s heart had never been as sincerely devoted to anyone as it had to his first love. His last visit to Knife’s Edge, six years ago, had found Lianne engaged to a fine butcher and mutual friend of theirs, Richard Dylen. Sidhe wasn’t jealous in the least. His avatar’s calling made it impossible for him to shower Lianne with the attention she truly deserved. As it was, he felt a profound satisfaction that one he cared for so dearly had found such a righteous man to share her life with.

“Oh, everything’s been fine here,” she replied with a kiss on his cheek, releasing him in the process and taking a step back to look Sidhe up and down. “Speaking of doing just fine, you look better than ever. What curse is it that makes women peak at twenty and allows men to keep growing handsome into their thirties?”

“Ha ha ha!” Sidhe chuckled. “Thank you. You look as radiant as ever yourself, my dear. Tell me, how’s Richard?”

“Oh, he’s doing well,” her eyes looked guilty for a moment as they shifted downward to stare at the counter. “He’s… er… been busy lately at the shop.”

She was suddenly blushing furiously, as if she’d caught herself being immoral in her thoughts.

“And how’s the bar treating you?” the avatar redirected the flow of conversation.

“Well,” she looked up again and indicated their surroundings with a swish of her rag, “it’s nights like these that keep us afloat during the bare seasons. God knows they’re a wrench, but well worth it in the morning.”

Just then, a large man shouted at the other end of the bar about some boy taking his seat, illustrating her point. The boy in question, seemingly unbothered, proceeded to share his order with another of The Chipped Mug’s bartenders.

“There’ll be at least a broken barstool tonight, I know it,” Lianne whispered with a sideways glance.

“You’re more optimistic than Trenion.”

Sidhe laughed at the confused look on her face and brushed the matter away with his hands. He asked for a drink and they continued to catch up with each other among sporadic interruptions from patrons seeking refills.

[Elijah_Morendale]

The giant of a man started huffing furiously. The sour odor of his breath brought tears to my eyes. I continued to ignore him, hoping that I would make him disappear just by thinking about it. Glancing to my left, I could see Nadia leaning against the bar. The redhead was glaring at the intruder, hoping that I'd let her make him disappear by real, more violent means. The bartender set my drink down in front of me. As I reached out for it, the angry man's fat hands wrapped themselves around the glass. He picked it up, downed the entire thing in one gulp, and let out a satisfied belch as he slammed the glass down on the floor. From across the crowded tavern, I could hear the old man lament, "Oh dear... Not again."

I did my best to keep my cool, and for the most part, I succeeded. Nadia, on the other hand... One look told me that she wouldn't bother asking my permission to take over before messing this man up something terrible. I quietly whispered to her, hoping to talk her down. "I know you're pissed off right now, but tomorrow's Thursday, I'll let you take out your rage on me during practice. Can't you wait?"

Her eyes were ablaze with rage. "No! This motherfucker wants to die!"

Oh my. Tonight wasn't going to end well, I could feel it already. To further drive the point home, the man clamped one of his meat hooks down on my shoulder and brought his face inches from my ear. "I don't think you heard me right, boy. That there's my seat."

Conflict was inevitable. I knew it, he knew it, and Nadia sure as hell knew it. So, if I was going to get the living tar beaten out of me, I may as well deserve it. I flagged down the bartender. "Hey, can I get one more? Oh, and put my first one on his tab, since he was kind enough to drink it for me." I shot a thumb into one of the big man's eyes. He reeled back, screaming in pain. I lightly chuckled to myself until I was cut off, quite literally, by two thick hands constricting my air hole.

My eyes bugged out as I gasped for breath. I tried to pry him loose from his stranglehold, but he only clenched tighter. I could feel myself being lifted off my seat, then the flow of air around me as the man effortlessly tossed my scrawny ass to the floor. What little air I had left was knocked clean out of my lungs as I landed on my back with a loud thunk. Waves pain echoed through my body as I silently wished for the friendly grasp of unconsciousness. The man hocked a loogey and spat at me, but I was somehow able to move my head in time for it to splatter harmlessly on the floor.

Tall, dumb, and fat chuckled evilly as he proceeded to take my barstool, his thighs cascading over the wood that creaked as he sat down. Nadia, who was crouched beside me, looked as if she were genuinely concerned about my well-being--a first, come to think of it. "Hey, chief! You alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." I shook my head to clear the stars out of my sight.

Her gaze narrowed, giving her an even more evil appearance than usual. "You want me to take care of him?"

"Just... Don't kill him."

"No promises, Elijah." Nadia grinned.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the man looking down on me. "What did you say, shit head?"


***

That's it. This guy was going down. Who does he think he is, acting like a total asshole towards Elijah like that? I grinned at his ugly face. "Nothing, nothing at all."

Fatty scoffed before returning to his--Elijah's--drink. "That's right." When I was sure he wasn't looking, I slowly got up and reached for the shattered glass from the chief's first drink. I grabbed a sharp chunk of glass, trying not to giggle. This bastard was going to feel some serious pain by the time I got done with him--if he was still capable of feeling anything at all, of course.

I rose to my feet, my smile singing the joys of the violence to come. Without saying a word, I jammed the glass into the side of the man's throat. Sadly, it didn't go in quite as much as I hoped for, but there was a nasty spurt of blood that flooded around the glass, which meant that I was on the right track.

The man clutched his neck and howled in pain as he flung himself off the barstool, flailing around like a kicked dog. "Urrrgh! You fuckin' cunt! I'm gonna' tear you into shreds!"

I met the challenge with the hardest damn middle finger I have ever flipped. "Try it. Your guts will decorate this tavern while I sip ale out of your empty skull." Clearly upset with my comment, the man bellowed and fired his free hand in my general direction. His inebriated state gave me an advantage--I ducked underneath his fist with ease and sprung up from the ground with a headbutt to his chin.

He reeled back, grunting in pain and surprise. He quickly regained his sights and tried again. I unslung my katana and blocked his punch. The wood cracked a bit with the impact, but the steel blade inside kept it from splintering altogether. Before he could react, I swung the wooden sheathe at the side of his neck, driving the shard of glass further into its fleshy pedestal. His beady eyes clenched shut and he snarled as he fell to his knees, revealing his rotting food-chompers.

Seizing the opportunity, I gave the son of a bitch one hell of a kick to the mouth. He immediately dropped to the ground, a trickle of blood oozing between his lips. But was I done? Was I satisfied? Hell, no! I've been feeling an indescribable sensation of hatred building up lately, and it needed an outlet. I leaped onto the man, straddling him and driving my thumbs into his eyes. I couldn't help but to laugh maniacally as my, er, Elijah's fingers pierce the soft muscles--I could feel blood seep around my fingers as the bastard screamed at the top of his lungs. He tried to pry my hands loose, but I was running on pure adrenaline. There was little that could stop me.

Like, for example, four of the other patrons in the bar. I could feel their hands wrap around me, exerting all of their strength to get my thrashing body off of the man. In a blind fury, I spun around and clocked one of the guys in the throat with a haymaker, dropping him immediately. The other unlucky bastard tried to stop me from punching anything else that moved, but he caught a beer mug upside the temple.

The remaining two patrons wisely backed off. "Three down! Who's fucking next!" I was losing it, and loving every second of it. Oh, Elijah, if you could only see me now! I'll have to fill you in on it later tonight.

[Sidhe]

Sidhe was enjoying himself profusely in Lianne’s company. Every time she finished attending a customer, she’d beam at him and swing back to his place at the bar to keep talking as if nothing had interrupted them. As such, Sidhe was not at all pleased to see her eyes widen in shock and stare off down the bar to his left, depriving him of that radiant smile. Following her gaze, he saw that what had been a mere commotion before had escalated beyond reason. The avatar witnessed the boy jab a shard of glass into the larger man’s neck and proceed to kick him in the mouth when he kneeled in pain before his aggressor. The youth then jabbed his fingers into the incapacitated man's eyes until a river of crimson began to trickle down the pained face.

“My God!” Lianne gasped in utter horror.

The Chipped Mug had its share of bloodshed from time to time, but it was usually contained to the swinging of a few fists among the drunker customers and deaths were quite rare. The people of Knife’s Edge knew to keep more fatal encounters outside the bar as a sign of respect to Trenion. This lunatic was obviously no local, reveling in his unrestrained violence before turning on those who tried to get him off the screaming, blinded individual. Sidhe saw the wild-eyed bar owner looking around desperately, unsure what he could do to stop this mess in his place of business. Normally, the bar patrons were enough to stop a belligerent client, but the boy had already made short work of two men and was jabbing a third in the throat. Most of the people around this were backing off, unwilling to be next. Their morbid curiosity kept them close enough for a good view of the goings on, however.

This is revolting.

Sidhe had had enough. He felt the blood rushing angrily to his head as righteous fury began to overtake the normally mild avatar of nature. Without a word to Lianne, he rose from his stool and grabbed his staff with an iron grip. Standing his full height, he somehow seemed to tower above those around him in his rage. He was an imposing figure as he made his way down the bar with blazing eyes fixed on the youth. The crowd parted for him at the sight of his determined expression, taken aback by the barely contained wrath masked behind its features. It was the fallen soul with gouged eyes that really put a sour taste in Sidhe’s mouth. The drinker was doomed to a sightless life forevermore, if he survived, and all his attacker could do was call out for more ‘challengers’. A scarlet ribbon was snaking its way across the floor toward Sidhe from the now unconscious form.

“Three’s more than enough for you tonight, coward” Sidhe bellowed in thunderous tones as he jabbed the tip of his staff angrily into the boy’s turned back, his temper taking even himself by surprise. “Torturing the defenseless and striking at people who haven’t raised a hand against you is nothing to boast about. This man was down and you’d have done well to leave him so.”

He spared a glance at the fallen figure as the base of his staff returned to the floor. The brute’s eyelids were open and a bloody pulp had replaced the orbs of his eyes. There was now a deep red pool around his form and Sidhe could no longer sense life’s pulse in him. The glass had been driven too far into his neck for there to have been much hope. Sidhe’s eyes closed shut as he spared a moment of silent remorse for the man’s cruel passing. His evening of alcoholism and harmless debauchery was tragically changed. What possible justification could the man have given the boy for such a sadistic response? There was none, Sidhe felt sure. When he opened his eyes again, he was seeing red and the boy was in the middle of his sights. He raised his staff again and held it horizontally in both hands before him.

“Try attacking a ready target and you may not fare so well, you piece of filth.”

[Elijah_Morendale]

"Coward? Filth?" My grin widened further as I turned towards the mystery person behind me. "I've already dealt with the person who you should've aimed those adjectives at. Elijah wanted me to promise not to kill him, but... Well, I get carried away sometimes." I giggled as I slowly took out my katana, slamming the sheathe onto the floor. The sound of the wood colliding echoed through the silent tavern; all of the patrons had put their conversations on hold to witness the development. This fool wants to die--I'll give them all a show to remember.

I quickly sized up the next person on my ever-growing list of asses to kick. He was definitely taller than me by a few good inches and had a well-built frame that was bronzed by the sun. Given his tanned leather clothing and those ugly-ass shoes, I had to guess that he was an outdoorsman, maybe even a druid. He sure smelled like one of those flower child pansies. His exposed skin was covered with scratches, had had a rough look on his face. His hands were clenched around a long, talymer staff. At one end sat a steel spike that looked as if it had seen better days.

I wrapped my hands tightly around the katana's hilt, bringing the steel blade up at an angle in front of me. Light from the lanterns danced on the polished surface. "If it's a coward that you're looking to fight, I'm pretty sure there's dozens of other people here that would be willing to line up. But, seeing as you can't stay out of our business..." I hunched down, ready to spring for an attack. "I've always wondered if the blood of a tree-hugger looked and tasted like sap."

I cackled with maniacal glee as I leaped at the man with total disregard for that staff he held in front of him. He was counting on a thin piece of wood to save him? As if! I raised my sword overhead, bringing it down at his skull in a flash of steel.

[Sidhe]

An amateur move.

As the blade came slicing down, Sidhe held his staff up fast and felt it struggle against the onslaught. There was a sharp cracking sound that reverberated across the bar as the youth’s sword embedded itself a quarter the diameter of the talymer rod. Taking advantage of the younger man’s mistake, the avatar of nature pulled back hard to free his weapon and slammed the right end hard at the boy’s unprotected side. He felt it hit something, presumably the boy, just as his feet slipped away from under him with a shrill squeak. Where he had been facing the vile youngster he suddenly saw The Chipped Mug’s dilapidated and web-ridden roof. His head had smashed hard against the ground and he was dazed for some seconds wondering why.

“My head…” he mumbled groggily.

The bar around them exploded with a myriad of protests. Apparently, Sidhe’s feet had been on the puddle of blood when he struck, obliging them to slip when he exerted pressure on the blow. This left him face to face with the blinded man’s corpse. Already his skin was an unnaturally chalky white, too much of his crimson fluid drained onto the wooden floor. His teeth were old and decayed, a process started long before he had departed the ranks of the living, and his face was rigidly set in a howl of pain, empty eye sockets searching for a savior that had not come in time. This sight, rather than fill the avatar with disgust, redoubled his fervor to see the mad boy put to justice.

However, he was at a terrible disadvantage on the floor, which the other patrons were seeing to. Two of the stronger bar-goers lifted Sidhe at the shoulder and carried him off as he stared around, still slightly stunned with his staff in a loose grip. Others seemed to be blocking his foe from sight. They finally released him by the fire and made sure he could stand, shaking him slightly till he raised a hand for them to stop. As he did this, the crowd parted and he was left with a clear view of the entire bar, including the boy across several tables and chairs way back by the counter. Lianne gave Sidhe an encouraging wave from where he’d left her. The avatar turned to the nearer of the two men who’d carried him with obvious inquiry on his face.

“Fair’s fair, mate,” the large, leather-clad gentleman said simply.

The others around him nodded in agreement. They didn’t wish to see a defender of the weak destroyed by so frivolous an act as slipping on the very spilled blood he sought to avenge. The bystanders were now lining the edges of the bar, clearly giving the two combatants enough room to tear each other apart without having to involve any more innocents. They especially gave the boy his space, hissing and catcalling in disdain at the one who’d started all this. Further heartened by the multitude’s support, Sidhe threw the very tip of his staff into the fire while giving his adversary a contemptuous glare. The metal spike began to redden with the heat, though he took care to keep the wood safe from combustion. The two gladiators were given their arena. Time would decide the victor.

How clearly virtue demonstrates its advantages, Sidhe thought as he shook his head to clear the last of its faintness.

[Elijah_Morendale]

I should've seen that one coming... Predictably, the man blocked my attack with his staff, splintering it a bit in the process. Before I could react, he pulled himself free and swung the staff around, hitting me in the side. My eyes bugged out and the wind got knocked out of me. I doubled over and spun away when I heard a loud crash against the tavern floor. Between clenched eyes, I noticed that my new opponent was sprawled on the ground, a dazed look on his face caused by the fall. Placing a hand on the bar to steady myself and regain my focus, I couldn't help but to smile. Serves you right for not staying out of damn business!

I gripped my katana to go in for the kill when patrons surrounded the man in leather garb. I raised my weapon, ready to cut in half anyone in the way when two of the patrons quickly turned around and restrained me. I struggled as they dragged me to the opposite end of the room. "What the fuck is this?!" I screamed as they pulled me away from the other patrons. Out of frustration, I quickly tapped into Elijah's ice powers and crafted a small spike of ice. I twisted my arm around and jammed it into one of my antagonist's shoulder. He immediately let go, screaming in pain and cursing.

The other man, confused between restraining me and helping his friend, let go. Seizing the opportunity, I quickly clocked him across the nose. With the sound of cartilage cracking, he stumbled backwards and fell into a chair as blood oozed out of his nostrils. I aimed well-flipped birds at the two men. "Jog off, the both of ya'!"

It only took another second for me to regain sight of the man with the staff. He was standing once again, his left shoe and pants stained with a layer of the big guy's blood. I paused for a moment, nearly regretting that tonight was turning out as such. I've killed one man, injured a few others, and now I had tasked myself with ridding the DNA pool of another low life. And yet... Unlike everyone else who has crossed me in the past five minutes, this guy actually knows what he's doing.

I quietly observed as he placed the tip of his staff into the fireplace, heating up that steel spike at the tip. It began to glow red as tounges of flame danced merrily around it. If that shit touches me, it's going to hurt! As it stood, I decided that I had two options to end this conflict favorably--and diplomacy was out of the question, so technically I had only one.

A toothy grin crossed my face as the patrons backed away from the impending brawl. I swiftly crafted three ice kunais, a technique I learned from Elijah. The thin blades of ice in hand, I dashed forward. With a wave of my arm, I threw the kunais at the man's neck as I readied myself for a quick slash with my katana.

[Sidhe]

So the petulant child has some skill to back up his rowdiness, Sidhe thought as he saw the boy manifest the dart-like projectiles of ice and send them soaring at the avatar across the room.

Though his vision was clear, there remained a pulsing ache where his head had met the floor. It intensified painfully as he performed a quick sidestep to avoid the oncoming kunai of ice. The first two smashed against the wall behind him, shattering loudly amid gales of applause from the crowd. However, the third met its mark at Sidhe’s left shoulder, nicking him just above the clavicle before passing on. It did not feel painful at first, more like a vague warm-cold sensation. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the surrounding crowd’s unanimous groan at the sight of his injury, the avatar might have thought he’d managed to miss that one too, pumped full of adrenaline as he was. He thought he could make out Lianne’s worried cry among the mob.

There were more important factors in his immediate circumstance, though, such as the lunatic katana-armed youth coming at him. Steel spike still simmering with evanescent smoke at the end of his staff, Sidhe locked the bottom half into the legs of a nearby oaken chair to his left. He then placed his left hand three feet under his right’s grip and used leverage to propel the piece of furniture into the air. It worked, to a degree. The small chair was sent flying to collide with his opponent’s path, but its flight was slowed considerably by the unexpected faltering in his left arm’s push.

Chancing a glance at his wound, the Salvaran naturalist saw that this move had been a mistake. What had been a small cut on his shoulder now stained his leather garb a deep, copious red. It had been forced open by his maneuver. When his staff met the ground again, it was actually made to support his weight for once. He leaned heavily on it, wincing with the pain of countless blazing hot needles jabbing at his wound for a full second. This, in turn, made the ache in his head that much harder to tolerate. The injured arm would be useless until properly cared for, he knew.

You should have known better, he chastised himself. The hardest losses are at one’s own fault. Respect your limitations.

Recovering, though still in considerable pain, he weighed his options and carried out the only course of action that made sense to him. In a sudden dash of speed, he took two steps forward and hurled his staff at his assailant. The rod flew end over end, hissing through the air and leaving a spiral of smoke that trailed behind the heated spike. With any luck, it would be this end that met with the boy. The mass of observers gasped at the sight of this. Who would readily disarm for so reckless a strike? Sidhe, however, knew the weapon’s practicality was lost to him with only one arm. It was better to use it in this way than attempt an ill-fated defense in melee quarters against a sword with the unmanageable device. What would happen if the boy were undeterred, Sidhe would have to discover along with his anxious supporters.

Your move.

[Elijah_Morendale]

Under normal circumstances, it would've been a quick half-second before my katana cut through this hippy's soft flesh and sprayed blood all over the place. However, in my recklessness, I failed to see the chair sent out as an interception party. I squeaked in surprise as I raised my arms--the only thing I had enough time to do. Oak collided with bone, dampened slightly by the thickness of Elijah's denim jacket. I let a steady stream of obscenities fly as a jolt of pain wracked my arms. I dropped my sword and cradled myself, silently willing the pain away. Boy, Elijah's gonna' be pissed at me when he comes to only to find a few suspicious bruises up and down his arms...

It should've hurt more, but there was something about the way this jackass launched the furniture at me--was he in pain or something? I was too busy to notice that one of my projectiles connected, causing a wound near his neck that steadily leaked his dark red body juice. The crowd gasped, and I looked up to see the man's staff twirling through the air like a drugged up ballerina. Destination: My face. I quickly moved to the right, but the staff's smoldering steel tip collided with my left shoulder.

This is the part where I would've screamed in pain, but Elijah's chain mail had done it's job of protecting me. His jacket, however, didn't fare as well--there was a small patch of burned denim where the hot steel made contact. I allowed myself a small chuckle as the weapon fell harmlessly to the ground, glaring at the man with menacing eyes. "Seriously, is that all you got? Some hero you're trying to be."

I held out my hands, the arms they were attached to still stinging from their threesome with the chair. Tapping into Elijah's powers, I coated my hands with ice, curving and sharpening the fingertips so they resembled the claws of a bird of prey. I also covered my forearms with a thin layer of ice in attempt to numb the pain a bit.

Several patrons' eyes widened as I rushed forward, my frozen claws moving through the air like a flash of light blue in an effort to rip this guy's face off.