Just Here For A Drink

[Indyrio]

25th Day of Spring 512 AV Location: The Wolf's Cave The quiet whisperings of the wind were fickle around the night-clad streets of Alvadas, carrying the brittle notes of conversations from those few whom stopped to exchange pleasantries with familiar faces. A warm glow of log fed fires big and small extended from an overabundance of silt stained windows at street level, pouring a restrained deluge of dancing jacinth over the cobble. It carried a residential ambience that seemed unthreatened by Alvadas’ capricious nature, but Indyrio was more than aware that appearances were hardly ever as they seemed. He’d gotten himself lost again, which was to say that he’d chosen to let the city guide him however she willed it - not that there was really any choice in the matter to begin with. It had been awhile since he’d felt the taste of liquor grace his lips, and tonight seemed as good a night as any to visit one of the taverns for a swill of their finest. A shadow clad wraith with linen white sleeves, loose strands of dark hair bounced with each recoiling step. He did not notice their feral eyes upon him as he passed, watchful in the way an animal gazes with uncertainty at a human, but then again Indyrio didn't seem troubled by much in his current state. With violet irises concentrated on the shadow laden path just a few steps in front of him, only on occasion did he look to see where he was. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference either way with a city that held no landmarks from which to base one‘s position. But by his reckoning, he was heading down an easterly road, and that seemed to suit him just fine. The ping of thick glass and resonant hum of competing voices was the first sign he had been looking for, lifting his hollow stare from the beaten path to a building that blended in perfectly with the coarse white stone around it. The amber glow from a large fire hidden within spilled through an inviting open arch to a stone fed patio. Next to it was a sign that read in several languages as The Wolfs Cave. Bemused by the name choice because of its resemblance, Indyio stepped with a temperate ease about him towards the entrance and peered inside. Beyond the threshold many a race gathered, perched atop fur lined stools before smooth topped tables of what appeared to be stone. A great fire burned in the middle of the floor, bringing a cozy ambience to the cavernous lounge, warmth reaching out to Indyrio and pulling him the rest of the way inside. A cordial greeting was offered from his left as soon as his foot touched the soft sand, to which Indyrio embraced with a friendly smile, catching a woman’s gaze whose yellow eyes gave her species immediately. “Would you like a room?” She asked in such a way that hoped he would refuse, just the hint of anxiety etched in her voice. Shaking his head with the same smile painting his rough spun features, Indyrio noticed that the woman’s posture seemed to relax. “Just here for a drink. If that’s alright?” “Of course it is.” A muffled growl was quickly swallowed by the din of the room. Letting the smile fade, more from a certain sense of discomfort he’d gotten than from his muscles tiring, Indyrio pressed onward towards the bar and gathered up at one of the stools. Taking note of a similarly eyed tender, Indyrio decided not to press his luck with a smile and simply ordered. “Something strong… Please.”

[Ronar Bolbek]

Ronar found himself, on the first truly eventful night of his life in Alvadas, sat in a corner, which was brought to life only by the deep orange and crimson flames that sprung from the centre of the room. The 'Wolfs Cave' was the name, and one would not dare argue with the folks who had named it such. Ronar had found himself wandering some time ago, through the alleys and streets of Alvadas. To be honest, he could not recall how long ago it was. Either way, he was now in a far corner of the cave, and had been since he had arrived in the place. He had sat now for a good few hours watching men from all walks of life come to revel and drink in the Wolfs Cave. It was strange, Ronar mused, how a man could walk into such a place with his head firmly screwed on. However, look an hour down the line, and he will be acting a lunatic. Ronar had sat back and watched people get in others ways, which would usually lead to a peacefully resolved argument. He wondered if it was the flames which had such an effect. They were so.. enticing, so delicious.. So full of their own spirit. Watching the flame, Ronar could feel his own blood beginning to boil. Oh, how he wished for violence, how he wished for a good fight. A good murder if it came to it. More to amuse himself than anything, Ronar looked around again for people he felt would put up a good fight against one another. His eyes glazed over the typical large, muscular brutes. They lacked style and finesse in battle. His eye did catch one man however, who was casually placing himself by the bar. He was youthful in appearance, very boy like, save the shape of his upper body which was more toned than one would expect of a boy. The man seemed only to be around 20 years old, yet had a glint to him which made him look older. Ronar liked the look of the man so kept his eyes fixed on him, hoping to be seen in the corner of the young man's eye. He could prove resourceful in the future. If not, he would be a good fight to watch for entertainment. Ronar would watch the events unfold about the man. There was little else to do at this time, after all.

[Indyrio]

OOCSo sorry for the length! A chipped mug of red clay with a frail handle was set before him in a curt manner, a maelstrom of dark liquid twisting through its center while amber froth bubbled along the sides. “What’s the damage?” he asked in a sober tone, eyes cast to the slate surface before him so as not to be caught in an uncomfortable stare. “Silver,” the voice behind the bar snarled, though Indyrio got the impression it was not an aggressive gesture. The fare was perhaps mediocre at best just by the look of it, but he lacked the pluck to argue. Burying a gloved hand into a small pouch at his side, he procured a glittering coin the size of his thumb and set it down, sliding it a few inches forward with the tip of a finger. Watching it disappear, Indyrio coddled the mug in his right hand and took a first sip. Something told him that taking a whiff of it might forbid him from returning it to his lips again. The taste was revulsion with just the slightest hint of bile trailing behind in an aftertaste that made him want to gag. But it was strong, just as he’d foolishly asked. Partaking in a more audacious swig this time, it cleaved a trail of fire in its swirling wake that left his lungs begging for air. Sucking through gritted teeth, he repressed a cough by will alone and paid for it in tears brimming the violet crests of his eyes. The thought of drawing attention from unwanted eyes unnerved him. The seats to the right and left had been empty since he’d presented himself, the majority of the clientele joined together around tables in the common area talking over emptying glasses and games of chance. A cool breeze kept the room ventilated and tempers at ease, the flow of drink copious and the conversation stimulating. Things seemed to be blissfully tranquil for once, and that was uncharacteristic in a city that changed with every waking breath. Leaning away from the bar, Indyrio snaked his booted toes around the legs of his stool and straightened his spine, slowly tugging his shoulders back while bone and muscle stretched and popped. Inhaling a deep and pleasant breath of the wood smoke that seemed prevalent in everything, Indyrio casually observed what parts of the room lay immediately within his field of vision. Most kept to themselves, absorbed with other acquaintances in conversation and tending socially to drinks that were only half interesting. It wasn’t until he reached his peripherals that Indyrio took stock of a man staring back at him. He seemed neither startled nor upset by the newcomers presence, simply weighing him with eyes Indyrio had been witness to before. They were calculating the fight in him, testing his reactions without ever having to see him move. It was the same look his uncle sometimes gave him before a sparring match. It was a quiet respect, but had a very nebulous meaning. An almost imperceptible nod bent his head only a fraction of an inch down, a tight lipped smile twitching the edges of his thin lips to curl for only a moment. Perhaps he would see Indyrio on the street later, a shuddering thought at the very least. But for now he seemed content in letting the newcomer enjoy his drink. Gods be merciful. Turning back to the bar before him, he took another bitter draught and closed his eyes, letting a twinge of euphoria settle in. Somewhere in the back of the cavern a number of stools dislodged themselves from the earth, aged wood groaning with the sudden loss of weight that had occupied them. It seemed no more than just a group getting ready to depart, five men stretching as they threw down the cards they’d been holding with just a hint of a grudge marring their faces. A sixth man stayed behind to collect his winnings as well as the deck, a furtive smile hidden in the shadows where his competitors wouldn’t catch it. The men who departed from the table slowly made their way to the bar, a host of impeding objects being pushed to the side, unconcerned with whom they inconvenienced. Few eyes dared to challenge them though, and those that did quickly looked away when they counted the odds. It appeared as if the men were simply on their way to pay a tab they’d quickly accumulated over the night’s events, the scent of alcohol wicked on their breath. It was all the more reason to just let them go peacefully and start trouble elsewhere. Two of the men flanked Indyrio whom still sat in trained repose, their eyes weighing the stranger for a second as one of them revealed a cruel smile to the other. “What do you think this one’s doing, Smirk?” “Looks like he’s napping, Gruel. Lightweight too. Barely touched his drink,” the other grunted, peering into the mug set before Indyrio, lazily brushing into him with his shoulder. “How endearing. You have pet names for one another,” Indyrio muttered, fluttering the lids of his eyes open for the first time since their candid arrival and gauging the expressions of each man’s face one at a time. They seemed displeased at the very least, and Indyrio appeared half surprised that he’d said anything at all. The other three men simply sat and watched in silence from close by, though their smiles were just as equally venomous as ‘Smirk’s’ and ‘Gruel’s’. The weight of the world pressed just a touch deeper into the soft muscle of Indyrio’s shoulders when he realized how many there were, the lifelessness in the pale violets of his eyes kindling but the faintest of fires. “Take it outside, the lot of you!” A thunderous snap came crashing down from behind the bar, silencing all sounds from within the tavern as eyes were reeled in from all directions. Indyrio could feel their spectating eyes burning holes into his spine, a powerful disquiet stringing a tight knot within the pit of his unfilled stomach. Upon cursory glance he noticed what appeared to be the proprietor of the establishment, his eye for catching scuffles before they ever transpired something to admired. That, or he just knew the men well enough to know the trouble they presented. “Happy to,” Indyrio found himself speaking with more courage than he truly possessed, untangling his legs from around the stool and placing them gently on the ground. Standing up brought a weakness to his knees that he did everything to ignore, allowing the blood in his veins to settle before taking his first steps towards the exit. Showing weakness right now would only worsen his plight, though Indyrio knew the odds going into it were already dismal at best. The pack of five were all too happy to take his lead, menacing chuckles shared between them as some cracked knuckles while others popped their pivoting necks in the shadow of his gait. It was all for dramatic effect he had to tell himself. If the stink of their breath was any indication as to how drunk they were, their reactions would be sluggish at best. Even so, they were powerfully built men, and perhaps one or two could have been Kelvic. If those ones decided to shift during the fight, Indyrio would have no choice but to use one of the throwing daggers he’d brought along with him. He fancied killing no living creature, especially for such asinine endeavors as this. Stepping back out into the cool night air he’d separated himself from not fifteen chimes ago, Indyrio inhaled deeply until the chill stung his nostrils. Stepping down to the stone white patio, he noticed a set of wooden chairs on each side of a table to his right that had been vacated long ago. Perhaps he could use them to his advantage if his were about him, but something in his heart told him to trust in his instincts and training. Perhaps if given enough time, he could even use flux. Continuing to walk a few more leisurely paces, Indyrio turned around to see that the group of men had stopped at the base of the steps leading down, giving them all a little room to take measure. Drawing in another deep breath through parched lips, Indyrio practiced a simple focusing technique that did nothing more than to relax his posture and clear his mind. “Should we turn?” he could hear one of them quietly ask another. "Not worth ruining your clothes," came the reply.

[Ronar Bolbek]

OOCSo many words! D:

The man Ronar had been eyeing up eventually met his gaze, before turning back to his drink. In the brief glance, Ronar had tried to get a measure of the man. His level gaze surely meant that he was sensible and the firm jawline, now highlighted due to the angle of the fire told Ronar that this individual was disciplined. However, the stare of the man also held another secret. This man knew violence. This man had been fighting for a while, though it was faint and well disguised. It was obvious from the way people passed him sly looks that they thought the same, that they could see some sort of unspoken aggression coming from the man. The reason for this discipline and aggression was unknown to Ronar, but he made a mental note that in the future, he may well see extreme violence or anger from the man. A slight,brief nod of the head was also given. This led Ronar to believe the stranger had some respect. The fact that he showed respect first also could be interpreted as the man seeing Ronar as his better. Whether this was truthful or not, it nonetheless gave Ronar a feeling of pride. Sitting back, calm again, Ronar observed as a group of drunkards made their way to the bar. Ronar could not here all of the events going on, however he did see them. He watched as the man commented on something, which apparently served only to anger the group. A voice came from behind the bar, then the group made their way to outside, led by the man. He couldn’t help himself. Ronar quietly rose from his stool and slipped past the fire unobserved. He headed out of the exit and felt the chill breeze touch at the insides of his lungs. The gang of men had stopped at the bottom of the stone staircase and looked to be muttering to one another and limbering up for a fight. From the group, Ronar could make out 2 Kelvics, who were obviously so, as they had begun shaking, breathing heavily and shouting in no particular language between random, erratic breaths. The rest of the gang could only be described as brutes and bullies. None seemed martially adept, but all were large and looked like they could pack a punch if need be. Not to appear suspicious, Ronar made his way, quietly past the gang and proceeded to lean against a wall. The mutual respect gained from the fellow at the bar, who was now stood courageously in front of a group of burly, violent drunkards, had persuaded Ronar that he could not just stand by and watch him get kicked about, however much that may please him. Ronar would watch the fight, to see how the stranger would fight, or if he even would fight at all. Then when he felt that things were starting to go downhill, he would jump in and save the day. At least, that was the plan. This said, Ronar made sure that he just far enough away from the fight to not be dragged in before he had gauged how the men would fight, but close enough to allow him to jump in when he was good and ready.

[Indyrio]

A small legion of swaggering feet all advanced at once with Smirk in the lead, no words necessary for men whose intentions were artlessly simple. Planting his left foot a toe’s length ahead of his right, Indyrio embedded the vast majority of his weight, and subsequently his power, into the lagging half of his lean frame. Despite the steadily growing cold pouring into the darkening night, Indyrio found himself perspiring from a strange suffusion of fear and anticipation. It felt remarkably good. A tidal wave of umbral cloth and flesh swelled despairingly before the halfblood in the time it took him to exhale, its unbridled fury of searing heat and caustic sneers chasing away the reigning cold of the night in all directions. Every muscle in Indyrio’s body braced against its impending impact, the dark pupils in his eyes humbling his rich violet irises until there was nothing left but a small ring of pigment surrounding polished black stone. Was this what his life had amounted to? A single suffocating wave of intoxicated men with nothing better to do than prove their mettle against a single opponent? To have traveled all this way, never having learned a petchin‘ thing about Ionu? To die never knowing the sincere love of another woman? The absurdity made the unblemished edge of his lips crack in the hint of a soul splintering smile. It was all that remained of his sanity to this point, and it was precisely what he needed. What Indyrio thought he knew of time and its singular steady flow quickly fled. An adrenaline engulfed heart that should have been rattling against the cavity of his chest ticked at a pace that could have fooled a master healer into thinking his soul had departed from the mortal coil. Leveling his gaze with Smirk’s towering frame, Indyrio noticed a set of slowly flexing sinews building along his right bicep, curling back like the tightened draw of a crossbow ready to explode with quarrel. Spittle sagged from his snarling lips like warm molasses, and his left leg dragged behind in his step as though he would lose his balance at any moment. But this seemed no precious illusion of the city. This felt internal, as though he were looking to the last few seconds of his life frame by tortuously slow frame. When Smirk’s meaty fist fired like a spear thrust in torpor, all of Indyrio‘s instincts responded. Like his environment around him, he too could catalogue every single drop of momentum and force from the way he lifted his left arm to ward away the haymaker designed for the left side of his skull, to the pitching down of his torso from bent knee to give him a more convincing first strike. But when Smirk’s wrist collided with Indyrio’s forearm, the shock sent a ripple of stifling pain all the way down to dense bone, pain that thrust the flow of time forward to the natural glare of intense motion and sweat soaked drama. Parrying the white knuckled fist harmlessly off to the side, the halfblood rocketed his entire body forward, launching from his right foot and twisting his torso left to lend him more torque. Smashing his fist into the soft fatty tissue of Smirk’s gut, he felt the man’s entire mass crumple with a sputtering moan. Dropped to his knees, a spew of saliva and regurgitated alcohol drained from his lips down to the dry stone of the patio. Smirk hopefully wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. From his immediate left and right in the sweltering shadow, similar punches flew dark and ominous. The knuckles from what appeared to be Gruel to the left dug painfully into his ribcage just beneath the shoulder, stifling the natural flow of Indyrio‘s breath as he leaned against the intense pressure and dropped to a half-knee. To his right the crippled body of a vomiting Smirk aided him in feeling little more than a grazing burn against his neck, the dark silhouette stumbling over his friend‘s outstretched arm that kept him from tumbling to the ground. The remaining two circled around, fists drawn before them just waiting for the opportune moment. They would get their turn soon enough Shouldering into Smirk, Indyrio grunted with a forceful shove to the predominately incapacitated body, tossing him over onto his back as his flailing appendages tangled with his friend’s knees. It was just the diversion he needed to focus all his attention on Gruel whom by now was already swinging down for another blow. Reaching back to moor the weight of his upper body, his oily palm connected with the cool stone, thankful for the little things in life as the heel of his boot snapped out and into the wobbling patella of Gruel’s knee. Tendons and cartilage sickeningly popped and snapped, Gruel’s fist robbed of its momentum as Indyrio could see the whites of his eyes blossom even in the veil of shadow. All his weight had been pushed into the leg, which had made it difficult to step back from the blow where he would have just had a swollen joint to contend with. Crashing to the ground, Gruel's hands instinctively fled to the twisted knee while an indignant cry pierced the night. To Indyrio it was sweeter than a maiden’s voice, while to the others it served as a rallying cry.

[Ronar Bolbek]

Such fun! Things were really starting to heat up now. Ronar stood back and watched as the man knocked away the first brute and landed a fist in his stomach, putting him down out of the fight for a while. He then engaged with two others, coming out relatively unscathed. This had all happened in such a blur, and Ronar was already loosing track of the fighters. Was that 2 or 3 down now? The boy had talent alright; he looked like he had been trained to hit weak spots of the body. The kick to the knee cap had been shown to him for sure. That was not a place your average brawler would look to damage. This man may be very dangerous indeed. Having seen enough to judge the mob, Ronar looked for a way to introduce himself. Looking around, he remembered the chair and table just by the bottom of the staircase. He casually strolled over, as the remaining gang members made their way to encircle the man once again. The chair Ronar picked up was lighter than he had anticipated, and by the feel of the wood, was starting to fall apart. With a still, fairly casual attitude, Ronar took the chair by the backrest, keeping the seat part facing outwards. He edged closer to the gang members, who now looked ready to pounce again, and raised the chair in his right hand to about shoulder level, then brought it up above his head and met the chair up with his left hand too. The thug he was stood behind glanced over his shoulder to spot Ronar with the chair raised high above his head, and a slight grin across his face. The thug was one of the Kelvics Ronar had picked out on the way outside, and as he saw realised what was happening he let out a small whimper and started to turn his body towards Ronar, as if to stop the blow head on. Ronar giggled at the sight of the Kelvic flinching, and then brought the chair crashing down, aiming the front of the seat across the bridge of the Kelvic's nose. The chair made contact and instantly came apart in his hands. All Ronar was left holding were the two wooden supports which ran up the side of the chairs backrest, and were connected by the back board. Everything else, but those two pieces of wood, had shattered on the impact to the Kelvic's face. The splintering of the wood was sickening as it impacted, and Ronar guessed he had broken a nose at least, if not crushed the entire frontal bone into the very brain of the creature, although, somehow he doubted the latter. The Kelvic looked stunned, confused even, just for a second, before blood started to stream heavily from his nose and he promptly slumped to the floor. Presuming the Kelvic was unconscious, Ronar looked up to the man he was attempting to help out. Feeling that he had just knocked out the Kelvic with a chair, needless to say, Ronar was ecstatic and blood began pumping through hot arteries. He threw the shaft of wood in his right hand to the direction of the man, offering it up as a weapon of sorts. Then, oblivious to the fact that the fight was still happening, he stepped over the slumped body and put out an outstretched hand to shake a hand, a massive grin cracking now across his face. "My name is Ronar Bolbek. Pleased to meet you! You do seem to be in a spot of bother." With this, Ronar grinned again and quietly chuckled as he awaited a response.

[Indyrio]

A shower of splinters and the discarded remains of what appeared to be a broken chair splashed harmlessly against the halfblood’s back and around booted feet, his entire body cringing reactively to the sharp crack it thundered over a body that was surprisingly not his own. Turning a wary eye over the huddled ruffles in his shoulder, the object of the chair’s brunt force slumped like a tumbling black curtain, behind the shadow its champion sporting an unhinged smile. He approached with confidence teeming as though the fight had been won, the soft glow from the tavern’s entrance bringing contrast to a face that elicited a familiarity for Indyrio. It seemed courtesy did have its place in the city, meshed between hellish illusions and gangs of men who took pleasure in outnumbering the weak. Looking down to the hand he offered by way of greeting, Indyrio’s face twisted in mortified disbelief. He couldn’t be serious… “Are you ins--?!” his body shook with a fiery temper, cut off by a well aimed fist to his cheek that thrust a murky glob of blood and spittle from betwixt his thin dry lips. Jarred numbingly to the left, another anonymous hand latched onto Indyrio’s wrist and pulled him back before he could reach the ground, head turning just in time to catch a glimpse of Smirk whom had evidently made it back to his feet during the two’s folly exchange. Another fist aimed for his neck had the halfblood instinctively dipping his head to shirk the blow, knuckles crashing into crown as both men recoiled in pain, flashes of searing white light pulsating before the halfblood‘s eyes. He hung half limp from a tether of callused flesh that refused to let go, anger the coals to its fire. Holding a set of freshly gnarled and bloody knuckles protectively against his chest, Smirk leaned back with Indyrio still in tow and whipped him away, frustration carving deep shadows in an ugly face. Awkward steps worked to maintain his balance, but the halfblood’s body found the cobbled streets of Alvadas quickly enough despite the fact. Rolling on his side in a controlled tumble, Indyrio waited on inertia before snapping his forearm into the stony ground, each muscle in his body strained as he fought against gravity to properly right himself.

[Ronar Bolbek]

How rude! Ronar had just saved this man's hide from a thorough beating, and he could not even say 'Hello' or anything by way of a 'Thank you', let alone shake his hand. People these days could be so ungrateful. No sooner had the man shown his plain ingratitude for Ronar intervening in the fight, that he was back to getting punched. This time it was first of the men to have been knocked down. It appeared he had risen to his feet and taken advantage of the situation. The man was being repeatedly punched by Smirk, until it got to a point where he could not take it any more and was half thrown, half fell on to the cobbled floor. That was it, Ronar was going to teach these thugs a lesson. He had come out to see a fight but had been distracted by this lack of respect, so he wasn't happy. Strangely enough though, Ronar had retained his aggression so far. If anything, he was getting quite caught up in the fight, but he could not let this issue of basic manners slip by unchallenged. Ronar took two steps, just enough to put him behind Smirk's back as the lumbering idiot looked for another way to cause havoc. Rather politely, given the situation, Ronar tapped Smirk on the right shoulder with his left hand, then retracted it and placed the hands, one held in the other, behind his back. It hit him then that he had no idea what he was doing. So as the giant turned around, Ronar decided to tell him just what he thought of him. "You, my friend are starting to annoy me now. You have stormed your way around this bar and then caused a fight, where you heavily outnumbered the opponent. If I had to sum you up, I would say you were a coward and a bully and I firmly believe that you should apologise to the man you are assaulting." Ronar levelled his gaze off to meet the eye of Smirk. He tried to steady himself, while remaining in a strong position. He wanted to know that he was serious. Despite this though, Ronar himself was surprised at what he had just said. Never had words like that crossed his tongue, and never had he spoken in such a polite manner. It must have been the nerves, or at least, those were what Ronar put it down to. Smirk had turned to face Ronar, and grinned when he was finished speaking. After a few seconds pause, he replied in a gruff, condescending manner; "Well that's a pity now, isn't it?" A firm punch struck Ronar in the gut and sent him flying down and backwards. He hit the floor a metre or so a way and curled into a fetal position, unable to breathe from the shock of the punch. He strayed an eye over to the stranger, who he could see, trying to regain his posture, but only gradually achieving it. The two of them needed to get out, and as soon as Ronar was fit to run, he planned on grabbing the stranger by the scruff of his neck and frog marching him out of the area if need be.

[Indyrio]

A fatigue he’d long tried to ignore settled in by the time Indyrio was back on his feet, shoulders trembling from the breath he fought to regain. Pain not only radiated from where he’d been struck, but also fingered out in small webs to all his extremities. And it all made him wonder as to its vastly cryptic point. What reason was there that Gruel would be walking for the rest of his life with a slight limp? That Smirk had punched him so hard he’d likely broken his knuckles? That the Kelvic who had been bludgeoned by the chair might not wake up for days, if ever again? The murder in their eyes was as cheap as the alcohol they had consumed. What point did any of this serve… The two remaining nameless street thugs of this motley gang still came after him, their silhouettes growing deeper and more abundant the further away from suitable light they were. Hamstrung and quickly running out of options, Indyrio spat savagery off to the side, sweat drenching the entirety of his face with one rivulet sinking into an unfortunate left eye. What did any of this matter anymore. Wobbling forward to greet the first arrival, Indyrio quickly ducked beneath a wild hook from his opponent’s right. He retaliated swiftly before becoming too overextended with an unscrupulous kick to the man’s groin. Even through the strong leather toes of his boot, he could feel the tender area compress into the man’s pelvis, toppled quickly as his eyes threatened to explode from their sockets. A single breath of bone dry and exclamatory air popped from the curvature of his shivering lips. Staggering awkwardly to his left immediately after, Indyrio leaned over as though to whisper into the man’s ear and piled a half-committed elbow into his spine instead. Both bodies shuddered beneath the force, though only one man made it to the ground in a grotesque slop of wet flesh and unforgiving earth. Watching the man writhe in pain with two hands pressed between his legs, Indyrio had just enough time to smile ruefully before two hands grabbed hold of his limping shoulders. Thrust upwards faster than his eyes could navigate the terrain, his stomach felt the sharp impact of a knee that jostled his midsection and all precious things contained within. Crumpled over in a gurgle of phlegm and blood, one hand drifted to the support of his thigh while a dry heave shuddered throughout his entire body. Perhaps there was one small victory to be found in this night’s debacle--at least this small encounter had stalled him from eating earlier. Humor only served to make the deep agony in his abdomen that much worse, however. A searching hand wrapped around the ruffled collar of his shirt to pull him back up again before he could consider much else, his half-conscious gaze met with eyes more crisp than gold. A low growl emanated from somewhere in the shadow of his assailant‘s face, though the halfblood had become so delirious by now he couldn’t be sure which way was up. Another punch landed to the right side, this one swallowing his eye as his head snapped back and hung there for a moment. This pain felt no worse than any other he had endured, lost to a sea of growing numbness and that much closer to losing consciousness. Blood filled the gaps between teeth as he grinned, a small pool gathering beneath his tongue. What seemed like a man succumbing to his wounds in one final dance with divinity's expectant arms, Indyrio's head slumped forward to catch a final glimpse into his foe's waiting eyes. This Kelvic had no soul, no compassion hidden anywhere beneath the shadowed contours of his face. All Indyrio saw was senseless hate, and another fist winding up to deliver him to that peaceful darkness his entire body screamed for. But something stubborn within Indyrio refused to quit. To fall now seemed a shameful consolation, belittling everything he'd worked hard for. It had to be more than his talent that kept him standing. Sucking up all the moisture and blood in his mouth, Indyrio simply spit ungracefully into the beast’s face. The caliginous mass smeared wretchedly across his eyes and nose, a startled snort accompanying an ease in tension he had on the halfblood's cuff. It was all Indyrio needed for gravity to handle his descent to crouched knee, springing forward against the pain of tightening muscle into his adversary's legs with slender arms breached wide. Wrapping his body around the Kelvic’s thighs in vicious embrace, Indyrio used the last morsel of strength left in his back to lift and drop his adversary to the same earth he’d felled all his crippled friends. Untangling his body from the coiled mess rose a shadow whose eyes bid the other a grim farewell, taking a disorganized step back before wailing his foot into a stunned opponent’s chin. Looking up to see what his friend had accomplished, Indyrio’s vision blurred and sank, his body tumbling to the ground knees first followed by what would have been the rest of him had it not been for a single defiant hand that’s refusal only showed the measure of his resolve.

[Ronar Bolbek]

It took longer than Ronar had expected for him to come around. At first it was hard even gasping a single breath. The punch had severely winded him. His gut ached and a rib felt like it was broken, due to a stabbing sensation that was felt at the low left side of his lung when he breathed in. A few minutes at least of agony set in, but once the sharp pain in his lung and the dull throb of his stomach were mildly bearable, Ronar pushed himself to stand up. He figured that adrenaline was the only thing that was keeping him going and thus, he should make the most of it before it ran out. Ronar was finally standing, aided by the wall. He looked over to see the man crouched now in what looked like defeat, yet, the bodies of his opponents lay more or less in one pile. The man looked on the verge of passing out. He needed medical attention, but Ronar had no idea where to get such a thing, so decided that he would take him back to his house and try to treat him there. A few attempts were taken before a successful one, to get Ronar of the wall and walking again. His gut still had a dull throb to it, and his side felt like it was tearing every time a step was taken. Eventually, Ronar reached the man. He stood to the left of the man and put his left arm over the man's back to lend him support. His right hand guided the man's arm over Ronar's shoulders, and slowly, Ronar stood up with him. The man's face was battered, there was no doubt about that. His whole face was a nasty shade of broken and his eyes looked to be clamped tightly shut. Ronar winced as he lifted his right arm to his neck to pull out his finder key, he would take the man home then treat his injuries there to the best of his ability, which wasn't exactly experienced.