Open In the arms of violence

[Gauge Barlow]

Season of Summer, Day 56, 513

Gauge sat in a corner table of the tavern, drinking a bottle of cheap ale, his mind drifting off afar from the present moment from boredom. For a tavern in Sunberth to be this calm was almost insulting.. Looking around, he spotted a fairly decent looking young woman at the bar. Alone. Gauge licked his lips after taking a drink of his almost empty bottle and made his way towards the young beauty with an arrogant confidence, letting his mind drift towards more unsettling thoughts.

Using his left arm, he gripped the corner of the serving table to lean on. "Strange seeing a beautiful girl here all alone amongst all kinds of dangerous people," he spoke softly while smiling, using his most culminating charm in hopes of capturing the young girls attention.

His patience was faltering here and there due to his inebriation, and the aura that clung to his grime flesh foreboded estrangement. She hadn't seemed to notice that, but was noticing him now with her eyes. The weight of his body on his bicep revealed how toned they were, though unintentionally, it was an asset that he held at best in attraction. The intake of booze, he hoped, would not deter the prey he had chosen as his prey. However, she was also here, in the bar, choosing to drink alone and leave herself defenseless to the whims of the worst degenerates that lingered about. What happened to her was none of his business; nor did he actually care, in the slightest.

The look at his face betrayed what feelings he truly beheld, his smile seeming as sincere as could be, for someone like himself.

"Not interested," she stated concisely, as she then returned to her drink, as if he wasn't even there. Gauge still had a trick or two up his sleeve; willing or not, she would come around. "I think you are, besides.. Whoever you're waiting for can't nearly be as interesting as myself." Gauge was only guessing that she was waiting for someone; why else would she be here?

The young lady didn't respond, or even acknowledge his presence. Annoyed that the lass hadn't taken the time to notice his effort, Gauge was about to retaliate with a whispered threat when a large, and rather round man, at the bar got up and walked to the lady's side. "She ain't interested, why don't ya' piss off, 'fore me and my boys cut yer' face off," the fat lump intervened, seeming too smug. Gauge noticed the two other fellows at the bar were watching them. Probably his 'boys'.

Gauge nodded with defeat as his eyes took another glance at his surroundings, turning for a moment, as if he where about to leave. Instead, Gauge suddenly threw his now empty bottle at the mans head, the succession of the impact tearing open and quick to gush lacerations. The fat tub of man, taken by surprise by the sudden act of violence, covered his face with his meaty fingers, a cry of agony piercing the air, giving Gauge time to grab the wooden stool behind him. The other two men jumped to their feet with their small daggers drawn, clearly offended by Gauges' offense. A few others in the tavern, drawn in by the commotion, had their weapons drawn as well. Of course, Gauge had some acquaintances of his own. As the men spat their threats at Gauge, most of which feel upon deaf ears, the few men he was on good terms with engaged to silence them. The tavern was about to become a hurricane of violence.

With a wolfish grin, Gauge gripped the stool seat with both hands, all too eagerly participated by throwing the wooden item with as much force as possible the injured man in return for being a nosy fool.

[Garin Campbell]

Garin watches the exchange between the man and the woman in amused silence, from a table, sitting in the corner. He had considered going after the woman himself, until the large, tatooed fellow had moved on in. When the fat man stood and began talking, and spewing rarther meaningless sounding threats, Garin drew his dagger from under his shirt and held it under the table- just in case.

Garin, while fairly tall, is not very impressive in stature. His build is more nimble than strong. He is so pale, he's almost an Albino. The only thing really impressive about him is his eyes. Stormy grey, they glint cruelly in the dim light.

The tatooed man seemed to back down, and then...

So much for a quiet evening of drinking. In a moment, he has drawn his shiv with his free hand, and shot out of his chair, though for whose side, is unclear.

[Rorick Set'ani]

The smell of old booze wafted throughout the room, the tavern practically basking in its pungent aroma. The rooms upstairs did not fair much better, as the stink of a rotting, diseased limb could hardly be called a pleasant experience. Rorick was an oddity among thee taverns of this particular district of Sunberth, only even there for house call for one of the inn's tenants, and of course, the promise of a good night's pay. Amputations were messy operations, but a surgeon's work was hardly clean in a poor, violent town such as this. He had just discarded the diseased limb and sent the patient off to sleep, when a startlingly loud crash echoed throughout the building. "Not again. It's to damn late for me to stitch up every drunken brawler in this hole." He allowed an exasperating sigh to escape his lips before shambling downstairs to the main floor. What he saw was no surprise to him. A brawl between a tattooed man and his opponents large companions was underway, rising to a steady crescendo. If it was allowed to continue, bystanders would be hurt, no doubt about that. Perhaps a diversion of attention was in order. Drawing his long steel blade, Rorick clanged the flat of his sword against the solid, wooden counter of the bar. "Alright, everyone! As I am in not in the mood to stitch everyone of your sorry asses back up after this little cat-fight is done, I suggest you all put those weapons down before I shove my sword so far down your throat, that you'll shit steel for a week!" He gestured menacingly with his sword, hoping the dried blood on his hands from the surgery made him an imposing figure. Silence followed soon after, and Rorick believed his threat successful. Seeing the murder in his now combatant's eyes, he realized it had not. It was going to be a long night. OOCSorry, don't mean to be "that" guy, but Gauge, you may want to put a timestamp at the start of the thread.

[Gauge Barlow]

Gauge chose not to listen to the man who tried ruining his fun, instead he cocked back the chair and hurled it as hard as he could at the whimpering man, the impact of the blow knocking him backwards onto the dirty floor. On the ground, Gauge hoped he would stay as the other two men charged him with their blades at the ready. Acting purely on impulse, he grabbed the arm of the girl who was now attempting escape from the violence. She was fast, but Gauge was faster. He held her in front of him to absorb the damage of incoming daggers, if they chose to continue charging. They didn't. With their hesitation giving him a small window of opportunity, he quickly pulled out his rusty shiv that looked as though you'd die from an infection before the blood loss could end you. He kept the crook of his arm locked around the girls neck, preventing her from unwanted retaliation.
A few seconds of implicitly heavy air seemed to still around them, before Gauge made his move. The gal, he swung forward, kicking her in the gut to propel her forward into the man on the left. The man, by instinct, caught the girl, even knowing that it was a distraction, but there wasn't enough time for him to act. Gauge was already getting personal with his friend, of whom had the dirty shiv buried deep between his lower ribs. It was clear that his lung has been penetrated, blood was already pouring over his lips. By the time the other man had roughly pushed the girl aside to turn the tables, a swift arm closed the space between them. The blade of the shiv swiped right through his neck; the blood gushing between his fingers as he desperately tried to cease the blood flow. It was a relatively shallow cut, but enough to render the fellow for the time being.
Even though Gauge wasn't particularly skilled with a dagger, they were in close proximity with one another and easier to attack at the same time. Gauge spun the knife in hand, keeping his wits about him before another decided to make the move on him.

[Garin Campbell]

Garin watches the exchange, not very impressed by his daggerwork. The man seemed sloppy- even for a drunk. However, he was impressed by the man's ruthlessness. Using the girl as a shield? He grinned at the man, then turned to the man brandishing a sword dagger in one hand, shiv in the other, and begins sizing him up. However, he watches the tatooed man out of the corner of his eye.

Moving over, he checks the downed- but not dead- man's pulse.

He looked up at the man. "What'd you go and do that for?" He says this as if to reprimand him.

The , he grins spitefully at the man with the sword.
"... If you're going to do that, you might as well finish the job."

Garin cuts a deep gash from his neck, the dragging it down in between his ribs, like he is vivisecting him. The man passes out in just a couple seconds, and dies in a few more.

Garin stands, keeping the tattoed man in his line of sight, but still grinning at the man.

[Rorick Set'ani]

[frame=Black]"Bastard." Rorick growled, spiting a wet glob of blood out of his mouth. While fighting wasn't his forte, Rorick intended to make good on his threat to that brutish tattooed man. That was, until he saw the man fight. This man, whomever he was, was a veritable whirlwind of cuts, dodges and punches. It was if anything and everything in that man's hand was a weapon. It was horrifying. It was the fighting style of a cruel, dangerous man. Rorick wouldn't stand a chance in a personal fight with that killer, he knew that much, but what he could do was limit the amount of people that got involved.

"Oi! You lot, scatter! Go on, get!" He shouted at the bystanders, who were watching gobsmacked at the murder of these men. Brandishing his sword, Rorick intended for his treating attempt to carry weight.

Holding the tip of his steel at the edge of a man's neck, Rorick whispered one last word. "Go."

It appeared that at the tip of a sword, words were a mite more convincing to the average drunk. With a sprint, the man an the rest of the bar's patrons hurried out into the street, muttering grievances of not finishing their drinks. With a sigh of relief, followed the customers out of the establishment, casting one last, long glare against the tattooed man, wishing he were more skilled to fight a man like that.

[Gauge Barlow]

Smirking at the strangers remark, and the oh-so beautiful sound of a blade tearing through flesh. "Thought I'd enjoy watching him flop like a fish," he replied with a light, humorous chuckle. Hearing footsteps behind him, Gauge savagely swung his gross blade while spinning to face whoever sought to flank him, favoring force over style and grace. The blade sliced through the air, to his surprise, his wrist was caught by a much, much bigger man than himself, one who had no intention of leaving with the bystanders. The beast of a fellow didn't hold back for a second and slammed his forehead against Gauge's, sending him stumbling backward against the bar; making him drop his blade . Where not a moment later, massive hands wrapped savagely around his throat.

Gauges head was spinning circles and he was in a familiar position. In order to regain some control and force release, he jabbed his knee as hard as he could right into that man's crotch; the hands choking him let go immediately with a slew of curses. Desperately, his hands grabbed for anything, anything that he could use! Soon finding a bottle on the bar, he snagged it fast and swung hard down without a blink right atop on the brutes skull, shattering the improvised weapon. "COME ON!" Gauge screamed as he kicked the man to the floor.

Looking up, he seen the violence slow as the man from the stairs coaxed them into leaving. As he walked past Gauge he seen the the man glare towards him. Puckering his lips as to kiss the air in his direction saying without words "I'll see YOU later".

[Garin Campbell]

Garin glares at the doctor now. The brief exchange between the tattooed man and the brute didn't hold his attention long.

"You interrupted our fun."

Unlike the tattoed man, Garin seems unwilling to let this go.

He takes a confident step towards him, both weapons still in his hands. While is stature is not intimidating, there is something about his stance that denotes that he is neither drunk, nor a novice fighter.

"... I don't apreciate that."

His voice is calm, but his stormy grey eyes are glaring daggers at him.

((Garin's dagger skill is even higher than Gauge's.))

As he leaves, Garin cackles. "Coward."

He turns to the tattooed man with a savage grin. "That was quite entertaining. My name is Garin Campbell, and you are...?"

[Rorick Set'ani]

"You interrupted our fun." "Coward." Rorick liked to think that he was a man in control of his emotions. He liked to think that. The reality was, that for all his attempts for emotional control, he could be a volatile cocktail of rage. The only difference between him and these vagrants, was that when Rorick fought, he hated every second of it. He hated it all, the killing, the bloodshed, the way his blood sang when he lashed out whit a blade. But that did not stop him, because while there was a time to heal, there was also a time to hurt. With a primal growl, Rorick sprinted back through the tavern doors, sword brandished and ready for battle. Seeing the one of the aggressors, Garin if he overheard correctly, with his back turned, Rorick made towards the cloaked man. Raising a boot to send the man sprawling, Rorick was unprepared for the sharp turn his opponent gave, and his boot already in motion, he only barely manged to connect, forcing his opponent to take a quick step back. Rorick's face bearing a grimace, he set himself in a defensive stance, hoping the gods were with him that night.

[Gauge Barlow]

To say that Gauge was surprised would be an understatement, he didn't think the "Hero" had the spine to back up his threat. His courage was something Gauge noted as well. 'Well, at least he won't die as a spineless coward' he thought to himself as he took off his belt and wrapped it around his forearm. It wouldn't stop the blade from hacking his arm off if the man got lucky, but at least it could offer some protection against grazing blows.

Taking a look at the unconscious girl that lay next to the bodies if the two men he killed, it would seem she would have to wait just a few more minutes. Gauge prepared himself for the man to charge; planing with a sinister grin.

(OCC: sorry it's a little short, it's almost one of those "calm before the storm" moments from my view hah)