Open Chronicles Something in the Water

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

There it was. The Kindly Fellow had been spurring for a fight, this by his own words on account of the death of his kinsman; such was the way of war and battle, and if Mogrin had been that man he would have acted much the same way as him. But he was not that man, and he hadn't lost any kin to the No'rei, so their spat was none of his business. And with the arrival of the Fellow's friend, the fight now inevitable, it would be strength which decided how this quarrel would be settled.

But the boast, though! The boast from the white-haired Aeyliea. Mogrin couldn't help but to grin savagely. And if she lived up to her words, what he had said of her having a Maulgar's heart would trample entirely over the Kindly Fellow's spiteful rebuttal. Nothing quite asserted a view like a fist.

"The biggest words spoken by the littlest among us," said Mogrin cheerfully. He grabbed all the tankards of beer he could hold and lifted them off the table—the table which, he figured, might not for long remain upright or in one piece. And then to the men, he goaded, "Go on then. 'Take out the trash.'"

And there he sat, ready to watch.

He and Threshkuul both wanted to see this.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

She turns as if she is going to look to the bar - and then twists her head and bites the hand that holds her hard enough that the tang of blood flows in her mouth. As is the way of such things, it all proceeds very quickly from her.

Hand Man screams in shock and pain, and then she stands, throwing her head back as she does. It collides with his face, and bone crunches as she snaps his nose. Maybe stood a bit too quickly, as the world spins for a moment. Someone shouts in the crowd, but she has eyes only for Kindly Fellow. His face, grim grin on it, makes an 'O' of shock as he realizes that she is really quite serious about fucking his world up right then and there.

She strikes at his throat with the fist of her good hand, and he dodges backwards, hitting someone at a table behind him as he stumbles backwards. Occupants of that table squawk in indignation, take one look at Mogrin hoarding his alcohol to him as if he might be able to save it, and think better of joining the fray.

For now.

"Bitch," he swears, then steps forward, reaching for her.

Aeyliea is quite well aware of her strengths and her weaknesses. She is smaller, lighter, and lacks the reach of any of the two -four opponents, counting the two making their way to help their friends -facing her. But she is fast, nimble, and utterly ruthless. She fades back, feels a hand grab her twisted left arm and squeeze.

She shrieks in pain, even as they lift her and slam her into the table. Her ribs creak, and pain lances out. Not enough to make her stupid though. If anything, it clears her head - the fire of the alcohol fleeing.

She kicks Hand Man in the nuts thrice in quick succession from where she lays atop the table, and then once more in the face as he goes down. Kindly Man grabs her, but apparently has forgotten she has teeth and is willing to use them; she takes a chunk out of his forearm, rolls back off the table when he lets go and gets to her feet. Blood leaks from her nose where she hit the table, and her left arm is a mass of angry flames... but her eyes are clear.

The two others push their way through the crowd, and it doesn't take long before someone takes enough offense to swing at them - and get a chair in the face for their trouble. Every eye in the place is on her and those bothering her.

"More you want?" Her words are thick with pain, the ache throbbing through her. She spits a mouthful of Kindly Fellow's blood on the floor but still doesn't back down. That worthy looks at her apprehensively, waiting for his reinforcements to arrive while Hand Guy gurgles on the floor.

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

"MORE! MORE!" Mogrin bellowed, having the time of his life just being a spectator. He clanked his two handfuls of tankards together and a great shower of spilled beer splashed everywhere around.

He certainly wanted more, but such a feeling might not be so eagerly shared by the Kindly Fellow and his two, as of yet, uninjured comrades.

 

[Aeyliea]

Reinforcements arrive. So far, the majority of the room is watching with extreme interest. The few that had been jostled or drinks spilled were considering whether to get involved now or wait until later; a good fight was free entertainment. Even the bouncer at the door, a glorified thug that was half the size of Mogrin, refrained from getting in the middle of it yet.

Everything in this place was fucked, it was just a matter of when. When she went down, then those whom had been inadvertently bothered would finish what she started.

One of the new thugs stepped forward quickly. He had a single eye and a livid scar across the other socket, and his companion had a knife-fighters scars in his cheeks and forearms. They split apart; One-Eye coming at her from the right while Blade came from the left. He even had a knife in his hand, smuggled in somehow.

Kindly Fellow grinned now that the scales were more balanced in his favor and took a step forward. Aeyliea growled low in her throat, feinting as though she was going for One-Eye before suddenly spinning to face Blade. That man overtopped her by a foot, taking an experimental swipe at her with the knife. Rather than fading back, Aeyliea stepped into the swipe, twisting adroitly round the attack and coming up in his guard.

She grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing and driving her thumb into a pressure point to make him release the blade even as she drove the crown of her head into his face, breaking his nose. Whether because of that or the thumb driving into his wrist, he dropped the blade. With quick hands she snatched it out of the air-

-gasped as a hand closed on her other arm-

-and sailed through the air as One-Eye slung her round by her bad arm. The screaming, mind-erasing agony of his grip vanished for a moment before she crashed into a wooden pillar holding up an upper floor with a crack. She flopped to the floor, blade still in hand, and slowly got back to her feet.

There was a cheer for the throw, and an appreciative murmur as she got back up, ribs aching where she had struck. She wasn't steady, but she was armed. Also mad as absolute hell, now, and that icy rage reflecting in her eyes. She staggered as she started forward towards her opponents, all three advancing on her now.

Blade is the first to arrive. Unlike him, though, she doesn't test the water. Even as he is assessing what it is she will do, she quicksteps in, feints like she is going to stab him in the throat... and then, at the last second, drops the blade to her other hand and stabs upwards into his crotch, twisting and driving to the left for maximum damage. He shrieks as hot blood spills over her hand, kicks him in the face as he goes down...

...and then staggers and nearly falls herself as a wave of dizziness washes over her.

Shocked silence for a moment. Then shit gets real as everyone decides its time to leave or take the opportunity to beat the hell out of their neighbors and rob them before the law comes.

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

There was a saying, originating in the deserts of the west with their folktales but having spread far and wide to the point of ubiquity, that went something like this: be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.

For Mogrin, he needn't be careful, he did get exactly what he wanted, and he loved it. A whole heaping mess of spirits drowning nearly all sense and inhibition, a stray elbow or a kicked over chair smacking the wrong person and providing sufficient incitement, and some outright encouragement from the sight of blood drawn from the man's groin, and damn near the entirety of the tavern took it now upon themselves to avenge whatever slights may have offended them, to pounce on whatever opportunities may have seduced them, or just to throw some balled fists for the sheer hell of it. Order was gone, which might upset Regel, but it was in environments like this that Threshkuul thrived. Witness the melee! Prove yourself worthy of being seen! For as much as Threshkuul held honor and glory in high regard, the Almighty One gazed favorably upon strength displayed even in things perhaps classed as entertainment.

Aeyliea still had her fight to finish.

Mogrin, for his part, sat where he was. Drinking, cheering, and occasionally smashing anyone upside the head with a handful of tankards should they bump into him—just hard enough to make them put avoiding the ogre at the top of their list of priorities.

 

[Aeyliea]

The violence did not escalate quickly. Most patrons either remained where they were or exited out the front and the back, casting sidelong looks at the source of the trouble. A few here and their took their opportunity to mug another, or to drub others - those more deeply in their cups.

The door man saw the flash of steel in her hands, decided it was best to go deal with the ones that were using chairs as clubs.

It is down to Kindly Fellow and One-Eye. No one else was going to get involved in that conflict; sure, you could die by a chair to the head or a mug for that matter, but death was far more certain with steel. The fellow she had killed had stopped kicking, lay still.

"You lot are cowards," Kindly said in what he likely thought a reasonable voice. "Here we's have a fist fight'n you had to bring weapons int'it." Never mind that his buddy had drain a weapon first. Never mind that they had come at her four-on-one. And hadn't run away, either.

She spit to the side in response, a stream of blood and spit. The movement was enough for One-Eye to dart in, uncannily quick. She managed to drag the tip of the knife across his ribs before he was behind her, arms round her chest and squeezing her arms tight to her sides. She tried the same trick she had with the first to lay a hand on her and connected. One-Eye did not release his grip, though. Blood sprayed against the back of her neck, staining her hair as he breathed out noisily.

"Time t'have some fun," Kindly said. Outside, the sound of the local peace-keepers hurrying their way rose above the general din. They would be here in moments. Kindly grinned, reading her thoughts (he thought). "Jus' stoppin' a violent savage. S'good t'be the hero," he said.

Stepped closer, doubled up his fist, and hit her. Solid blow just above the arms encircling her waist, binding her arms. She felt as much as heard the sound of bone break, gasped in pain that spread like white fire from where he had hit her.

And then spit in his face, trying to kick him in the balls like she had Blade. He easily side-stepped, grinning. "If only m'brother 's here. Ah, well," he said. Then hit her again, this time on the other side. The blow hurt like hell, aggravated the broken ribs on the other side. But nothing else broke. She expelled a breath with the blow, gusting from her and carrying a mist of blood from her mouth. Kindly simply grinned.

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

The ruckus likely wouldn't last too much longer. From the doorman finally making his move, to those who had hastily departed summoning the muscle that counted for guards down in the Shallows, time was running short.

And that, for Aeyliea, was crucial.

Because there was nothing more disappointing than a draw. After all the bold words spoken and bolder actions taken, a draw left the work unfinished, the matter unsettled. Mogrin knew how such a thing would be viewed by the Maulgar, by the god Threshkuul; it was his presumption that the No'rei, given how fierce an example of them could be found in Aeyliea, thought of it the same. Merely enduring the blows of the fight was no victory. Only victory was victory.

So Mogrin watched with anticipation as Aeyliea, very much in a rough spot and with time trickling away, had her chance for definitively backing up her words by besting the Kindly Fellow and his kinsmen growing slimmer and slimmer.

Slimmer, but not yet gone. Not just yet.

This was were true warriors showed the depth of their mettle: when it mattered most.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

Encircled and without the use of her arms - the fiery agony lancing through the twisted, useless one - but that did not mean she was entirely under their control. She bucked against One-Eye, driving her head back and connecting with nothing.

Then she snaked a leg between his, caught and twisted one of them outward as she shifted her weight. The next blow from Kindly was enough to add momentum, and then both were going to the floor. One-Eye made the mistake of loosening his grip, and she was free again. With a pained grunt she was back up, unsteady on her feet. She still took the opportunity to kick One-Eye in the face and break his nose further before kicking him in the nuts and spinning just in time to take a left hook to the face.

Everything went grey for a moment. When she came to a second later, she was lying half atop a table. She had lost her knife in the previous scuffle; thankfully none of the combatants had turned up with it. She scrambled to her feet with a moan of pain was she twisted broken ribs about, faced Kindly.

Kindly did not look nearly so haughty now. One-Eye had decided to stay down, wrapped around his most important bits. It was just Aeyliea and Kindly now.

"Understand how brother gutted," she said in her thick accent, now thicker with pain and the puffiness of a swollen lip. "If fought as you, then fight like shit." Kindly's eyes narrow at the insult, but he backs away a step. Evenly matched (by numbers, at least) is not his idea of a fair fight.

He takes another step back, and she grins, bloody teeth gleaming.

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Summoned by killjoys fleeing from the tavern, Shallows peace-keepers burst in through the front door, three of them. The group surveyed the interior and got a quick assessment of the brawl. All three sets of eyes fell upon Aeyliea and Kindly, still standing, still fighting, and they made their collective move toward them.

Only to be stopped by a large arm swinging out to block their way. Mogrin, sitting there on the floor with his head close to touching the ceiling, looked to the human peace-keepers. They, in their own turn, looked up to Mogrin, seeming to truly now take in his massive size...and their proximity to it.

"It's almost done," Mogrin said politely, even smiling cordially to the peace-keepers. "Let them finish. Then do what you must do."

And the peace-keepers, hardly of the same stature of the Allirian guard force who were found in the Outer (and let alone the Inner) City, felt that, perhaps, a slight delay on their part might be the wise choice. It wasn't worth it to cross the ogre; even if enough peace-keepers eventually came to subdue him, they, the three of them, would have their nights ruined—to put it mildly.

Satisfied, Mogrin turned his attention back onto the fight. One on one (now, at least). The kind most favored by Threshkuul.

Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

Her eyes cut to the peace-keepers and then back to Kindly. She took a step forward, and he took a step back. The smile slipped from her face as she realized that Kindly had no intention of standing and fighting now that the odds were not stacked in his favor. She could see his eyes cutting to the guards and the door, could practically feel the gears turning and the calculations being made.

She hurt. She hurt a lot, her ribs and her face and her back where she had been thrown. Even so, even knowing that this fool in front of her would run and save her from more damage still infuriated her.

She lunged forward in a feint, testing the theory he would bolt.

He did. He turned as she came forward, and ran. He shoved one of the peace-men aside and headed for the door; one of the peace-keepers cussed and took off to chase after him with a shout. She spint on the floor in disgust, but did not give chase herself. She did not pick this fight, after all.

Two pairs of eyes looked to Mogrin warily, then two sets of feet moved. Aeyliea glared at the first of the peace-keepers to touch her, grabbing her (painfully) by her bad arm. "Let me go," she growled thickly.

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Mogrin let the peace-keepers move forward without trouble. They had to do what they had to do.

But he wasn't just going to sit there and let things proceed under some kind of wrongful assumption. "You there," he said in general to the two peace-keepers, setting down his collection of tankards on the floor beside himself. "My eyes bore witness to everything. This fight was not instigated by her. That man who fled began it, his bravery dependent on the comfort of having others at his side. She only defended herself."




Aeyliea

 

[Aeyliea]

Her demand was meant with a tug that made her face grow ashen. She tensed, getting ready to continue the fight with these men as she had the others - certain aspect of so-called civilized culture were still beyond her - when Mogrin spoke.

"One of these scale-skinned bastards didn't pick a fight?" This from the man who was not currently gripping her arm and looking as though he had jumped on the back of a coure and was trying to figure out how to get back off without getting shredded. "Thats a bunch of..."

He trailed off, reassessed his comment and who he was directing it at, and shut his mouth. When a ten foot tall sack of muscle and bone makes a statement, and especially one with such a healthy collection of empty tankards in their vicinity, it was probably wise to just let it be. The Savannah cat they had been taking into custody was dangerous, but at least she couldn't grab their head in one hand.

Aeyliea fixed her eyes on the hand gripping her twisted, useless arm. Her captor looked at the other who was clearly his boss, then her face. He dropped her arm like it was a venomous viper and took several steps back while her icy blue-grey eyes bored into him like augurs.

The one that had started to speak and thought better of it - the Smart One, she decided - cleared his throat. "Right, then," he said. With a warning look to her and an apologetic one to Mogrin, he moved off to go help the man bleeding out on the floor behind then.

The rest of the fighting had ceased when the law (or what passed for law) showed up. There were only a dozen other patrons still here, and they kept away from her, Mogrin, and the lawmen.

Aeyliea simply stood there, staring into the middle distance now that the threat was gone, swaying slightly on her feet.

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

The peace-keepers made a decision which helped Mogrin's time not to become...complicated. Perhaps one understated advantage of being human, or at least looking very much like them in form and size, was that they were the most plentiful people upon Arethil. One could blend in to a crowd. The prestigious size of the Maulgar precluded that, and thus would some altercation with the local Allirian authority be a touch unwise.

Unwise in a mere practical sense, however. Worth it entirely so far as his sense of fairness and honor were concerned. Only the laws which came from Threshkuul and which came from Regel had to Mogrin any true backing.

Mogrin watched as the prudent peace-keepers attended to other concerns in the tavern; the tavern which by then had cooled down, those who had wanted to get some licks in on their neighbors having done so and piped down.

"Your people," Mogrin said to Aeyliea, "are quite renowned for their aggression."

There was at least one of the tankards which he had set down that had some beer left in it. Mogrin plucked it with a big thumb and couple of fingers, raised a toast in respect to Aeyliea's deed, and then threw the spirits down his open mouth.

A hard won fight. She looked as though even standing under her own power now was a grand feat.

Aeyliea