Wilros raised his tankard and took a deep draft, he set the tankard back on his table and lent back on his chair. He cast a smug look around the smokey inn. He himself had a long pipe in left hand. It had been a good day. He had made a fair amount of money, cheated another dodgy buisness man and had ripped off a suplyer. His money pouch bulged, though he had already spent a great deal of it, new armour and a lovely set of spiked gauntlets lay waiting for him in the local armoury. He had bought enough tobaco for the week and he was confidant his money would last the distance as far as ale was conserned. Yes he was pleased with himself alright, he even aloued himself the pleasure of a small chuckle as he looked back over his miss deads.

He raised his tankard to his lips once more in a silent toast to himself when someone knocked into his chair. Sending some of his ale spilling over the table. The offender in question desided to rub salt in the wound. "Move it short stuff." Wilros may have let the first offense slide.... but that could not go unpunished. The man shouldered passed, he was big, six foot something atleast, built like a brick house. His companions were equaly thugish. It did not phase him. He pushed his chair back and stood up. One of the mans friends turned to him, a glint in his eyes. Before the man could make his intentions clear wilros hurled the tankard at him. It caught him squarly on the forehead. He dropped to his knees grunting. Wilros was already there, his foot landing in the mans crotch. He doubled up and curled into a ball. Wilros spat and raised his fists.

He could handle them... no trouble. His eyes gleamed as he readied himself for the fight. The man he was after the idiot that had insulted him swung a meaty fist for wilros, it apeared that a combination of the mans own stupidity and alcohol had resulted in a lousy aim. Wilros ducked under and landed a punch on the mans kidney. The man exhailed and regrouped. He attacked again, another blow slipped passed wilros's head, Another was dodged with relitive ease. This time he took his chance. He stepped inside and punched up. The blow landed on the mans nose. He staggered back blood welling up from the source of the blow. Wilros grinned. That was until a bottle came down on his head. He grunted and was forced to his knees. He blinked trying to stay awake. Before he could be finished. He rolled to the side and rose unsteadly to his feet. He shook his head and lowered his stance. Ready to finish off these fools.

Xoco sat with his feet up on the table, in his typical human guise. He had chosen a fairly remote corner of the main bar area, and mostly the other men were ignoring him. He had a large mug of ale in on hand, and the other was laid across his lap casually. He took a long draught, enjoying the warmth of a nearby fire as it crackled away. A soft pitter-patter could be heard from all sides of the room, along with an occasional crack of thunder, from the storm raging outside. Mostly, the conversation in the room was soft and low, as the patrons were few and far between on a night such as this one. Xoco was only stopping in for his evening flagon or two, passing into Lomedor on his travels. He enjoyed this city more than most others, simply because there was always something interesting to do here. The drink was good, strong and hoppy, some of it imported through the many ports, and the evenings were filled with interesting goings on.

A commotion off to one side made Xoco lower his glass slightly to observe what was going on. It seemed that some little man was making a brawl that he was not liable to win. Trickles of spilled ale rolled off the edge of his table and pattered onto the floor, where they filled the crevices between floorboards. Xoco raised an eyebrow slightly, leaning back farther and setting his glass down on the table. At least this tiny human getting the daylights beaten out of him would provide a little entertainment for the evening; thus far, it had been rather boring.

The other men in the bar reached underneath cloaks and grasped the hilts of various weapons. Those unarmed cracked their knuckles in anticipation of a brawl. A few slender, less combat-savvy men made their way out the door and into the rain, so frightened that they nearly forgot to pay their bill. The bartender set down a half-cleaned glass onto the bar and moved off to one side, as if going to fetch something. Xoco assumed it was a blade of some kind, or possibly a crossbow if he kept one. In either case, Xoco remained relaxed, not even bothering to grasp the hilt of his broadsword. He was more than confident in his ability to draw quickly in case of a real fight breaking out.

Several heavy thuds drew his attention back to the smaller man, who had just successfully knocked two of the much larger competitors out for the count. The previous gleam in the other men’s eyes had vanished, replaced with a look of wariness. Some turned away, as if nothing had happened, not interested in picking a fight with this human. Xoco simply nodded, smiling slightly in appreciation of the man’s talents. Such fighting abilities were certainly a rarity, and he packed quite a punch for one man so small.

His head turned to the side in a wince as the sound of breaking glass resounded throughout the barroom. One of the thugs had picked up a half-empty bottle of wine from another table and had smashed the heavy glass over the fighter’s head. He dropped to his knees, and his eyes rolled slightly in a dazed expression. Two men from another table, apparently the ones who had paid for the smashed wine, protested, drawing blades and jumping onto the fighter. One was easily thrown to the side, while the other managed to get a solid jab in with a tiny dagger before being knocked for a loop. Blood spilled onto the floor, and the brute staggered up at the same time as the fighter.

Xoco took another sip of his ale, wondering exactly what might become of this situation. Deciding not to get involved yet, he leaned back and waited.

It was always raining in Lomedor. Always. The man pulled his cloak tighter around his thin form and continued his descent down the cobblestone road. He made no sound during his walk, and the raindrops resounded around him as he passed a dark alleyway, where a figure leaned against a wall. The silent man stopped, without looking into the alleyway towards the figure, but did hold his hand out to the side, catching rain in his fingertips. There was a rustling sound, and something small jumped out of the darkness, landing in the cloaked man's outstretched hand. It was a pouch, and bits of metal clicked together inside it as it hit his hand. He pulled it into his cloak, and continued his walk.

A tavern stood in front of him, lighting up the dreary streets he stood on. The glow from the windows hit the man's pale face, and reflected of the dark violet eyes that sat deep in his face, hiding behind a tuft of stark white hair. He removed the pouch from his side and shook it, enjoying the metallic sound it emitted. He pushed the tavern door open and proceeded to the bar, where he sat and opened the bag, placing several silver coins on the table. “An elderberry.” He whispered to the barkeep. The man nodded and went to fetch his drink. The man's eyes continued looking forward. From the corner of his eyes he watched the patrons of the bar with passing interest. He noticed a blue-eyed man with white hair, and watched him from the corner of his eye for a moment, interested. There was something behind those eyes. The sound of a chair sliding roughly back and someone getting up caught Del's ear, and he turned slightly, watching as a shorter man fling a tankard at another man, hitting him squarely in the head. This was followed by a heavy kick to the crotch. Del winced a little at the blow; that had to hurt.

He turned back to the counter, where his bottle of elderberry now sat, with a glass next to it. He poured himself a drink and downed it. And then another. It was several drinks later that his vision began to blur, and he turned his head conspicuously to the left, watching the man fight. He had just punched another man in the nose. Then a glass broke over his head, and he fell to his knees, stunned. Being drunk made Del act differently. He stood up, bottle in hand, and cheered the man on. “Yoush candoit!” He called, swaying a bit, lifting his fists in a pugilist position and giving a few slopping punches to invisible foes. The smaller man had recovered, and now stood ready to take down the rest of the men. Del could only assume that he had helped him recover, and sat back down, glad that he had helped.

It had been a bad week. Only days ago he had been a leading member of a rapidly growing guild. Now he was sat in a smoke filled bar, drinking strong wine, listening to the fussing and arguments of other drunkards and louts.

How did he always end up in these situations? Was he not allowed to find a place of rest among people he trusted? First he had been cast out from his tribe, disowned by his family and his blood-brother. Then he had found a place as first chosen of the Lost Souls Guild. He had become the Avatar of Wrath. A force of destruction for the Seven Sins... but then as mysteriously as they had appeared, they vanished; Leaving Vaul alone and without purpose. He had then journeyed to the Temple of Ita but had received no reply from the Chaos Goddess. By chance he had then run into Alba Meria who had offered him power within an up and coming guild in support of Ita.

Like a fool he had agreed and pledged his loyalty to Alba. But now, after a divine mutiny, Alba had disbanded the guild and Vaul was once again left alone; Forced to drown his anger and frustration in the many pubs and bars across Arda.

Vaul snapped back to reality as his goblet of wine exploded away from him, spraying its contents all across the wall as a glass bottle slammed into the bar in front of him.

That was the last straw. Vaul had been on edge before, but this was too much. Standing up from his bar stool, the near seven foot goliath pulled back his hood and gripped the head of the nearest lout. Roaring in anger, Vaul lifted the man with ease and threw him headlong into the wall, listening to the sickening crunch as bone connected with oak.

He may not be the First Chosen of Sin or a member of the Council of Corruption... but one thing was finally sure. He was Vaul Felinate. The Dark Knight of Salquedor... And he was enjoying himself.

Slamming a fist into another drunken face, Vaul smiled. It had been a bad week... But it was suddenly looking better.

Wilros's vision slowly faded back in, the room was still blurred but it was returning ablit slowly. Looks like he had started quite a fight.... not really his problem but it could make things slightly more intresting. He spat some blood from his mouth and raised his fists gain, he could vaugly remember some drunk calling out for him to stand up. He always had some suport or another small man taking on the bullies when in reality they needed the help. It seemed that everyone crouding round for the fight was bigger than him, including a six foot something giant of a man that had taken to cracking a few faces. His next target prehapse.... he could take him. He was fairly sure of that, especaily in his seemingly drunken state, unless of course... the man used spells. Wilros could not abide by spells... it was cheating in his book... plain and simple. Though this made him a hypocrite as he used more than his fair share of underhanded tactics but he didnt care, he would use any means to acheive his goal.

It did not take much intelegence to realise just how arogant he was but he had the experience to back up his claims or some of them at least. It was time to get down to buisness. He slipped on a pair of knuckle dusters. Rusted iron bands that looped round each finger. Decorated with menacing spikes. Thrusting this in someones face would do some damage. Time to prove that fact. He picked out the man who had hit him with the bottle. He squared up with him sizing the man up. He raised another bottle and tried to bring it down on wilros. He grabbed the mans arm at his wrist. Grunting with the effort. He was to small for this, he was being forced down by the mans size and strenght. His knees began to buckle as the man put more force on his arm, a stupid grin speading over his face. But wilros was not the sort to need strenght and such like. He would engage in... unfair practises if needed. He brought his left fist up hard, into the mans unprotected... most vital area. A sweet spot if you will. The weapon he weilded did its worth and the man slumped over eyes screwed up in pain.

He looked about, setting up his next target. The giant of a man. He had his back turned to him, engaged in another fight with similarly drunken man. He grinned, attacking a mans back wasnt so bad was it? He started off at a jog but soon he was sprinting as fast as he could. Two meters before the target he jumped, lifting off the ground he placed his two feet firmly forward. Shooting like a javalin at his foe's unprotected back in a double kick. Wilros may not be massive but it would atleast send the man sprawling forward if it conected. If he missed... well he already had a plan worked out. He had fought in more pit fights and illegal bouts than he cared to remember, this would be a walk in the park for him. As he neared his foe he called out. "Heads up big boy." Vaul would be sent flying if this worked. It was a gamble.... but he had a lot of luck.

((damn asume its wilros i have no time to spilt it!))

Vaul had just finished driving his fist into the nose of some angry patron when a huge force slammed into his back, propelling him forward into... and over the bar.

Vaul lay on his back for a few seconds, his mind racing to catch up with recent events such as how he had ended up horizontal when he was sure he had just been very much vertical. He also fought to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him as his chest had been driven into the bar.

The dripping of cheap alcohol and the occasional broken piece of glass onto Vaul's face alerted him that it was now time to stand up and relocate the head from the shoulders of whoever was responsible. Sitting up straight, allowing for his senses to catch up, then standing up to his full height; Vaul stared out across the room.

Locating a small man righting himself from the floor near to where Vaul had previously been stood, Vaul made the quick and simple judgement. He did it! And even if he didn't... he was bound to have done something that warranted his face rearranging... many times.

"I had no business with you sir. But you have now engaged my interest." Vaul spoke in a cold, but calm voice; a voice that was somewhat lighter and less course that many assumed a man of Vaul's stature would sound like.

Leaping over the bar, Vaul hefted a large bar stool from the ground. This was no mean feat as the stools had been intentionally nailed down to avoid this kind of incident. In an instant, Vaul threw the stool towards the smaller man, winced slightly at the pain in his now obviously bruised, if not possibly broken, ribs and launched after the man.

If the chair didn't hit... his fist would. Either way Vaul would be happy with the outcome.

Wilros carried on for another foot after he had conected, before slumping uncerimonusly on the tavern floor. He watched as the giant of a man was sent tumbling over the bar. He pushed himself up with his arms and drew his feet in then stood up, dusting himself off. He watched as vaul to rose to his feet. Though with a far differnt expersion on his face. Wilros couldnt help but laugh. The mans expresion was priceless. The rest of the pup seemed to turn and look at vaul and him. Waiting for the next move. Most probably wanted to see this arrogant little upstart squashed into a greasy film on the tavern floor by this hulking brute. Wilros on the other hands had a differnt idea.

He stopped laughing however when vaul ripped a stool from the floor with seemingly effortless ease. He stopped laughing and now his grin was fixed his stare on the chair. He swallowed and readied himself. "Now lets get down to the brass tacks here.... lets go big guy." His grin split further. He couldnt help but smile when he saw a face like that. His moment of suave wit and cunning guile ended when the stool was sent flying towards him. He could only think of one way to avoid that mass off wood and iron. Stupid and pain full as it maybe. Besides with any luck vaul would be right back after it. He jumped to the side. In some corner of his fame hungry mind he would have pictured it as being a perfect dive out of arms way. Coupled with a role to standing. He would dust himself off and go on to win the fight. However... the reality in his mind could be some what detatched from everyone else's.

He dived out of arms way maybe, but indoing so he was sent head long into a table. His legs caught its edge and it was sent after him. He landed in a pile of beer and tankards, with a table half on top of him. he groaned. He was covered in bruises and cuts from glass. He forced himself up, he would have to or someone else would take the chance to kick him in. He felt huge hands grab him, on the back of his clothes. Lifting him bodly from the wreck. It was the one who had insulted him to begin with, now passing the honour of destroying this arrogant little devil on to vaul, he was in trouble now."Here we go." He was set upright and half shoved, half thrown back into space that had apeared around Vaul, he was behind vaul but in no position to attack. The croud was on Vauls side now. They wanted to see wilros shown his place. Bleary eyed and dizzyly he raised his fists again. "Now then, seeing as your new.... im gonna to be easy on you, so if you like you can always just leave now." It seemed he never knew when to quit..... well that was wilros. Nothing more than a ball of arrogance, selfishnes, sexism and shear confidence with arms and legs.

He began to move once more, slowly edging one way then the other, waiting for vauls next move, blood was begining to trickle down his face slightly, only scrapes and bruises but it would interfear. Next time vaul attacked he would be ready, this time he would fight dirty. He would win. He spat some blood from his mouth and whiped the sweat, beer and blood from his face. He was ready.

Righting himself after the missed punch, Vaul couldn't help but laugh slightly as the small one dived out of the way... straight into the corner of a table and sprawled out on the floor in a heap of body, table and beer.

Watching as a huge, lumbering form of a man dragged his opponent to his feet then unceremoniously shoved him into the newly formed ring of people; Vaul couldn't help but feel he had stepped into something beyond his control.

Here he was; being goaded on by unknown bar thugs to pound some other unknown ruffian into oblivion. The fact was that, despite being booted over the bar by the man, Vaul found himself liking him. He was a spry fighter and if nothing else, slightly comical in his awe-inspiring arrogance. He reminded Vaul of himself all those years ago. Though Vaul distinctly remembered being taller.

There seemed little way of resolving this dispute without violence as the fighter seemed more than eager to try and back up his arrogant claims. Vaul, who had participated in more than his fair share of bar brawls and fist fights, knew the look in the man's eyes. He wanted to win... nay, he needed to win... by any means necessary. The man's arrogance just would not accept that he could lose. Another trait he shared with Vaul... though Vaul was much better at hiding his emotions than this one.

Vaul cracked his neck loudly and limbered up his shoulders. He would need speed for this; not brute power.
Stepping back quickly, side stepping to his left, then stepping forward even quicker; Vaul threw a thundering right hook towards the smaller man... which passed by his ear by centimetres... slamming into the ex-grinning face of the brute who had lifted Vaul's opponent off the ground.

The sound of metal connecting with wood resounded throughout the stunned bar as the knife dropped from the man's hand. What had started as a simple bar-brawl had now escalated due to this oaf's decision to draw a weapon. The sound grew quickly. The sound that Vaul had hoped he wouldn't hear. Anger and weapons. Not a fantastic combination in closed quaters. This would get very violent... very fast.