Solomon stared at the mug in front of him, wishing he knew exactly what it contained. According to the bartender, the thick, opaque liquid was the Drital Qu'ellar House Special. Supposedly a well-known drink, the elf was unsure if its fame came from the taste, the stench, or the fact that any mortal being who took the smallest sip of such a disgusting liquid would probably die instantly. The bartender, a tall, large, balding human, was staring blankly into the common room, routinely wiping out the inside of a used glass with a grimy piece of cloth. The filthy rag seemed to be making the glass dirtier, but the man set it down with the clean dishes anyway and grabbed another used cup. Solomon sighed and decided to take a small chance. With a small prayer to whatever God or Goddess would protect him he took a small sip of the thick liquid. He almost immediately spat it back out into the metal mug.

"You call this a drink? How do you stay in business?" The elf groaned and reached for his water, probably the only drink on the menu that was actually palatable, despite its odd metallic taste. He tried to wash the taste of the specialty drink from his mouth, spitting into the mug again. He regretted the decision to visit this bar instead of a nicer, cleaner one further into town. The Drital Qu'ellar Pub was the seediest establishment the elven scholar had ever seen. The doorframe was empty, the piece of scrap metal that had served as the pub’s door carried off by one of the drunker guests the night before. Bodies were strewn across the floor and tables, and Solomon was sure that a few of them were dead. The stench of stale alcohol, vomit, blood, and too many hot bodies in a small place was overwhelming. The elf felt oddly alone in the packed main room. Most of the guests were human, and although a few dwarves and other races were speckled throughout the crowd, he had not yet seen another elf anywhere in the bar. Ignoring the stares of some of the guests and ignoring their muttered insults, Solomon pried a splinter off of the uneven bar and stuck it into the mug. It promptly disintegrated, causing the elf to push the mug away from him.

"Local crowd. They like the Special." The bartender's voice was low and guttural, yet as soft as a whisper. Solomon looked at the large man more carefully, eying his throat. A large, star-shaped scar in the hollow of his neck suggested he had tried to stop one of the robberies on the Pub, a common occurrence. Unfortunately for him, the robberies in this part of town always went unpunished. No city guard was brave enough to try and catch a thief in the despondent slums that surrounded the Pub.. The bar had been built in one of the worst parts of town. But there was a glint of metal on the bartender's belt and the elf had a feeling that the mace displayed on the wall was kept in pristine condition. The man spoke again, his odd, raspy voice still carrying surprisingly well in the din of the crowded room. "Still want it?" Solomon looked at his drink and shook his head slightly.

"Do you serve anything good? And by good, I mean... not poisonous." Solomon smiled at the bartender, who simply nodded. The elf slid the mug back to the man, who took it, stared at it, then poured the black sludge inside back into a large barrel under the bar. He set the mug aside and took another out, the glass cracked and stained. Without looking at Solomon the bartender filled the mug from the back wall, setting the full drink in front of the scholar. "Ale. Only thing I drink." Turning back to his cleaning, the bartender picked up the mug that Solomon had gotten for his House Special and set the filthy cup into the pile of clean dishes. The elf wasn't sure if he had done it on accident or on purpose and didn't feel like asking.

"You know... I spit in that...House Special, was it?" Solomon took a tentative drink of the frothy ale, assured of its quality when he didn’t feel like vomiting after the first taste. Although he was usually against the consumption of alcohol, the scholar had had a long, fruitless day tracking down legends of Chrono-Knights in the city library. Plus, the cold ale tasted amazingly good considering the quality of the last drink he had gotten here.

The bartender looked at the elf, raising one eyebrow. "Can't hurt it any." Solomon and the man shrugged, both going back to their own thoughts. Of course, such a blessed silence was never meant to last. A loud peal of laughter pierced the ordinary din of the Pub, causing Solomon to wince slightly. He paid no more attention to the laughter until a large, meaty hand landed on his shoulder. “Itsh an elf, boysh!” A tall human spun Solomon around so quickly he was afraid the stool would fall out from under him. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, his tunic and leggings stained with alcohol and what appeared to be vomit. But the elf’s eyes were inexorably drawn to the sharp dagger the obviously drunk man was waving under his nose. “Gotta be careful! Can’t trusht theshe... elvish typesh!” Solomon tried not to wince as the man’s breath cascaded over him, the stench of stale alcohol assaulting his nose. Before the elven scholar could respond the man had lifted him out of the stool, squinting and peering intently at Solomon’s face. “So, boysh, do I wann’a cut off hish earsh or hish noshe?” The men nearest the drunk cheered as he clumsily swung the knife, missing Solomon’s eye by mere inches. [i]Not good, not good, not good, not good!” Solomon backed up until he felt his spine pressing against the flat surface of the bar, out of room to move. “Uhm... a little help? From someone?” His soft whisper was swallowed by the noise of the crowd and the laughs and cheers of the men encouraging his antagonist.

"He's with me," Celewan came forward carrying a knife in one hand and a cup in the other.
"And who are you pretty girl," the man said stumbling a little to the left
Leaning forward so he could hear she answered, "I think I'm way out of your league and species as of matter of fact." Then without a moment hesitation she stomped on his foot and kneed him in the groin causing him to flop over moaning in pain. Beckoning for Solomon to fallow she turned towards the door but saw two men blocking it, one with a chain with a spiked ball in the end, and the other with a dagger in one hand, and a short sword in the other. "Friends of yours" she said weakly to Solomon as the whole bar became quite.

"He's with me." Solomon and the drunk man both looked up at the intruder in their little performance, Solomon with a glimmer of hope and the large drunk with obvious malice. Upon seeing Celewan, the elf almost just threw himself onto the blade of the dagger, deciding it would be faster and less painful. His "savior" was another elf, and by the looks of it, she wouldn't be much help in this fight. His hand inched towards the hip that his quiver was strapped to, fingers curling around the fletching of one arrow. He edged the arrow out of the quiver as the drunk addressed the girl, the crowd laughing at his lewd words. "And who are you pretty girl," the man leaning a little away from Solomon and towards this new, more entertaining, distraction. He used this lapse of attention to his advantage, pulling the arrow all of the way out of the quiver and hiding it behind his back. The cold, steel arrowhead was clutched in his fist, sharp edges cutting slightly into his palm.

The female elf leaned forward, her whispered words almost too quiet for Solomon's keen elven ears to hear her. "I think I'm way out of your league and species as of matter of fact." Solomon's eyes went wide as he realized what was about to happen. "Hey, wait-" He was cut off by the girl slamming her heel into the large drunk's foot, followed by a swift knee to the crotch. Solomon snarled as the man went down, knowing this couldn't be good. The crowded bar suddenly went silent as the drunk's friends reached for weapons, smiling cruelly at the pair of elves. They were far from sober, but both seemed aware and very, very capable of using them. Celewan glanced at Solomon, weakly asking, "Friends of yours?" Solomon almost groaned, tightening his grip on the arrowhead. This was not good.

"No, they're not. I usually have good taste in friends. I think they like you more. Perhaps you could tell them to back off?" He hissed the words in her ear, feeling uneasy. He had never been much of a fighter, preferring to pick off targets from a distance with his shortbow. Solomon felt the undercurrent of excitement that ran through the bar, some of the shadier figures in the darker corners slipping weapons out from under their clothing, knmowing what was coming. In that instant he knew exactly what he had to do. "Fight! Fight!" The elf yelled into the crowd, flailing with his free hand at the nearest customer. The man flew back into the crowd from the unexpected blow, blood splattering from a split lip. The crowd took up the mantra, chanting "FIGHT!" as hands curled into fists and daggers were withdrawn. Solomon grabbed Celewan's arm and pulled her towards the bar as the entire pub seemed to erupt in fighting, men screaming and beating at each other violently with whatever they could find. The bartender sighed and reached for the mace mounted onto the wall, smacking away the hand of the first to try and crawl over the bar to safety with an apathetic swing. The two friends of the currently motionless man who had started this entire mess tried to push through the crowd towards the pair of elves, brandishing their weapons with drunken confidence. "You know, I think your friends want to get better acquainted. Couldn't you just have... I dunno, seduced him or something?" Letting go of her arm, Solomon edged towards the chain-wielding man, watching the swinging weapon warily. "I hope you can take the other one, because he'd just slice me to ribbons..." Solomon ducked to avoid the spiked ball, the deadly flail instead smashing a hole in the wooden bar. He grimaced and took an awkward fighting stance, the arrow still hidden up his left arm sleeve, fingers wrapped around the sharp arrowhead. She made this whole thing worse. She better be able to take care of herself!

Hearing Solomon say "No, they're not. I usually have good taste in friends. I think they like you more. Perhaps you could tell them to back off? Her eyes flashed white as she chuckled.

And then he heard him say, “Fight! Fight!" trying to get everyone into the brawl. But besides it working she suddenly felt a rush of excitement, wanting to fight like only a demon would. Getting ready to take on everyone, Solomon pulled her away from the screaming crowd that started fighting with themselves.

But of course the 2 people from the exit fallowed them through the crowd causing Solomon to say, "You know, I think your friends want to get better acquainted. Couldn't you just have... I dunno, seduced him or something?"

Celewan attacked the sword carrying person, almost getting sliced by his dagger while she saw from the corner of her eye Solomon ducking an attack from the mace person.
Hearing him say something the words never really made it to her ears as the rush of battle over took her.

Dodging another strike at her head, she took his arm a pulled bending it in an awkward angle, breaking it. He yelled out in pain while striking blinding at her side with his dagger causing her to bring her hand to his neck crashing him to the floor.

Feeling him sink out of consciousness, she whispered for only him to hear “I feel the evil in you, It’s not my decision to kill you or not but if you ever kill anyone ever again I will make it my mission to make it my decision,” she finished her eyes flashing red for a second before cold blue again.

Rising from the ground she twirled and got smashed by another flying body and felt a knife sink into her abdomen. She tried to fight her attacker but got smashed into the wall by his broad arms. Not able to see her attacker he heard his cold voice, “You really surprise me, running away from me for so long Crystal but you must have known I would have eventually caught you.”

Feeling him withdraw the knife she once again felt it sink into her flesh, but the chest this time. Coughing up blood she tried to conjure up fire but couldn’t because she did not have enough strength except to keep herself conscious. The knife was withdrawn again. Knowing it was only a matter of moments when she would feel the sting of his blade a 3rd time and not be able to heal herself for that much damage. “No one is here to save you this time crystal,” she heard him say before she felt the tip of the knife starting to draw blood.

Solomon lost sight of Crystal in the melee, instead focusing on avoiding any flailing fists or randomly thrown daggers. The man with the chain had been pushed away from the elf by the crowd, yelling and beating at other patrons with his flail to force a path through to the elf. Solomon gritted his teeth and lunged at the man as he pushed the last innocent obstacle aside, lashing out with the deadly chain. Solomon snapped up one hand, slamming his forearm into the cold metal links in order to avoid a crater being punched in his face. The chain whirled around the limb, the ball at the end slamming into his elbow, the steel spikes digging painfully into skin and bone. His arm started to go limb below the joint, simply added weight. With a snarl he pulled the man forward by the chain, scraping the heel of his foot down the man's shin as hard as he could. As his opponent screamed in pain the elf moved in close, making the dangerous flail useless. A meaty fist hit Solomon's temple, causing the edge of his vision to go black and stars to dance in front of his eyes. The elf retaliated with an elbow to the stomach, followed by slamming the arrowhead into the man's cheek. Blood spurted from the split cheek, dousing Solomon's hand in the uncomfortably warm liquid. Loose fingers dropped the chain as the man fell to the dirty floor, blood dripping from his face. Kicking him again for good riddance, Solomon dropped the broken arrow, nursing his numb arm. "The proper term is Quendi, not Elf. Tell that to your friend when he wakes up." With that being said the scholar looked around, wincing at the catastrophe he had started.

The entire pub seemed to be comprised of two groups of people; those who were fighting for pleasure and those who were doing everything possible to get to the open doorway, which included fighting. That being said, every patron was either fighting or on the floor, dead or unconscious. Solomon squinted, trying to see if he could find Crystal in the melee. She had saved him, albeit poorly, and he owed the girl enough to at least check and see if she was alright. His eyes flitted to the floor, where the body of the sword and dagger wielding man was currently being trampled, one arm twisted at a sickening angle. "Well, at least she took care of him..." Solomon absentmindedly leaned back onto the bar to dodge a wrestling pair of dwarves, careful to avoid stepping on their matted beards as they rolled around on the floor. There! A flash of Crystal was all that he needed. Still cradling his wounded arm the elf threw himself into the crowd, simply pushing past other patrons to get to the female elf. One man took offense at this callous method of slipping through the crowd and grabbed at Solomon, pulling his hair. The elf turned with a growl, letting the numb arm drop uselessly to his side. He was a poor brawler, but there was little choice in this hellhole.

Solomon ducked underneath a wavering blow, green eyes evaluating his new foe. The man was just as tall as Solomon yet was twice as wide, although his belly contributed to that as much as his muscles. Solomon dodged another clumsy attack, realizing the man was very, very drunk. Instead of actually fighting the scholar grabbed a brawling dwarf by his shoulders and pushed him into the drunk's fist, knocking out a tooth and sending the dwarf sprawling. With a roar that sounded strange coming from such a small man the dwarf lunged at the tall human, tackling him around the knees and sending both to the floor. Solomon grinned and turned just in time to see the dagger plunged into Crystal's chest. Time seemed to slow down for the elf as he watched droplets of blood fly through the air, the steel glinting oddly in the light of the pub. Solomon snarled and fumbled in his quiver, pulling out another arrow. Snapping the wooden shaft in half, the elf began to push towards her, using the crude dagger to slash at any fighter who got in his way.

Solomon reached Crystal and the dangerous stranger quickly enough to hear his soft, hissing words. "“No one is here to save you this time, Crystal..." Without taking the time to pause and see if the girl was even still alive he shot forward, raising the broken arrow so the steel tip pressed against the man's neck, right where the jawbone met the rest of the skull. "Wrong, sorry, try again later. I owe this girl a drink. I would take that sharp object away..." He was bluffing, of course. It would only take the tiniest bit of combat skill instead of drunken enthusiasm to beat Solomon in a fight, especially with his hurt arm. But hopefully this guy wouldn't know that and would be slightly intimidated by the feel of sharp steel so close to his neck.

Time seemed to slow down for Celewan as she continued feeling the blade sinking in her flesh. Until she heard Solomon saying "Wrong, sorry, try again later. I owe this girl a drink. I would take that sharp object away." She knew he wouldn’t listen but the momentary lapse of time, gave her the chance to heal wound enough to stop the outward bleeding but not stopping the wound from bleeding internally.

Having no chance to block it she finally felt the knife plunge into her for the 3rd time while managing to grab a hold of one of Solomon’s arrow. Digging the arrow in the man’s thigh she heard him grunt in pain as she felt the blade handle of the knife in her crack under the combined pressure of all 3 of their bodies, causing the blade to sink farther into her lodging the edge into her.

Tumbling she managed to set the arrow aflame causing the man to shriek in agony as his insides started burning grabbing the man’s face she look clearly at his face,” what the hell, a elf?” she yelled in a shocked voice, spitting up more blood.

“How does an elf become that powerful” she said more to herself than anyone particular kicking the now shrieking body away from her. “Besides why was he looking for me, I know people are after me but elves what in the world” she said while getting up.

“Let’s get out of here,“ she Finally managed to Solomon smiling as if nothing had happened. Blood still pumping out of her wound she managed to get on her feet and started to the doorway leaving a pool of blood in her wake, where she got intercepted by a fighting human and dwarf. Mumbling “screw this” she threw herself at the wall, with an echoing crash she managed to create a whole in the wall. Unable to keep herself upright anymore she fell in a faint spewing more blood in an arch.

Solomon grimaced as the man shoved the dagger into Crystal again, blood dripping to the floor. He reacted instantly, plunging the sharp arrowhead deep into the figure's unprotected throat. Blood dribbled from his parted lips as Solomon withdrew the arrowhead, preparing to stab him a gain. However, Crystal managed to find one of his other arrows, thrusting the sharp weapon deep into the man's body. He flailed wildly, knocking Solomon away from the two of them for a moment. The scholar slipped on a puddle of blood, falling back into a pair of dueling humans, each holding a deadly-looking dagger. His interference caused one man to lose his balance; the other crowed in triumph as he slashed the dagger in a vicious horizontal arc. Solomon ignored the cries of the victim as he fell to the floor, trying to hold his face together with both hands, and instead tried getting back to Crystal. She had been stabbed three times and had been bleeding profusely. Despite the fact that she had just made his situation worse, Solomon had no intention of letting her bleed to death in some dirty pub.

However, the bloodthirsty brawler had no intention of letting the elf slip out of his grip. Solomon felt one hand grab his shoulder, halting his retreat. Lashing out blindly with both legs, he felt one connect with flesh and smiled at the accompanying yowl of pain. That smile transformed into a scream of pain as the dagger slipped into his already wounded arm, just below the shoulder. Solomon bit his lower lip to keep from crying out again as the dagger was withdrawn, the eerie sensation of blood dripping down his arm motivating him to act. He rolled away from the next dagger strike, the metal blade sinking into the floor. Snarling, the man tore out the blade, preparing to stab at the elf again. A large hand wrapped around his wrist, yanking him off of the ground. The barkeeper looked down at Solomon with an emotionless expression as he brought his mace around, slamming the end of the haft into the fighter's stomach. Dropping the unconscious body like it was a sack of potatoes, he offered a hand to the elf. "It’ll simmer down. We’re used to this.” The elf had to strain to hear the raspy voice over the screams and noise of battle in the background. He nodded to the large human and scurried off, cradling the injured limb carefully.

All that remained of her attacker was a twisted corpse, his insides cooked. Solomon gagged, the scent of burnt flesh assaulting his nostrils, pressing one hand to his nose to help block the sickening scent as he peered around. There! She mumbled something he couldn’t catch, smiling in a dazed manner. Blood covered her entire front, dripping to the floor in a slowly growing puddle. She staggered off towards one of the walls of the Pub, clearly expecting him to follow. He made a move to support her when she slammed into the wall, somehow still having the strength to break through the durable boards. Without another word she collapsed, more blood pouring from her wounds due to the exertion. Solomon grimaced and kneeled next to her, not knowing quite what to do. He was a scholar and had a capable knowledge of elven anatomy but he was no medic. Taking off his black vest, he used another arrowhead to start a cut in the thick fabric before tearing it into strips. He quickly began to wrap the strips of black fabric around the two chest wounds, knowing they were the more dangerous. The stomach wound’s bleeding had started to slow already, suggesting this girl somehow possessed an augmented regeneration rate. Adding this fact to the list of question he would have to ask her when she woke up, Solomon pressed down on the fabric, watching her blood slowly stain the shredded vest. “You’re not truly elven, are you?” He sighed and looked back into the Pub. The bartender waded through the melee, wielding the mace expertly, incapacitating the most dangerous and violent brawlers without any effort whatsoever. Glad that things were under control here, the elf used his good arm to prop Crystal up, knowing this wasn’t the best place to be. No matter how friendly the bartender was, he would probably protest a Crystal-shaped hole in the wall of the Pub. He wrapped the unwounded arm around her back so that his left shoulder was under her right and his hand was clutching her other arm. Her blood stood out in sharp contrast to his plain shirt, spots of red on white fabric. Slowly the elf dragged her away, forest eyes flickering around the dark street. This was not a good place in town for two elves and no good way to protect themselves. At the first relatively clean-looking alleyway he set her down so she was leaning against the wall, and looked at the makeshift bandages. If he didn’t do something soon she would probably bleed to death.

Kiara was prancing down the street in her cloak, loving the sense of lawlessness here, to the point a half dragon could walk without fear of the guards, when a commotion reached ehr ears. Rounding a corner she saw an inn, and from the looks a rather large brawl. She grinned from ear to ear as she heard the commotion. She was getting incredibly bored taking in the rather unpleasant sights, and she had now found something to occupy herself with. She made sure her hat was secure and headed for the inn door. She was about to open it when it burst open and a man came falling out. He did not seem harmed in any way as she quickly jumped with a squeek out of the way. She watched him stumble around and then collapse.

"Ooooh..a drunken brawl!" she yelled, drawing her katanas.

Suddenly two people came bursting out of the wall and she smelled fresh blood. She stared for a moment, they were deffinitly not the usual crowd. Suddenly a yell from behind her made her find out they were being chased. She jumped just intime for a man to miss her with a large heavy mug. She quickly jumped and kicked the mug out of the mans hands, sending it back inside to smack a amn in the face. Then landed and slashed open the mans chest.

"I dont like ale!" she yelled. She thrust a couple more times at some chasers, before jumping off the chest of one and into the street, gracefully landing on her clawed feet, swords ready. She then realized this to be a bad mistake when men began pouring from the tavern.

"Uhoh..." she said, and quickly fixing her hat, she turned and ran quickly after the two figures. She caught up easily, and grinned.

"So...I see your quite popular in this part of town? Oh, whats wrong with her?" she asked nodding at the girl.

There was a shattering noise from behind him, close enough to the Drital Qu'ellar Pub that he thought nothing of it. But what followed was strange; a female voice shouting, "I don't like ale," accompanied by a wet, meaty thud that suggested someone had learned just how much she disliked it. Solomon groaned at the girl's bluster; presenting yourself to a crowd of drunken low-lifes was a poor plan. Usually the elf would just slip away and let her deal with it herself, but he could no longer feel one of his arms, and Crystal did not appear to be getting better. Ever since she had burst through the wall of the Pub and fainted she had barely stirred, showing no signs of regaining consciousness anytime soon. And if that wasn't worrying enough, the scholar was desperate to find a way out of this part of the city. It was dark, and everyone knew that traveling through any section of Lomedor at night was bad. Add in the fact that he was injured and had a probably mortally wounded girl to protect and the situation went from slightly dangerous to downright horrible. Now consider the fact that both of them were elven and the decrepit part of the city they were in... well, it might be faster to just kill himself and leave his open wallet out on the street. Crystal was slightly ahead of him in that regard, looking like she was halfway dead already. “You know, I liked the ale there.” He talked absentmindedly to the unconscious girl, rambling to calm his quickly retreating nerves. If it wasn’t for his guilty conscience and belief in karma he would disappear in a flash, letting her fend for herself. After all, he had gotten her this far to safety. Sighing, he ripped off the arm of his left sleeve, starting to tear it into bandages as well. The elves were taught from birth to respect and honor life; he would not leave her to die. Not yet.

The commotion at the Pub got worse, the angry shouts that had earlier been muffled by the bar's walls suddenly incredibly loud as the fight spread to the open street. Solomon audibly groaned and reached into his quiver, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. It was late, he only had one working arm, he was unaccustomed to carrying an unconscious person around or caring for their wounds, and now it looked like the brawl had followed them into the street. Pulling out an arrow, he waited, hoping no one would find the two injured elves. Although the thin alleyway would force any residual warriors from the Pub to fight Solomon one at a time, it was quite likely that a small child with a tree branch could beat the elf in his current state. The slap of hurried footsteps, along with an odd clicking noise, ruined any delusions of peace the elf had, a strange sight greeting his eyes as the figure scurried around the corner.

A long, sinuous tail moved slowly, the sparse moonlight reflecting off of the smooth scales. Although she appeared humanoid for the most part, the hint of reptilian, or even draconian, blood was obvious. Instead of normal fingers there was a set of sharp, curved claws confidently gripping the hilt of two long, sharp, and very bloody swords. Her feet were also clawed, responsible for the clicking noise he had heard earlier. Rough patches of scales looked foreign on her otherwise normal skin. But it was her eyes that intrigued the scholar. Slit like a cat's, there was a very human intelligence glittering in their yellow depths. Great. Now I have a dangerous, half-iguana, bloody, sword-wielding female to deal with. This is what I get for trying to enjoy myself and going out! The scholar's grip on the arrow, hidden underneath his left leg, tightened slightly. She broke the momentary silence, voice sounding perfectly normal despite her alien appearance. Something about her voice sounded slightly familiar... "So...I see your quite popular in this part of town. Oh, what’s wrong with her?" She was staring at Crystal, either intrigued or sickened by the blood that had started to puddle on the dirty cobblestones.

“Oh, we’re well-liked. All that happened was that... She tripped. And fell. On a dagger. Three times.” Solomon’s eyes flickered away from the half-dragon girl for a moment, glancing at Crystal. She needed medical help and he had no idea how to get to it. But this girl could help. “Would you mind-“ His voice was cut off by a drunken shout. A man carrying a makeshift torch who had wandered around the corner was pointing at the strange girl and yelling. In a flash of realization he remembered where he had heard her voice before; she had been the one yelling about her dislike for ale. Solomon stood, fighting to keep his face and voice pleasant. Not only had she probably brought the fight out into the streets while he had been escaping, but now she had brought every still-conscious patron down on his head. “Nevermind. I don’t think I want your help anymore.” His hand a blur, Solomon threw the arrow at the man behind her. It stuck in his shoulder, blood spurting as he fell back with a shriek of pain. Without another word he bent over Crystal, starting to drag her further into the alley. Maybe this reptile girl would distract the crowd for long enough they could escape out the other side.

“Oh, we’re well-liked. All that happened was that... She tripped. And fell. On a dagger. Three times.” the man said, glancing at the womans body.

"Oh..umm..well..watch out for those daggers." She said, and became a little selfconsious and warry when the man noticed her claws and tail. Half-dragons had a problem with not being accepted...that problem usually, more often than not turned into a blade.

“Would you mind-“ the man was saying before from behind ehr a drunk human with a lantern blundered along. He pointed at her and said something unintelligable. “Nevermind. I don’t think I want your help anymore.” the man suddenly said behind ehr, and an arrow zipped out and hit the lantern bearer. She looked back, crouching, her blades up as more came around the corner. She looked back, a bit disappointed that these people, the man and woman, she just found did not exactly want to be friendly, or want her to help.

She looked back to see the gang pressing into the alley. This was deffinitly a bad move on their part. The alley is narrow, meaning, it is one on one. She looked back to see the others scurrying away.

"Ok...maybe my advantage but this is just no fair!" she cried after them.

With a pout, she shiethed her blades, and then threw her weight into a kick with both feet off the chest of the front man, sending him sprawling back and sending her up into the air. She grabbed a beam with her claws and raised herself up onto it looking at the men below her as they yelled up. She stuck her tongue out and began throwing some taunting faces at them involving rolling eyes, tongues, fingers, and ear pulling.

Until someone chucked a cup. This was her que to leave. She leapt across the alley, grabbed the edge of a roof and hauled herself onto it. The men bellow yelled as she ran along the roof top to catch up with the pair. If they were going to be rude to her, she was goin to be rude back.

Solomon's breath caught in his throat, each gasp of air as heavy and
hard to swallow as a bag of stones as he dragged it past pale lips.
Sweat dripped from his tousled blonde hair, further staining the
usually immaculate white shirt he wore. He leaned up against a wall,
almost dropping Crystal's prone body. The pain in his arm was
excruciating, the warm numbness beginning to spread from the limb up to
his shoulder and down his back. Looking behind them, the elf could do
nothing but groan. He wasn't sure whose blood had left the trail on the
cobbled street behind them, but it traced their path more accurately
than any soothsayer. The mob would find them. A chorus of taunts echoed
from the alleyway they had just deserted, the half-dragon's voice
forcing Solomon to flinch. "That idiot is going to get us killed...by
being annoying..." He grunted and hefted Crystal again, feeling
his muscles scream in protest. He was reaching the end of his stamina.
Stopping again, he looked around desperately for some hope of escape,
green eyes easily piercing the gloom of night. There! A boarded-up
window and gaping doorway suggested that the decrepit building was not
only barely standing but abandoned. He dragged Crystal across the
street, no longer feeling strong enough to carry her even that short
distance. Setting her inside of the doorway, Solomon felt a pang of
regret. She had involved herself, true, but it had been for his sake.
And now she would probably die in a crime-ridden section of Lomedor
that he never should have entered in the first place.

Ignoring his guilt-riddled conscience, Solomon's eyes flitted around
the room, looking for anything that could help them. This had
apparently been the home of some out-of-luck blacksmith; broken anvil
occupied the center of the small room; hammers with rotted handles and
long, rusty tongs were lined up against one wall; broken bars and
poorly-crafted swords littered the dirt floor. His keen elven eyes soon
found something helpful; in one of the corners of the room there was an
ancient clamp, firmly nailed to a stone block so that an apprentice
blacksmith could firmly attach their current project on a flat surface.
Solomon hurried over to the clamp, hoping he would have enough time. He
knelt down by the stone block, pressing his uninjured shoulder against
the cool, gritty rock. With a soft grunt he began to push the clamp
across the room to the door, each foot of progress marked by moans and
sweat and blood turning to mud in the dirt. After what seemed like an
eternity he had reached the door, the block half as wide as the
opening. Solomon fell across the top of the clamp, panting heavily. He
was so tired. He just wanted to back to Kerian and forget this
horrible, hot, rancid town that stank of urine and corruption. The
blackness that had been dancing on the outside of his vision took this
opportunity to swarm inwards, threatening to engulf him in the warm
blanket of unconsciousness. Gritting his teeth, the elf slowly
straightened, fighting back the dark tide. He could do this.

Working slowly and clumsily with his one arm, Solomon removed the
hand-carved shortbow from its sling on his back. Grimacing, he propped
one end of the bow in the clamp, barely supporting the weapon with his
useless shoulder. With his good hand he gripped the handle of the
clamp, twisting it carefully so as to not dislodge the bow's tentative
position. Soon the metal tool was holding the weapon in place, upright,
pointing out of the door. Solomon continued to tighten the clamp,
wincing as the wood of the bow creaked in protest. Only when he was
sure the bow would not come dislodged did he stop turning the crank. He
pushed the clamp slightly to one side, on his knees, staring past the
belly of the bow. It was pointed straight at the alleyway they had
first taken sanctuary in. The yells from the thin corridor suggested
that the angry drunks were still following them. Solomon reached into
his quiver, grabbing an arrow and setting it to the string. He slowly
began to pull back on the string, praying a silent plea to the Goddess
of Life herself that this would work. The elf was forced to place his
feet on either side of the doorframe, using the solid building to
support him. He managed to pull the bowstring back far enough that the
arrow would reach the mouth of the alley. Solomon sat still, every
muscle in his legs and arm burning from the strain.

The men were beginning to move down the rest of the alley after being
distracted by the half-dragon girl, unaware that pointed elven ears
picked out scattered exclamations. One man called out, "Hey, look!
Filthy elven blood! They went this way!" His mouth curled into a wide,
vicious smile, the man stepped out of the alley, wielding a short
sword. The arrow slammed into his sternum, piercing skin and shattering
bone. With a gurgled gasp he flew backwards into the alley, a permanent
look of shock etched onto his face. Solomon felt no pleasure at this
small victory, only sadness at the needless loss of life and the slowly
advancing pain in his arm and shoulder. Ignoring the frightened yells
of the men who had been hit by the lifeless corpse, Solomon scrambled
for another arrow, once again through the painful process of notching
it to the string. "You're the filthy ones..." A snarl of both pain and
desperation twisting his usually calm features, Solomon drew back
again, waiting for the next violent drunk to leave the safety of the
alleyway.

Crystal feebly stirring on the ground, his eyes opened seeing Solomon feet. He tried to rise but only managed to raise his head. He felt his head become foggier as he saw Solomon mumbled something before fitting arrow on his bow. “Water”, he tried to say with little success only releasing a moan.

Sensing a power struggle inside him he felt the metal blade somehow alive intact itself in his flesh while emitting a chaotic dark taint sealing the blade beneath his skin while releasing a eavy darkness around the house. As the blade power took a hold of him he felt the last trickle of power leave him causing the disguise he somehow kept on himself break. He felt his arms lengthen and grow while his chest heaved forward growing muscle. His hair also turned a light gold color and his eyes becoming a murky brown.(Human Form)


Feeling the blackness from the blade take a hold of him he felt a thousand knives start searing his body from head to foot. He tried to form words other then screams as his whole body convulsed from the pain. Crystal kept trying to say anything other then screaming because he knew his now powerless to move and his whole body was now a beacon for anything sinister that might walk in the dead of night.