Dawn broke through the nights veil. Light spilling down from the sky driving away the shadows from the streets of Lomedor. In the light a thin haze still hung around the city, mist clinging to the side alleys and main streets. Horses bronzed and gleaming steamed in the morning light, snorting curling breaths into the crisp clean air. Even in the slums and dives people began to step out into what was soon to be a wonderful day. Even in the early hours the sun hung proud in the azure sky, an uplifting sight to any man but it was still hours yet till Omurn would wake.

Deep in the forgotten places of Lomedor Omurn finally stirred. Seemingly a corpse left for dead in an alley returning reluctantly back to life. Energy returning to tired bones. Stiff joints and torn muscles began to work once more. The corpses eyes parted slowly, unwilling to acknowledge the gleam of the day. Shakily it forced itself up from the slime of the unwashed cobblestones and leaned against a wall for support. Omurn had survived once more.

He was a terrible sight, hair matted and sodden clinging to his face with mud and slime splattered across his pursed maw. The same muck covered most of his left side obscuring his once proud armor behind thick globules of filth. bruises and cuts were beginning to show on his worn unshaven face. Each a key to a forgotten memory. Though these were not the most worrying signs of a man fallen from society. The eyes were the clearest signs. Bloodshot and unblinking they stared out, sunken in his skull. The pupils were dilated and unfocused. Moving with a slow lazy motion as they tried to comprehend the vista before them.

Slowly thoughts began to drift into his mind. Snippets of information about who and what he was, what his body felt now. It all began to converge once more back into his head quickening with frightening speed. Overwhelming him with wave after wave of senses. He shook and one of his legs slipped from beneath him. He feel onto his hands and knees. He could feel it rising with in him, all of these thoughts and feelings were overloading him with information he couldn't take. He wretched, and empty convulsion but it wasn't long before his body finally got the better of him. He threw up. A dark evil smelling substance, he hadn't eaten in days. He knew he was throwing up the last of the previous days potion. As he looked down on what he had produced his fried brain began to make the connections. The potion... that he needed... if this was last nights then... what did he have now?

For the first time a sense of urgency over came him he fumbled with his satchel, fingers unable to open the simple buckle that held it closed. Frustration began to build up in him as numb fingers danced over the puzzle that lay before him. He bit his teeth down hard and grunted as his hands grabbed the buckle and tore it apart. Three jars spilled from it. One shattered empty on the cobble stones. The second to was empty and the last one was almost gone, enough left for one day. He scrabbled for it. Reaching out over the broken glass his fingers slipping on its edge drying to claw it back, he placed his other hand in front of him as he leaned out to retrieve it. Uncaring of the glass now piercing his hand. He took the jar and rose to his feet. Stuffing it into the broken bag. Looking down at his cut hand he watched the blood run down his fingers before he comprehended the pain. He called out as he realized his hand was damaged. He clumsily pulled the glass from his hand and whipped the blood on his armor. It was then he realized it was already crusted with blood. His own? or another's? His mind was to fogged over to remember. He needed something to dull the pain of the morning.

He stumbled away down the alley and out into the street. Trying to stand upright and normal. The last thing he needed was to deal with guardsmen or anyone else for that matter. He tried to focus on the appearance of normality as he searched for a refuge. A place to regroup his thoughts.

His blurred vision spotted a chance, an inn. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew that people didn't frequent pubs early in the morning... it would be empty. He pushed open the door and his hand left a bloodied print on the painted door as he moved into the bar. He stopped adjusting to the welcome light change. His eyes no longer hurt from the harsh sun. He walked to the bar and sat on the seat. Thankful of a place to rest. He looked bleary eyed up to the inn keeper and mumbled an order for a spirit. Normally a creature such as Omurn would have been turned away but this early in the morning he could be kept under control and with no other customers about he could do no real harm.

He sat, nursing his whiskey trying to recall what he had done last night. Ten second memory's were surfacing from the time fog. Flashes of violence, muffled screams and his own howls mixing into one discordant disjointed memory. "Are you going to pay for that?" The voice woke him from the introspective nightmare. He nodded and his hand drew out his money pouch and counted through the coppers. He was broke, he had enough for just one more drink. He felt a panic rising. How was he going to get more Potion? what was he supposed to do? He would have to think of something soon. Reality was to harsh a world for him to live in forever. He needed to feel the adrenalin of combat. He needed to lose control.

The red hair of the child moved as tanned fingertips combed though his locks. There a woman sat at the edge of his bed while the boy slumbered. Warmly the room was lit by a single candle light in the dim room. Only one window allowed the rays of light to filter in. As always the lady woke up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning. A dark brown dress hugged her body as a sash that normally held a sword clung to her hip. She made a soft smile to the only other person in the room, that small boy which she caressed his hair. He was no older then five at least, and his tongue was quick to be held, hardly ever speaking to anyone. The child was fast asleep and Ploay stood up, allowing a creeping sound from the wooden flood boards. Moving back to their place, the feathered bed now cuddled only the child which slept in the middle under heavy covers.

While the tall woman stood looking at the child with red hair, she recalled how she met the boy. At that time she was traveling Ea on foot, with her dear friend Mariner. Sadly the story of the boy made her heart ache thinking about it. It had been in the daylight, the hottest time to be in the desert. This boy’s family had been, along with his village, murdered. Ploay at the time tried her best to defend the innocent village in the desert, but there were too many of the evil men and women who wished to lay siege on the homeland. Many who lived there had escaped in poverty, and those who lived didn’t want the child because he would be just another mouth to feed. The lady found, no, heard the boy scream to the top of his lungs. That’s how she found him, and as soon as the boy was finished screaming, an odd silence became him. Those sad green jewels stared up at her, and the angel couldn’t help but take in the child.

Now with responsibility, she could no longer sleep on the hard ground at night. Those wondering days were over because the poor thing could get sick sleeping on the cold ground. Nothing but the best in for the woman’s little Samus. So far she had only seen him smile once in the six months since she had found him. The first time was when Ploay first held him, and the second when the angel told him that she loved him. Most of the time he bore an unemotional face like she had done so a long time ago. The brown angel had seen some sad times in her child hood. But she vowed to be the best caretaker she could for this little boy. There weren’t many bad times, he would listen to her without many fits, but he would always seem to cry himself to sleep.

Glancing over her shoulder one more time, the woman held the doorknob then opened the door. She faced to dark hallway that met her, and closed the door. Of course she could be back soon, just as soon as she get a mug of water from downstairs. Hardly was anyone else awake at this hour, and that was how she liked it. Hard looks always came her way when she walked with Samus in her hand, and no husband was to be found. Whispers and gossip always found themselves in her ear, but like anyone else, she ignored them by turning her head away. Just because she had a child, didn’t mean it was from her blood. A long time ago she wished like any young lady to be married and have a houseful of kids, but that never seemed to happen, so she grew up with life.

Half shut were her eyes as she brown wings folded tightly to her back. Tiredness was still inside her, because it was a long night to get here. Carrying a child on her back had been easy at first, but after months of doing it, it had become tiresome. Finally her left foot touched the bottom floor as she gazed with her purple orbs around the inn. Then swiftly, she moved towards the bar like a shadow in the dim light of day. While sitting down four seats away from the nearest stranger, she heard the bartender speak to some sad looking soul to her left. His appearance was like that of a drunkard, so instantly she felt sorry for him by glancing in the corner of her eye. The man had long blond hair, and what appeared to be elven ears sticking from the locks of his head. He also had a warrior's face about him. Slightly interest dimmed into her heart but now wasn't the time. It was too early to chitchat and soon Samus would wake up in a panic if the angel wasn’t present.

Then Ploay figured that a small greeting wouldn’t keep her from the child for long. How long it had been since she spoke to another person besides Samus, without the child she hadn’t known. “Good morning,” She said in a velvet yet cheerful voice while closing her eyes in a smile at the man near her. Then her neck turned towards the bar tender, and asked for a tea, and a mug of water. Softly she looked down at her folded hands on the bar as the bartender began to pour hot water.

It was early morning that the red vulpine finally awoke, slowly and unwillingly, red eyes staring out into the emptiness before him, back aching from sleeping against the hard stone wall by which he sat, more aches across his body from things he didn't want to think about. Defeats he'd never let himself admit, even though he knew that they were just that.

For one that never liked to lose, he'd certainly been doing so a lot lately. First, to some wizard or something of the sort that had temporarily stolen from him his ability to call upon fire elementals. Then he'd encountered the one with whom he'd had an eternal feud since he came into existence, an encounter after which he was quite lucky to still have his head. Degrade him though he might, that one was strong, and getting stronger.

So where did that leave him?

Beaten up in some alley like a dog after surviving against a bear. Chest and back aching, both from the wall and from a blow that had knocked him unconscious two days previously, right arm hanging limply at his side, quite visibly singed black along most of it, pants and jacket torn badly, and overall looking quite the worse for the wear, partly no thanks to the drunk he encountered the previous night, who'd left him slightly bloodied, which he liked to think was mostly due to the fact that he couldn't use one of his arms.

It was as if every power in Ea was suddenly turning against him, and there seemed nothing he could do about it. Most of his will now sapped from the miserable existence he'd been living for the past few days, he found it hard to even chuckle darkly, to even think what he'd do to those that had wronged him, how he'd make them pay. He wouldn't have gotten up at all but for the fact that he was hungry, the requirement for food and drink perhaps the most hated thing about having his own body, which wasn't the case until one year previously, when things were still going good for him.

Grumbling, he noticed a man walk unsteadily by, seemingly doing his best to appear as though he wasn't in bad shape, undoubtedly the drinks' fault. The man that had beaten him up even in a drunken stupor. Well, forget him, then.

Vaguely noticing that it was a short few hours after dawn, Darkfire grumbled, opening his eyes as far as they would currently allow and testing his right arm. Still nothing. No surprises there. After all, it wasn't like his arm would magically heal after such a short time, wish it though he might.

Groaning in exhaustion and pain, he reached his left arm behind him, working his legs so that he had footing on the ground, allowing them to push him into the wall while his arm worked on bringing him further up it. After a few attempts, and quite a bit of pain along his back from putting so much pressure on it, he managed to stand. That was one step down, and the next step, walking, would be much easier thanks to the fact that his legs were the only things without more than a few scratches.

Looking around for someplace in particular to go, trying to sort through his fogged and unwilling mind to remember someplace decent for food that wouldn't care how he currently looked, he found that the man from earlier seemed to be going to the Inn, Wilwarin. A place that would probably be mostly unoccupied this early in the morning, except by those that preferred to sleep in, who would thus be of no concern anyway. Feeling that that was as good an option as any, or probably better, he trudged off in that direction, fluffing the back of his jacket out with the only hand he could currently use to get rid of some of the dust and rock fragments from sleeping against that wall most of the night.

Completely unaware as to what he'd find inside, he pushed the door open, glancing around for a moment at any current patrons, finding only the man from earlier, the usual morning 'tender, and one sight he never expected to see. Shame that he was so exhausted and beat up, and thus not up to his usual mischief and chaos, or he could actually have some fun with this particular situation. Now, though, he just needed something, anything, for some actual nourishment.

"Well, the guy from earlier and the girl that that stupid Kai likes...whatever..." he muttered, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, quite aware that he looked rather like Kai, in fact was initially born from his dark emotions, and that neither Ploay nor anyone in the old Syndicate had been told about his existence, even when the two still shared a body. Ordering a water and dropping a coin onto the counter for the sake of it, he grabbed it and slumped down in the nearest barstool, taking a long sip and wishing he was in a much better condition.

His hands twitched and played nervously with themselves. Fingers tracing patters on his skin that only he could see. Tips running over the scars and calluses. Trailing through the blood they began to drawn a continuing circle. The slow repetition began to entrance him. Pulling him into its own little world and bits of his brain began to shut down once more. His own little world was forming around him, safe from the pressures of of people who were out to harm him. His eyes focused in on his hands, peripheral vision fading out of focus entirely. His entire being was concentrated on this small circle he was tracing in his own blood. The sounds of the outside world to began to dissipate into a silence as his brain seemingly collapsed from the constant mental abuse and punishment of addiction to the elixir that was a potion of ferocity. His jaw began to open slightly and seemingly murmured something as his brain got caught in an ongoing loop. Until two words shattered his world

"Good morning," they pierced his brain and at once dormant memories and faculties arose to the surface. He tensed his hand slamming down on the table, fingers digging into the wood. His other hand shot to his sword. Fingers clasping the leather straps around the hilt. He felt safer now with this in his grasp. Familiar ground, the knowledge that he could rely on it and his ability to protect him. He exhaled, turning away from her, afraid to catch her eye he muttered "who, who... why did you?.... who are you?" The last sentence was the only coherent words he could muster. He was anxious of what he had done last night. Who had he angered? or worse... He closed his eyes and in a flash another memory surfaced. Not a visual memory just the feeling of cold steel, and the texture of flesh as the to met. The sound of metal and skin meeting filled his ears and he shook his head ridding himself off it. He let go of his sword and pulled his hand in close.

As if for the first time he spotted the blood on his hand and the circle drawn there. He blinked and stared at it. Who had done that? What pattern was it? What was it supposed to be? Why was it there? He shuddered and put the palm on the bar top and smeared the offending image from his hand. He finally turned to look at the woman. His eyes unfocused for a second before taking her in. Perfectly normal, a person... not like him. It just made it worse seeing normality and knowing you couldn't reach it.

He turned slightly unsure of what to do next when something triggered another recollection. The door behind her opened and in stepped a memory. That face he saw the night before. A fight in the dark. He recalled everything. Felt the night air on his skin, the rage in his belly and the feeling of power as he battled with every bit of his strength. He opened his eyes again and stared at the strange creature. He didn't know why but he could still feel the anger from last night. The potion must still be going or... maybe he was just becoming more like the bezearker after ever gulp.

He tried to shake off the feelings and turned away but the images from last night kept replaying themselves. Running over and over. Each blow exchanged, the blood the violence the anguish. He wondered what he was supposed to do now? Was this man going to attack him? Revenge for last night? His hand slipped in his satchel and fingered the potion. If he had to... he would. He allowed himself a wry smile. It didn't last for long. From down the bar he could hear the muttering. "Well, the guy from earlier..." He shrank back at his mention. He knew... what was he going to do now?

Omurn turned, facing the other to "what? what do you want? Don't.... Don't you try to fight me... I'm warning you. Both you you." His hands fidgeted slightly before moving down to his weapons once again. His breathing slowed along with his heart rate. His bloodshot eyes moved from the woman to the creature. Would the warning be enough? Or would he get to taste that sweet nectar once more? He almost willed them now to push it further. His mood changed entirely, flipped to that of desire. Fear no longer welled up inside him now pushed aside by a lust for the potion, a lust for combat... a lust for death.

Finally a plop was heard as the bartender placed two mugs on the bar. One mug filled with hot steamy tea for the angel, and the other mug filled with room temperature water. Off course Ploay would need to pay for her purchase, so smooth fingertips searched around in the flaps of her dress. Never had she needed to worry about money, because she would done little chore around some place like this inn. Either tidy up the place to even serving food would be her chores. It was an unstable life that she lived buy, yet she didn’t need to fear. As long as there were little jobs to do, then she could get by, and her other fellow angels helping her out when she came near her home.

While she grazed the coins with her digits, the man she had casually spoke a greeting to begin to act strangely. There were words being mutter that she could understand at first. Best to ignore, she agreed to herself as she placed five silver coins down, enough to not only buy the drinks but to also give the bartender a tip. Her dark brown eyes that looked purple sometimes, glanced up at the bartender just as he made an odd face. A questioning look drew on her face as she looked at the tender, just as she heard full words spill out of the odd man. “Who are you?” The normal pacing heartbeat began to beat harder against her chest as she sharply turned her neck to look at the man.

Calmly were her hands placed upon the bar, neatly atop on another like they had been before. Narrow her dark eyebrows came close to the middle, she studied him to the point she saw him clutching something on his hip. Quietly she prayed he didn’t want to fight her on the small fact she was unarmed herself. If they were to fight, Ploay felt it would end soon because she wasn’t experienced in fighting that much. The little bit that she had fought came close to death in her eyes, so testing fate once more wouldn’t be wise. Sweat of nerves began to crown around her brow. This man sounded very unstable, so she carefully planned what she would say next. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the tender walk away from the bar.

“Don’t be alarmed. I am just an average woman on an average day.” Her eyes turned soft and went back to looking at her hands. She felt like the man was staring at her now. “My name is Ploay by the way.” She finished by giving the answer to his question. Her voice was calm and smooth like a mothers lullaby. Something in her mind knew she was forgetting something, she knew somewhere she was more than an average angel. But that part of her life seemed so fuzzy no memory was very clear. Yet she felt pleased with her life, so whatever part of the past she had forgotten, was a past better unremembered. Now she was ready to leave and go back upstairs to awaken the boy before he woke up himself in screams.

Before she could depart, another being entered the inn to say words that disturbed her.
"Well, the guy from earlier and the girl that that stupid Kai likes.” His voice sounded so familiar to her that Ploay felt she had to turn. Instantly as she saw the beast he looked so much like a friend of hers. But why would he talk about himself in a third person, wasn’t he Kai? Thoughts swarmed her mind as she couldn’t make any sence of it. Wisdom jerked at her while she glanced at the man four stools away from her. This type of entrance surely wasn’t going to be a pretty picture if this man got so bent out of shape just by her saying “good morning”. Soon his spunk seemed to cool down to where the beast went and took a drink from a nearby stool. There were questions the angel wanted to ask but thought it would be best to keep them to herself.

Just as she had feared, the unstable man began to react to the situation. Then he mentioned the word “both,” like Ploay was familiar with this somewhat rude being. In a way she was familiar, but this beast wasn’t the Kai she knew at all, yet he was quiet a spitting image. Going against her first thoughts, she asked the new being who entered while squinting her brown jewels, “Kai? Is that you?” Her voice was a small whisper trying to get the inn air calm after the two men’s outburst. A timid thought that maybe her friend might be processed by a demon or even a drow somehow. There were evil arcane works that could do such a feat. Her body leaned forward towards the best who looked like Kai, but soon sat up straight really quick when her eyes met the bloodshot unstable man’s eyes.

Yet Ploay kept her calm composure, “I don’t want to fight, and I’ll “push” anyone who does clean away from here.” A little joke was added that would make her chuckle alittle if the unstable man didn’t look so serious. Once more her eyes turned back to the two mugs in front of her, steam was cooling away from the liquid in a dance. The angel felt like she was between a rock and a hard place.

Glancing over to the man that almost appeared to be in as bad condition as himself, which right now was definitely saying something, he grumbled to himself, trying to figure out what his deal was.

Too much drink, that much was for certain. Probably too much fighting as well, last night's brawl between the two of them included. The man reeked of blood, both his own and that of others, making Darkfire wonder what kind of life had to be led to put a man in such a shape.

Then there was the fact that the man couldn't seem to say much of anything coherent, just fragments of sentences or questions, words that would have to be pieced together to make sense to anyone else, if they even made sense to him to begin with after being released from his mouth. Some fragments perhaps from whatever Ploay had said earlier before Darkfire had entered, and from what Darkfire had said, possibly in some remembrance of his drunken, fighting state the night past.

Whatever the case, this man was in no sound state of mind, and Darkfire smirked lightly. Lust for blood, lust for battle, lust for conflict, things he himself so often radiated and enjoyed that it began to bring him back to himself, at least a little. Things that, having such experience with them, the cruel, calculating fox could feel radiating off this man to an increasing degree. Perfect. Now he could satisfy two desires: to draw blood, and to claim vengeance on one of those three that had wronged him in such a short span of time.

"HrrrrARR!" he growled, starting off low and ending loudly, smacking his drink off to the side with a loud clatter as it ricocheted off of the counter, then a crash as it flew into the wall near the floor, breaking into various jagged pieces. His penetrating stare was now fixated on the man before him as he lifted himself quickly off his chair, only just stopping himself from lunging forward and inevitably sending himself and this other man into the stools and the bar, which would be harmful for both of them. Instead, he flexed the clawed fingers on his left hand, testing his right arm once more but finding it still completely useless, revealing the full extent of his carnivorous, canine teeth, stained red with blood on a few of the front.

Then there was that name, the one that always sent him further into his rage when heard from anyone, though only a minor annoyance when he himself was forced to say it.

Kai.

The pitiful, weak fool who'd yet still defeated him on both of their separate encounters, quite decisively each time. What made it worse was that the name was uttered from one that its namesake cared greatly for, something Darkfire hated most, for good reason.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not Kai," he said, never once taking his eyes off the man in front of him, who it seemed was starting to become drunk again, which, upon thinking about it, was good for him. He'd be able to get his payback with the man in the very state that he'd beaten him in.

Breathing steadily through his nose, teeth still bared, he easily picked up on the scents of the blood stained on the man, the man himself, Ploay, and the bartender, but there was one more, faint, probably upstairs. Hopefully that last one wouldn't come down and be a problem for him...

Then Ploay herself spoke out in an attempt to end this conflict before it actually started, or more accurately restarted, the rage not subsiding in the least in Darkfire's eyes but his lips beginning to come together, hiding the top halves of his teeth. If she were to step in between them, there would be nothing he could do, as much as he hated that fact.

"Hmph...stay out of my way," he grumbled. "That pest Kai loves you, something I'm sure he'll always be too weak to admit, and his curse of me never being able to allow those he cares about come to harm is still stuck with me even now that I have my own body..."

That, in itself, told the general story of who he was, and in a way what his limitations were, things he never wanted anyone to know but right now wouldn't do much of any good keeping secret. She'd learn soon enough anyway...and hopefully stay out of his way so that he could take his personal revenge right now, hopefully return to his old self, or he didn't know what he'd do.

Omurn opened his mouth and exhaled his eyes dropped down from the two people as he listened to her speak. He shifted back into his chair and his eyes shut. She didn't mean harm, she just was there. Not aggressive or friendly just was. It was fine, normal even. When people tried to make friends he got nervous like he did with the aggressive ones. They were trying something, he knew it. Just setting him up for the fall. Well he couldn't fall any lower. He understood that much. His grip released the sword and mace. Blood rushed back to his cold clammy hands just like the feeling to the rest of his body. He couldn't control his impulses any more. It was more difficult to maintain the illusion of sanity because in his deluded mind he was maintain an image of normality. As far as he could tell everyone only suspected him. From his warped perspective the signs of his addiction were slight. He couldn't smell the corpulent odor or see the emaciated face and sunken eyes. In his mind his appearance was still that of his prime. He knew things had changed for the worse but he couldn't fathom just how bad it was.

He tucked himself in slightly, bringing his hands to his lap. Perhaps he had been wrong about the other one as well. Maybe he had fabricated those ghastly nightmares. Or where they visions of the future? Was his life spinning into an ever lasting series of cyclic events... had this all happened before? Was he trapped in this day forever? He braught his hands tightly together and they clasped each other. Beads of sweat were materializing along his brow before trickling down his grimy skin. Trapped again in his own thoughts and nightmares. His fundamentally broken logic twisting his already warped mind into paradoxes that his feeble brain could not escape from and could no longer take. It was Darkfires reaction that finally drove him into shock.

The low growl was what awoke him he looked up with fear in his eyes at the creature advancing towards him and he visable shrank back as the volume increased. He could feel it vibrating and reverberating inside him. "get out of me" he mumbled as he edged back away from the noise. "get awaay." Tears welled up in his eyes as the fear mounted. He didn't want to die, it wasn't his time he still had more to give surely? A tear rolled down his check as finally the fear got to him. He snapped. Some last vestige of self control broke and he reacted instantly. A hand shot down and grabbed the satchle, hauling it up he ripped it open and pulled out a bottle. Inside even in the dim light of the tavern the yellow nectar gleamed with a sickly malevolence. He fumbled with the cork but in a bout of rage smashed the neck down on the edge of the counter. The glass splintered and he lifted the broken bottle to his lips and drank down the vile smelling brew.

He choaked down the poison and cast the bottle aside. He spread a wild evil grin his body swaying side to side as he lowered his head eyes staring at the fox. "wrong move, now I'm the scary one" His teeth were stained yellow by the potion of ferocity and all around the corners of his mouth the liquid dripped down. He felt the heavenly mixture pulse through his veins. All the aches, pains and worries of reality drained from him. Replaced with a blood lust once more. He was truly free now that was the illusion. He was free under the control of the potions harsh rule. His hands clenched into fists, the veins and artery's along his arm growing and pulsing. It was time. He turned his back in a slow spin, hiding his hands from view. In one hand he drew out his heavy barbarian blade and the other he clutched a javelin. He whirled around in a quick motion. Throwing the javelin as he did so. The throw was steady and true, the result of thousands of hours spent practicing for just such an event.

Then all at one he exploded from the spot. Charging forward, sprinting with a speed rarely seen in a man. With in a second he had closed the gap between the two of them and he was bearing down hard and fast on Darkfire. Boots hitting the wooden floor hard. A bestial snarl escaped his lips as he bore down on Darkfire. His whole body now boosted by the combined forces of the potion of ferocity and the only spells he new. Bulls strength and draconic might. With enormous strength the assaulted Darkfire. Laying down a fury of blows with his heavy blade. All fear forgotten, all paranioa washed away all trace of Omurn replaced with the potion.

As those lost cold brown eyes gazed at the dancing steam from the two mugs, a low growl rang into her ears. Then suddenly the growl seemed to grow in size as it became the only sound from the inn. Like lighting her chocolate orbs shifted towards the sound like a moth to a flame. From the throat of the fox creature the sound came. Why had he randomly growled like that couldn’t be understood, maybe the beat up looking creature was having a horrible day. Just then the dark looking fox made a loud sound which snapped the woman’s neck back to him. He appeared to have smacked his drink for some unknown reason. “Now you can’t do that.” The bartender said in a cowardly voice as he seemed to speak, then ignore once again. A slight shudder went down his spine as he continued to clean mugs with luke warm dirty water. Quickly the fox stood up from his place, beckoning for a fight with the man.

Then the creature, not taking his eyes off the unstable man, answered her question. There was no possible way that this darker looking creature was Kai, but he had known who he was, and also known the familiarity of their appearance. At least he knows who I’m talking about, she thought to herself as she glanced towards the man, betting on her sword that he wasn’t taking the growl very well. Sometimes there were certain things you just didn’t do in front of an unstable person. Growling like an animal was one of them, along with a few others. Never had Ploay felt paranoid or unstable, but she had come into contact with many who were on the verge of insanity. The wisest reaction when it came to people like this unstable man a few seats down was to walk away before a fight started. Slightly staring at the man beside her, she witnessed the expression on his face, an expression that she was too far familiar with. It was a look that he was about to snap at anything that got in his way, maybe that was the main reason the bar tender had strolled far away. On the surface, the angel prayed that her child wouldn’t get involved in all this commotion.

Yet time ticked, and the sun was rising rather fast into the inn. Soon bars of light would seep inside the room that held the child, and shine upon his face. That was one of the things that woke him up, the sunshine. Turning her head away from the man, locks of black hair swayed as she peered at the staircase. Please stay in bed, she thought as the fox apparently began to speak to her once more. "Hmph...stay out of my way," he grumbled. "That pest Kai loves you, something I'm sure he'll always be too weak to admit, and his curse of me never being able to allow those he cares about come to harm is still stuck with me even now that I have my own body..."

A small brown eyebrow was raised at this new information. Just who was this fox she didn’t know, maybe he was Kai’s brother. Yet if they were siblings why would he say something like having his own body? Ploay said nothing in reply with this, but only gazed at this fox creature. As the lady gazed at the fox, the man four seats down began to snap.

At first his words were hard of hearing, and then slowly became much clearer. Who was he telling to get away? The fox no doubt. Yet what he did next made her eyes wide with shock. He was in such a hurry to get a bottle opened, that he even broke it, drinking the liquid broken glass and all like a mad man. As he threw the bottle aside in landed near the woman’s feet, a bottle filled with chaos and anger. Tilting her neck she read the label, ferocity, it had said. A horrible look of fear spread on her face as she slowly stood up, backing up one leg at a time. This odd situation had suddenly turned for the worse as she witnessed the man spring towards the fox. "Wrong move, now I'm the scary one," seemed the be the only words that uttered from his mouth. Like clock work another mishap seemed to go wrong.

Touching her ears first, then the whole inn, was a blood curling scream of distraught. That scream could only belong to her beloved child, Samus. A burst of sound like a door slamming open or shut filled the air second. The child was coming out of his room, right into bad timing. Ploay turned her body around, back to the two men, and facing the stairs. One by one stair came a small boy of five, red haired and green eyes. His hair was fuzzy, stretching in different directions. Those emerald eyes filled with brightness were also filled with wet grey blue tears. No wonder he was in such sadness, to be left alone without a soul in the world. Quickly like wind he ran towards the lady in the brown dress with his tanned arms held up high.

“You wefted mummy!” He said in choked up tears that were hardly audible to most ears. But the angel knew exactly what he was saying, and bent down with her arms open for him to run into. Ploay tried to tell him that she wasn’t his mother, and he had known is mother a little bit. But when a lady takes care of a child more than six months, they begin to give the lady that title of mother. The small child’s body hit her like a gust being taken out of her breath. Instantly her arms wrapped around the boy’s back as the two held each other.

The sobs soaked into her cloaked covered shoulder, as the woman used her arm to sooth the boy by rubbing his back with on hand. As she held the boy, thoughts ran back towards the two men, hoping they would pay no heed towards the child. Samus was too busy being held to pay attention to the two that seemed to be about to kill each other behind Ploay. Quickly, the woman turned her head around to face the two, those lost brown eyes became daggers of protection. She would easily harm them if they even endangered her child’s life.

“If you must fight take it outside!” She sternly commanded as she continued to hold the boy in her arms. Hardly had she raised her voice like that, and what a look of hate that came to her face. Teeth clenched, and small hairs from her back raised, she silently watched the two behind her.

The mood had gotten calmer after Ploay spoke out, seeming to affect the raging man in an unexpected way. He seemed to realize what he was doing, calming down and releasing his grasp on his sword, taking his eyes away from Darkfire and Ploay. It was definitely an unusual sight to see, a man like that being calmed so easily.

How long that lasted.

As soon as Darkfire so much as growled, the man's lust for battle and blood began to return, and as if in response to its return, he reached for a flask of some kind of drink, downing it quickly, greedily, Darkfire beginning to smirk, vaguely aware of a small protest from the bartender. Well, it wasn't as if he could or was going to do anything to stop any of this; he was little more than a nonentity in the fox's mind right now.

Well, if he wanted to take yet another drink and further ruin his state of mind perhaps into the same drunken, mindless state of last night, that was quite alright with him. After all, that was the state that he wanted revenge against, and that was the state that he could probably fight the worst in.

That idea was quickly destroyed, however, as the man got up and turned his back to Darkfire, whose face shifted mildly toward curiosity, wondering what he was doing, feeling the lust for blood spiking perhaps to a higher level than earlier. Not sure what to expect, he muttered a few choice words under his breath, activating his blur spell as faded images began to appear after even the slightest of his movements; a mild swish of his tail, his right arm waving lazily like a pendulum with a short range of motion.

Then the man quickly turned, revealing a javelin in his hand that was sent straight for the fox, who quickly ducked, glad for both his idea to use his blur spell and his foresight, developed from his mild affinity for the psionic brand of magic, perhaps because of the fact that he enjoyed messing with people's minds. Just an inch or two above his scalp he felt the wind rush by from the force of the heavily thrown weapon, which would definitely have impaled him had he not been able to avoid it.

Whatever state his current opponent was in, however, it was readily apparent that it wasn't anywhere near the same as he'd seen before, but much worse; an apparent knowledge of what he was actually doing, and much more speed and strength.

Only just able to move quickly enough to doge, he weaved from side to side quickly, receiving a few minor cuts from the man's sword but nothing serious, especially in his current state. He could try and confuse the man with a little more magic, but then there was the possibility that he'd go after Ploay, which he'd then have to react to. If it weren't for that curse...

While he was busy dodging, though, his other senses, particularly smell and hearing, were still working perfectly fine, focusing on his surroundings while his sight was focused on his assailant, who was probably too wrapped up in his bloodlust to hear what Darkfire easily caught.

A high, distressed scream rang out from the direction of the stairs to the upper level, undoubtedly from the final person he'd sniffed out in this place at the moment. It wasn't a scream from a grown person, however...it was a scream from a child.

Taking his eyes off the man attacking him for a short moment, he quickly realized the mistake in this, recoiling back as the sword caught his damaged right arm, cutting a gash almost down to the bone in his forearm. Wincing slightly in pain, most of the nerves in that arm dead already thanks to it being torched quite efficiently, he was almost glad of this latter fact, but the cut still meant that his arm would be useless for even longer now.

Muttering a curse word under his breath now he'd caught sight of what had made the cry, and been successfully attacked, he ducked under another swipe, slashing quickly with the claws on his left hand at the man's arm nearest him, little more than a blur of motion at his current speed, zigzagging off to the side until he could spin around quickly, now standing just out of range of the frenzied man but nonetheless between him and Ploay and that child.

"Change of plans, looks like we'll have to settle this later, at least if you can even hear me," he said, a calm look now settling on his face, but a very faint, indistinguishable malevolent glow in his eyes. Hopefully the sight of the child and the fact that Darkfire seemed no longer willing to fight would get through to this man, although at this point it didn't entirely seem likely.

"If you're still planning on continuing, however, I'll tell you now that you may not like the result. Right now these two are under my protection," he said, preparing himself for his next spell now that he had time, a spell that would send a swarm of insects at the man did he feel the need to cast it, which he hoped that he wouldn't.

For as good as he was acting, however, there was always something below the surface, a plan, a means to hurt others, most particularly the one he hated most. And this child was something he planned to use in it, if he got a chance, though it would take some time and trust...

Omurn staggered back weapon in hand. His eyes ran up the blade as the blood began to drip down its chipped edge. Pooling on the floor and soaking into the grain. His face split into a wide smile. Flesh and blood. They were all just flesh and blood. He could hack at them and hurt them. Feel the pain of steel on metal. Feel his wrath connecting through the blade. He wasn't scared anymore. He was powerful. A majestic warrior. Or at least thats what he thought. Not the hulking bloodstained beast fighting in a tavern. Not the berserker broken man who was fighting out of fear.

He was so involved in his own world of enforced rage, adrenaline and blood lust his senses had almost totally shut down. Blocking out all intrusive elements. He hadn't noticed the creature crawl down the stairs. The child went unnoticed. Just another part of the world that was absent from his mind. Though he didn't need it now, a superfluous factor to the fight that his being was focused on.

How long did he have left now? He knew the amber nectar was doing its job and wasn't at its peak yet but how much longer did he have? Ten minuets? No that mark had been and gone, wasted seconds had flashed passed him in a blur. He must have eight left now. Eight precocious minuets to break this creature and escape. He knew even in this state that afterwards his come down would be terrifying. The loss of all potion from his body. Bringing with it every scrap of adrenalin and brain chemical it could. Whipping him out for hours. He had to fight, fight now and fight hard.

He watched the hand pointed at him frowning. What was he going to do with that? unarmed combat against a warrior like him? Wait... no, magic was it? Pathetic party tricks and illusions. He spat. "you think your party tricks will work against me? what are you going to do? Create something to fight for you? You coward." He drew his mace from the belt around his waist. He hefted it in his massive hands. He'll show this so magician real power. He raised it high above his head bringing it down in a whirl of metal brute strength. Crashing down on the counter top the thick would shattered beneath it, wood and beer spilled out. An impressive feat of strength.

Looking up some of the magicians words sunk into his head. These two? A frown returned to his brow and it furrowed as he turned to look. He scanned the room. There what was that on the stairs? Another creature? It looked so pathetic. A curled ball of tears and sadness. So strange, freakish... was it really in the real world? Its shrieks and calls finally reached his ears. He recoiled in horror at the noise and commotion. He shook his head free from the auditory assault. He must have been mistaken. The creature wasn't real, only his mind could concoct such a twisted parody of reality. "Get out of my head!" Omurn shouted. He couldn't contain the anger at this creature. It was invading his mind and he wanted it out.

He wheeled around looking for anything he could use. He looked down and grabbed a chair with the hand he used for his mace. Picking it up in the same hand he retained the grip he needed. He lifted it up to head hight and threw it with all his strength at the bawling creature. He grunted with the exertion of the throw. It wouldn't be accurate but just catching a blow on that creature would be enough to banish it from the recesses of his brain. He watched it sail through the air but not for long. His entire body was focused on battle and he wouldn't forget his main objective. That magician wouldn't be casting any spells if he had any say.

He turned again and charged. He knew he had a matter of seconds before the trickster had cast his magic so he had to act fast. He squared his body with the fox and charged head long at him. Large boots gripping on the oak floor. He knew full well his plan. Lifting his mace up in his hand be brought it up over his other shoulder preparing the blow. Making the attack obvious so his bluff would slip under the foxes attention unseen. His sword was the real danger. Held low at waist hight and straight it would impale the mage if it connected. If not then he just had to hope that the momentum bowled the two of them over. Omurn could handle a fight like that. He just had to keep the range down to a minimum.

If the spell did get off before he made it. Well he had to hope that the sheer bulk of his body and speed of the run carried him through it, enduring what ever pain it brought and on top of Darkfire. If he dodged? Well he could always escape he knew his speed would carry him through. He had plans, many plans.

Now for the attack. He swung the mace across his chest wildly. Flying in front of him at Darkfire. His aim would be off it wasn't the important part of the attack it was the hidden weapon. His very body was going to be the attack. The mace came around not hitting Darkfire. He brought it back and turning his other shoulder into the attack. With his body and amour he must weigh well over 200 pounds. That was not the kind of force you wanted hitting you let alone with an edged weapon in between. He had spend years on the battlefield attacking like this he had learned the tricks well. His skills and bluffing where polished as his other skills of combat. He just had to hope he could pull it off.