Rann

On seeing Isaac's predicament, Rann decided that it was time. With a swift, fluid motion, his dagger left his hands, flying straight for the nord.

"Damn it!" he cursed as the dagger punctured the nord's left eye. He had been aiming for the right. When the nord fell backwards to the ground limply, Rann decided to copy Flogir's tactic of mug-throwing.

His first and last mug hit a rough-looking imperial square in the chest without phasing him a bit.

You're no good without pointy things, Rann. he thought to himself as the imperial came closer and closer.

Issac

Once the ebony-clad Nord was on the floor, Issac slowly struggled to his feet. A single pirate rushed toward him, brandishing a small knife. Issac simply sighed, and slashed Cryorend across the man's chest. The now flash-frozen pirate crumbled to the ground and shattered.

Issac couldn't halp but shiver at the sickening crack when the man shattered into a thousand icy pieces. He shook his head vigorasly to banish the nausia from his awarness.

Looking around he spotted the Dunmer assassin that had saved him being approuched by a drunk Imperial. he might or might not need my help, but I'm happy to be evn rather then in debt. He thought.

Lunging across the room, Issac brought both blades to bear. He cleaved an "X" across the Imp's back, and the man....... well, it would be better not to think about it....

Issac offered the younger mer a hand, and despite the violence around them he felt the need to introduce himself. "Thanks with the Nord. My name's Issac, agent by trade." Normally Agents, like assassins, did not openly discuss their trade, but this mer had saved him once so Issac was inclined to be courtious.

Ian

Two Redguards came at him from different directions, but to no avail. Ian brought forth two bound daggers, and gave one of the assailants a kick to the gut, but deflected the other's attack.

Eager for some reprieve from the melee, Ian backflipped on to the rafters. He discarded both daggers (he was an archer, not a knife thrower), and unslung his bow. The group seemed to be holding their own, but there were plenty more drunkards to spare.

Taking a deep breathe Ian began his bloody work, doing his best to keep the brigands from Satyana and Johnathan.

Rann

He shook Isaac's hand. "Rann. Bad mug thrower. If you'll excuse me, I have to go keep some thugs away from my sister." he replied.

He didn't wait around for more conversation, he just started fighting his way towards Satyana and Jonathan.

Issac

He couldn't help but grin as Rann departed. He's very interesting...... Then he cast a look at him as he hacked his way toward the Nord girl and Johnathan. Ah, so that's his sister..... Issac nodded to himself, and absently kicked a another drunk off his feet.

I hope this doesn't last to much longer...........

Flogir

Flogir, grabbing another mug, flug himself upon the back of an unsuspecting Breton and dashed the mug against his head, causing both men to toppled to the floor. Only Flogir was the one to get up, a silly grin on his face.

"All right! Whose next!?" Flogir shouted triumphantly. Unfortunately he didn't see the gauntleted fist smashing into his cheek. Black flecks crossed his eyes and pain erupted from his face and Flogir staggarded backwards.

Another unseen blow sent him to the floor. It was then that multiple feet began kicking him from all sides. He was overwhelmed and couldn't escape.

"Argh! Help!" Flogir cried out, hoping his voice would carry amidst the noise of the fight.

Jonathan Constantine

Satyana seemed a bit distant from the fight. "Good thing I suppose.." Jonathan thought, wrapping his hand with a peice of clothe. However some bandit was running towards the two.

"Better get you out of here deary.. Hugh.." Jonathan heaved Satyana, possibly against her will, but he thought it'd be fairly safe behind the bar. By the time she was over however the mer was on top of Jonathan. He managed a jab before he was kneed in the groin, "honoured user.. low blows now?"

Flint Ironwood, to the rescue!

Flint remained a spectator for a moment. When everyone was going to get beaten down though, he'd had enough.
,,Alright, that does it! Back off!" He shouted. A large wave of Telekinetic energy passed through the room, including shards of glass from the window the Breton had shattered. Everyone who was still standing struggled to maintain his balance.

Flint leaped through the window and came to a standstill right in front of a small group where he drew both of his katanas. The group, two Imperials and a Nord, drew either a dagger or a Claymore in return.
,,A Claymore, here?" Flint thought. A grin crossed his face upon closer inspection of the Claymore.
,,Say, the smith who made it is quite a bad one, isn't he? The blade isn't properly attached to the hilt which means......a bit of well-aimed Telekinesis snaps your sorry bit of metal in two." He thought and did just what he was planning.

Despite the fact that the Claymore was out of the game, Flint saw that he was surrounded.
,,Great, just great."
To his great surprise, everyone backed away.
,,It's the Dark Brotherhood! Run!" One of the not so drunk shouted. Flint rolled his eyes.
,,Oh yeah, I completely forgot I was wearing that cloak. Hah, for once the DB's reputation comes in handy." Flint muttered under his breath. Once the coast was clear, he snatched a surviving bottle of flin off a table.






(Too uber? If it is, let the drunks come back and beat Flint up real good. He's not good at fighting, even bar brawls. )

Rann

Rann was grateful for Jonathan's action in getting Satyana out of harm's way. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He then saw another brawler reaching over the counter where Satyana was. He made his way over there and was inches from slashing his throat before a telekinetic blast threw both he and his victim to the ground.

Before he could stand again, the fight seemed to die down with scattered shouts of 'Dark Brotherhood!'

He put his feet under himself again and looked to see that even his would-be victim had fled.

"Now can we actually get a drink?" he asked, breaking the long silence.

Ian

Taking a deep, Ian slung his bow and jumped down to the floor (now littered with brokend bottles a glass fragments). "Sure, you can have a drink just don't have too much alcahol." He replied to Rann. "I'll make do with some more grapes and water."

Issac

Despite the powerful telekinetic blast Issac managed to stay on his feet. He adopted a weary smaile, and approached the bar. Though he didn't intend to inform anyone, he'd found the fight exhilerating.

"I'm fine with non-alcaholic drinks, and a little food would hit the spot." He grabbed a loaf of bread, selected a chair, and began to eat it.......

Jonathan Constantine

Jonathan managed to prop himself up on a stool, every movement sent a surge of pain throughout his body.

"Sor..ry, bit of bad company there.." He turned and looked at the barkeep, who was nearly about to explode in his own rage. "Ok.. ok.. So it was my fault, take this you frog headed honoured user.." Jonathan tossed a very heavy sack of coins at him, possibly nearing in close to half of what the countess alocated to every individual. The Barkeeps anger seemed much lessened and Jonathan finally managed to request a drink from em.. "Brandy, lots of it, and food.. Lots of that too.."

All around the party laid broken glass, shattered mugs, thugs and common scum. Everywhere.

Ian

Noticing Ormil's irritation Ian decided to step in. "Let him go Ormil, he's traveling with me and Issac. I'll pay for the damage and the cost of everyone's meal. So calm down."

Accepting the second bowl of grapes and some juice, Ian set himself down next to Issac and began to chew thoughtfully, enjoying every bit of flavor. We should stop by the Library soon, definitly before midnight.......

ooc:you miss one day and you miss a whole fight. Yeah I know it was planned, i was busy

Sodsa Hekal, Sitting 'round

Sodsa kept a hand close to his knives and his bow on the table during the whole ordeal. After it was clearly over, Sodsa headed over to the bar, got a drink and went to sit back down. "So, what was all that about?" Sodas muttered under his breath to no one in particular.

Flogir

Flogir slowly pulled himself up from the ground, brushing off dirt from the feet that had been kicking. He wiped blood from the corner of his busted lip, and he definitely knew he would find plenty of bruises tomorrow.

"That blighter packed a good punch. I shouldn't have stood there admiring my cunning," Flogir said, and snickered. "Well now at least we can enjoy some booze no?"

Flogir pulled up a chair beside Jonathan and ordered another ale. "How's the finger buddy?"

Jonathan Constantine

"Oh compassion.." With all the adrenaline in Jonathan he didn't realize how much is finger, or rather lack of finger, was beginning to hurt..

"Thats actually a respectable question my friend.. Uh.. Satyana.. Satyana!"

Flogir

Flogir couldn't help but to burst out laughing at Jonathan's realization that his finger was still severed. He clutched at his side with his free hand, the vibrations from his laughing caused the head of his ale to spill over the mug, slopping onto the floor.

"I'm sorry lad, it's just that I found that quite funny!" Flogir managed to say between fits and he tried to regain his composure, and also make sure that Jonathan's blood didn't get near his ale.

"Anyone else injured?" Flogir decided to inquire, "I got a little roughed up, but I'll survive."

Rann

"I'm fine, except for the fact that there's not enough judgement-impairing substance in me." he answered as he pulled up on the other side of FLogir.

He pointed to the barrel of ale as a way of telling the bartender what he wanted while he continued speaking to Flogir.

"You're going to have to teach me that mug trick of yours. Show me the nordic touch."

Flint Ironwood, stepping up to Flogir.

Flint walked over to Flogir, a bottle of flin in his hand.
,,Well, I told you, didn't I? Now that's why paranoia has kept me alive. Bar brawls these days are lethal." He said smugly and looked around at the damage caused by the customers, flying bottles and of course an overdosis of Telekinesis.
,,Funny, the Dark Brotherhood are supposed to be these totally unstoppable invisible killers, yet everyone knows how a DB looks like. Silly."

Flogir, instructing Rann

Flogir grinned after he gulped down a mug of ale. "Well Rann, you see the art of mug tossing lies in the way you percieve the mug. You can't throw it like you Agent or Assassin types would throw a dagger or a throwing star or whatever. You gotta picture more like a stone, basically a rock the size of your fist. Most cases there's really only two places for an effective mug shot to work. Those two places are either the head, or the groin. Those two places are definite takeout shots, though you might get lucky and takeout a person briefly with a shot to the gut, depends on their figure, ya know?" He said, taking a moment to take another gulp of his ale.

"As for clubbing people with mugs, the best way it from behind and on top of the head. Hold the mug by the handle to get a good swinging motion with it as you swing," he continued, using an empty mug as an example by swinging in the air.

He then turned to Flint. "Eh, it's kinda amusing, but that costume certainly worked out. I was getting pummled there," he said and then realised another good point and turned back to Rann, "And another thing: Never, EVER, stand around a gloat in the middle of a bar fight!"

Veric

"Twenty years," Veric said aloud, staring into the darkness that was his chamber. He sat at a candle-lit desk with a single closed book resting on it. The candlelight illuminated the desk and the grey stone floors surrounding but the rest was complete darkness.

For twenty years Veric had been trapped in a realm of his own making. He didn't sleep. He didn't eat, drink, breathe. There was no need. He was encased in a physical world in his own mind. The only things that were 'real' were the books stacked upon shelves in a library now tucked away, and a few choice artifacts.

He lost contact with Sadril and Hecate, the two who held amulets that normally allowed communication. Veric had lost all contact with anything outside of his mind. A normal man would have been driven insane. Veric, however, occupied his time with practice. Practice, and plotting....


???

North of Anvil, along the western coastline, at the door of a small hidden shack, there came a light knock...


OOC: your cue, metal.

This post has been edited by ShogunSniper: Nov 30 2006, 04:35 AM

Voltar, in a shack North of Anvil

Voltar was deep in concentration, studying the small encryptions of a very large tome when an unexpected knock sounded on his shack door. He looked at the door, suspicious of who could possibly be at his door.

His home was located in a rather secluded area North of Anvil, so he never really had a true visitor. The last "visitor" he had was some Daedra roaming the surrounding area during the Oblvion Crisis. Still, curiosity got the better of him and he approached the door. To be on the safe side, he readied the Staff of Worldly Demise.

He slowly undid the deadbolt and opened the door... Only to find no one standing there. Voltar poked his head out the doorway and looked around the surrounding countryside. Only the crickets of the night greeted him, as well as the steady whoosh of the sea crashing against the nearby cliffs.

Passing it off as hearing things, Voltar closed the door and headed back to his tome.