The Clockwork Mansion

Stalker sat quietly behind the bar, waiting patiently for the first of the combatants to enter. He held a leather-bound book in each hand, reading both simultaneously while turning pages with the ends of his fingers. Sun Tzu warred with Groucho Marx for his attention on the pages.

The circle of stone thrummed quietly in the background, the sound of unimaginable energy held in check by incredible magics. He found the sound soothing, a quiet reminder of how many worlds he had visited, how many battles he had seen.

His eyes flicked to the rules for duelling hung neatly beside the end of the bar. Worlds turned, universes changed, but the rules never did.


(edited to change the rating. Just so people know. There's not much of it, but... -- llearch)

The mist that flowed parted slightly, as three figures slowly made their way somehow through it to the plateau. They had walked the void of this world on the edge for a while, seeking things in the borderlines between places and times. They were that kind of people, one could tell just by looking. Not the steady type, or the caring, or the business-motivated, but the kind that seeks, that travels. One figure was large, seemingly carrying a huge baggage with it. Another was slim, sleek, looked sharp against the backdrop of the mist and moved with a sort of visible determination. The third looked almost like a chesspiece from far off, its long coat, profile and stride making it seem like it flowed over the ground as it walked.
   The three figures entered the stone complex, slowly walking into the "courtyard" and becoming more easily visible. And they were a strange bunch indeed.
   The first, the one with the large set of luggage, might have been a representation of how one would imagine a perfect machine-human would look. She, because her shape and movements easily showed that the constructor had very much been thinking about a woman, was a good six feet tall, had a frame that would have been somewhat muscular but very shapely if she had been a real human and was largely coloured a deep metallic black, with silver sections and some visible mechanical parts like vents and small seams in her skin, which flexed and bent effortlessly as if she had really been organic. She had a nearly featureless, perfect face almost like a teardrop, oval with the chin pointed perfectly, with glowing green slit-like eyes and no nose or mouth. She was dressed in a black tank-top in some synthetic material, and baggy black and dull-green pants of quite similar design, and a similarily coloured jacket over her shoulder in one hand. The baggage she carried consisted of a pair of huge metal crates that were locked together, and what looked like a big black gym bag.
   The second one was indeed as sleek as he had looked at a distance, athletic but slim, and one might have mistaken him for another machine from some distance away. He was almost as tall as the "woman", and wore some kind of skin-tight, partly mechanical suit painted blood red and black, with gold mechanic details, under a black leather jacket and straight pants with one leg covered to the side with a red fire-pattern. He had what looked like a pair of bladed batons set into holsters around his hips, and carried another bag in the hand not in his pocket.
   The third figure was just as tall as the machine, athletic too and looked somewhat muscular and long-limbed, and wore a long flowing coat of utmost black which he had removed and slung over his shoulder as he walked into the courtyard. His clothes underneath were similarly black, consisting of a shirt over a t-top and with his sleeves rolled up, exposing black wrappings that covered his arms, and hinted at his neck, above a silver chain that held an upside-down cross. His pants were straight, and his shoes almost boots; plain, tough and rough-soled. His skin was fair, his hair almost white-blond, and his face very, very handsome and well-shaped if a bit hard.
   The three of them stepped in, looking around for just a minute while slowly pacing around at a far distance from the circle, and then heading straight for the bar. Well there, they began to set down their things, while the pale-blond man walked against the counter.
   "There is actually something to drink around here, right?" he said, not quite looking at Stalker, in a low, melodious voice tinged slightly with a sort of British-German accent that very much fit the face.

  Two others followed the others into the area, of seemingly similar height but vastly different builds. One a mountain of a man, who walked with the swagger of a legionnaire, and the other with the strange grace of a swordsman.
  As they got closer one could see more differences between them. The big one was the more intimidating of the two. He wore dark black plate emblazoned with a golden salamander on the front, and carried a spear emblazoned with a phoenix strapped to his back, tip down. The tip was in a metal sheath next to his thigh. He had deep-set, crystal blue eyes, and would have had fair features had they not been darkened with soot. It gave his face the bluish gunmetal look of cold ashes, and  the rough effect was accentuated by blanket of black stubble. His hair was short, and coal black, and his teeth were the only points of white in the black. He quickly took a seat in an available chair, and closed his eyes, seemingly tired. Heat came from him in waves.
The other couldn't be more different. He appeared to be a dapper gentlemen, although strangely attired. He, like his companion, wore black, although his suit of sorts was highlighted with silver. Silver buttons and silver cuffs accentuated the black of his jacket and shirt. His pants were loose, and his shoes smooth and laceless, all still in black. He carried at his side a sword, also highlighted in silver, and wore a black hat and darkly shaded lenses, framed in silver, and silver hair pushed out from the fedora. He was of a seemingly mild build, and of a otherwise generally grey coloration. He sat down next to the one robed in grey and put his head in his palm.
"I take it you're the one from the brouchure?" he said, grinning somewhat.

The blond man with the wrappings stiffened. He recognized the voice of the man that had spoken, and now that he was less overwhelmed with the mysterious place and actually took time to heed to what his senses told him, he realized that he was very much familiar with that particular individual.
   The man turned, and walked with a step that was made quick and silent by much practice over to the other end of the counter, beside the man who had spoken. He peered at him over a pair of clear, slim glasses, his grey eyes like awls. Then he spoke, making the other two who had settled by a table look up.
   "Co-gi-dub-nus, my goodness... Had I known you would be the first..." he said, and chuckled. His tone was familiar, friendly even, but as was the case with him it still carried a bit of an edge.

Cog jerked his head away from the one idly flipping the book and stared hard at the man from behind dark lenses. The one in black armor looked quizzically at him, and then closed his eyes again. Cog paused for a long moment and tried to recognize the stranger, but couldn't quite place it. He stood and walked closer, and offered his hand. He could smell...something, from him, but it was almost as it his scent was dulled, or that he had almost none at all. What he could smell, he couldn't quite place...he smelled faintly of cigars, and something else. It bothered him that he couldn't make it out. He somewhat prided himself on his nose.
"That's COG-i-dub-nus, good sir." he said, proffering his hand. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The man made a short smirk with that smooth face, and took Cogidubnus' hand in his own large, long-fingered one in a firm grip. Up this close one could see the thin scar that ran over the right side of his lips, and another one at the bottom of his right cheek.
   "Ah, yes... I forgot. It wasn't yesterday..." he murred, and shook a bit, letting go quickly. "I'd say we're fairly closely acquainted, though you may not have met my companions. As I have not met yours." He looked over Cog's shoulder at the blackened man behind him.
   Behind his back, casually and unsuspiciously, the man made a few short signs with his hand toward his companions, who pretended not to notice, and more meaning than one might have thought was exchanged. Then, as if that had been his intent all the time, the man slipped out a little black etui of cigars, and made a short nod to Stalker.
   "You don't mind if I smoke, do you? I'll go outside shortly," he said, and flipped out a titanium lighter.

 Cog quirked an eyebrow and rested a hand on his sword. "I'm sorry...I'm usually pretty good with faces." he said, filing that one away. He still hadn't said his name...and shrugged at the cigars. That was the smoke smell then, but still. There was something else there. Something that set off bells in his head. He motioned to his companion. "That's Giles. He's somewhat a quiet fellow."
Giles waved lazily. "Hi." he said, obviously somewhat distracted. He reached into bag hanging from his belt and pulled out a well-worn pipe, and then pulled out a pinch of tobacco from somewhere else in the bag. He placed the thing in his mouth, and proceeded to light the thing, placing his fingers over it and snapping, his thumb alighting with a small flame. He lit his smoke and puffed a bit. As he did, he shook his hand, dispelling the fire.
Cog shook his head and bowed the stranger's companions. "And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

Stalker watched the new arrivals with satisfaction, quietly observing. "This should be interesting," he thought to himself, calmly folding away his books.

He watched the byplay between the groups, then cleared his throat as the man brought out his smoking case. "Yes, of course, be my guest. I only run the place for now; feel free."

He gestured to the rules on the sign. "Just follow those, you'll be fine. If I can be of service in any way, just let me know." He grinned, showing all of his teeth. "I'm Stalker, by the way."

Stalker nodded to the far side of the room, where a grand piano stood, along with two pool tables and a jukebox. "I'm afraid I haven't grown a pool player yet, but if any of you play you're quite welcome to do so. I do ask that you confine any destruction to the circle if possible."

(OOC: Edited due to interruptions by neighbors...)

"Perfect then!" the blond man exclaimed. "There won't be any trouble, I think." He rubbed his hands, and then reached down behind the counter to grab a glass and a bottle of Cognac. Without waiting, he turned and paced out of the restaurant, entering the yard again to go and inspect the circle, leaving the others behind.
   The pair at the table looked up from a bit of conversation after him. The machine woman somehow managed to look a bit humorous, while the man... well, there was no way to tell behind that featureless, smooth visor he wore. Then, they looked up at the two men at the bar silently. The man raised a hand at them, but that was all.
   Outside, the blond man walked slowly around the circle, watching it while he held his glass in one hand and cigar between two fingers in the other, the bottle set to the side against a column a bit off. His eyes were narrow as he looked at the thing, but there was a small smile set on his face.

The runes of the circle almost seemed to writhe, as though alive and simply floating under the stone. The odd humming sound rose slightly the closer Stygian came to it, and a faint whispering could be heard, if not made out.

"An interesting idea, no?" Cog said, standing behind the stranger. He stood rather still behind him, the wind whipping his jacket around wildly, although his hat strangely kept quite still on his head. Cog slowly walked up to the edge of the circle, just behind the line marking it's boundary, and rested a hand on his blade. "Not many places where such power like this exists. Old and ancient."
He grinned at the stranger. "You don't seem to be the type who'd come to this place just to drink and smoke." He waited for a response.

The man didn't turn, just chuckled, and then spoke to Cogidubnus in that low, smooth tone.
   "No. That is true. Me and my companions came here solely because of this power. That it would turn out to be this thing..."
   Slowly, he placed down his glass and took a step inside the circle, and stood still. He closed his eyes, and almost seemed to bask in the power of it, the low humming permeating the air. Then, he turned and looked at Cogidubnus.
   "We never did finish that fight, did we? No..." he murred, with a bit of a grin on his face. He adjusted his glasses, and looked over the circle a bit again. Then, he spoke up in a clear, strong tone that while not very loud echoed out among the pillairs and columns of the place.
   "I hereby challenge Cogidubnus Mithlome to combat, upon conditions agreed on at acceptance. May he respond to this challenge."

Cog's eyes widened behind his lenses, and then one narrowed. He stood still for a long moment. The wind blew his jacket about him as he looked to the sky and the grey-clouded sun, and then grinned. "As you wish. I accept." he said, also entering the circle. 
"That you know my complete name is interesting...I did indeed know you well then. I don't forget people that easily." His face soured. "I'd very much like to know who the hell you are." He said, sliding into a low stance. He reached for his sword, then stopped. "Ah, one more thing before we can begin. What are your terms?" he asked, returning to a regular stance and removing his hat, letting it blow on the wind and stop at the invisible wall of the circle.

The man quirked an eyebrow at him, and chuckled again.
   "Nothing complex. You against me, if you will not have aid. Weapons and equipment that you carry is allowed, even though I have none..." he said, turning around and stepping to the other, far end of the huge circle. He took off his shirt, revealing that the black wrappings did indeed cover all of his arms, up to the beginning of the shoulder, and then started taking off his undershirt.
   "Mff... All means and ways to win are allowed, within the winning conditions. The fight goes on either until the opponent cannot fight anymore, or until he yields." He threw the shirt off on the ground beside him. "Are these terms acceptable to you?" he asked.

Cog nodded. "Fair enough." He removed his glasses and placed them in a pocket in his coat, and bowed to his opponent. "Honor to you." he said, returning from his bow and sweeping his leg behind him, settling into a low stance. As he did so, he reached into his jacket and wrapped a silver charm around his neck: the air around him warped and curdled, and them settled again. He placed one hand in front of himself, palm open, and the other ready at his waist. His sword lay still in it's sheath.
"To the challenger goes the first strike, good sir."

The man laughed, and waved a finger at Cogidubnus, smirking.
   "No. I have seen that one before. Besides, it wouldn't be prudent. And I haven't even told you my name yet..." he said, taking a step forward and grinning, slowly closing his eyes.
   He raised his hands just a bit, and leaned his head back, still smiling. And something happened. White hinted at his back, and with a fluffing sound it spread. From his back, a pair of large, white-feathered wings with slightly blackened tips slowly grew outward, spreading around him. And his hands... thin lines of black started appearing on them, the skin on his fingers darkening, and that blackness spreading back slowly, as the tips turned into claws. His hands were soon as black as his wrappings. Similarily, thin lines began spreading from around his eyes...
   And then, he opened them, and looked at Cogidubnus, his eyes now having become bottomless wells of blackness, seething as if seeping black smoke. His skin slowly paled, and he smiled, his teeth now having become equally black and glistening, together with all the flesh inside his mouth. He licked his lips with a long, dark and sharp-tipped tongue, and then spoke, in a hissing, dual and slithering voice.
   "My name is Sebastian Simon Lucian Neraux, the first Angel. And I also go by the name Stygian."

Cog was a trained fighter, a highly diciplined and skilled swordmaster, and had fought many, many battles and not once lost his focus. At that moment, the gentle breeze that blew around him threatened to knock him to the ground. That thankfully only lasted a moment.
"Sebastian." he said, his voice low. He shook his head. "The smell of ink and blood. That's what it was. You've gotten better at that since I last met you." He smiled in spite of the 'angels' two-toned voice, an intimidating wail and growl. "I'd say it was good to see you again, but well, that can wait for later." He pulled another charm out of his jacket, this one of many peices of a broken moon. "For now, you seem to want a contest. So, shade, angel, priest..." he said, his voice rising in tone. "Shall we dance?" he said, murming yet more words under his breath and placing the next charm around his neck. It glowed for a moment, and then seemed to lay quiet.
Cog ran at Stygian, keeping one hand on his sword and the other on his sheath.

The Fallen laughed, and took up a slightly sideways stance, keeping his dark eyes on Cog and the somewhat black aura of a sort of halo of darkness surrounding his head. The blackness at the tips of his wings started seething, spreading up over them, and the cracks of black in his skin deepened.
   "Come then! There is no dance better than this!" he said with an almost flamenco-like step into his stance. The black claws of his fingers glistened as he raised his hands, preparing himself, and standing still as Cog ran at him.

Fool, Cog thought. he shouldn't have given me the first strike. As he neared the shade, he stopped running on his heels and started to run on the balls of feet, leaning forward a little, and then yelled out something in latin. The charm on his neck grew brighter, and Cog grinned.
The sound of metal scraping echoed through the arena, and Cog drew his blade. Brght, white light poured from his sword, the blade the color of white-hot metal, or perhaps the color of the moon on a clear night. He drew in an instant, a flash of time, and swung up from his hip and down towards Stygian, the bright, iridescent blade flashing.

The "Angel" did not move until the very last moment, drawing back and to the side, and merging with his own shadow, his body becoming dark in a flash. His shape glided along the ground and around with mercurial speed, the flashing blade striking at an afterimage, and the real monster dashing to the side. While he did, he raised his hand, and around them long, whipping tentacles of darkness formed and reached out, aiming for Cogidubnus. It was plain to see that while Cog had the advantage of speed due to practice close up, the shadow was capable of moving much faster on its "feet".
   I'll play with him and see what he has... then I'll get close and personal, the Fallen thought.

Cog soured as his blade passed through the shade, and flowed with the ineffectual strike to bring the blade back up over his head, twisting on the balls and heels of his feet to turn seamlessly, without really having to shift his torso or legs. He grimaced at the tentacles flying towards him. One, maybe two he could hit, but not that many, and certainly not at different heights and locations. Instead, he whipped the sword back down over his head and to his side, a one-handed and low grip, and his free arm raised in front of him. He allowed some of the tentacles to grab him, and when most of them were fairly close, he yelled and clenched his fist. A bowl of force expanded from his body and blew the tentacles off him, the ones merely close being blown backwards. That taken care of, Cog again ran at Stygian, raising his sword to a middle guard and slicing stunned tentacles as he went.

Stygian in turn smiled, fending off the charging Iaidouka with more barbed tentacles from his shadow, many of them growing larger and some even forming snapping dragon-like heads. He slowly reassumed some of his looks on his upper body as the darkness slithered down and in, while he moved swiftly, gliding on the darkness around his feet. As long as he could keep that sword at a reasonable distance, he could tire Cogidubnus out some and get a feel for his moves, and then...
   Very suddenly, Stygian turned on his feet, reared, and then threw himself in a high leap over the other man, trailing lashes of darkness from his hands that he swept down as he flipped, while leaving the major portion of his shadow behind and having it assume another humanoid shape of black behind him, attacking Cog from the other direction with a broad, clawed sweep. He knew this attack would fail as well, of course. The werewolf was much too fast to be caught by something simple like that. But he remembered clearly that the Dubnus did have problems when facing too many attackers, or too many attacks. And that was something that Stygian was very good at dealing out. Landing with a low tramp from a foot, he crouched down low and slid back to avoid any long sweeps from that sword, and began drawing out a massive amount of darkness from his shadow. He would increase the pressure...

Above the sea of mist, a winged figure flew.  Each of his golden, feathered wings stretched as long as the height of his body, and his feathers reflected light as if made of real gold.  The rest of his body, however, was the scaled form of a dragon.  His scales were a dull black, and their edges were deeply incised into his skin, forming strange patterns.  From a distance, it almost looked like there was some form of writing scribed upon his hide, but if it was indeed writing, it was of no alphabet known to dragons.  He was no bigger than a man, and possessed the same general shape; although at the moment that form was horizontal in flight.  The dragon was garbed in a simple, brown leather tunic, with large holes cut into the back to allow for his wings.  From the edges of his tunic showed glints of a gold-colored chainmail, made of a metal light enough to allow flight, yet strong enough to deflect at least a moderate amount of damage.  He also wore brown cloth leggings, the same color as his tunic, with a strap over the base of his muscular tail to hold the leggings in place.  His hands were tipped with amber-colored claws, blunter than most dragon claws, yet still fairly sharp.  His face was dominated by an elongated snout, but his eyes were easily seen as belonging to an intelligent creature.  The pupils were slitted, like a cat's eyes, and the irises were colored an amber shade, within a ring of coppery red.  They were focused eyes, the eyes of one bound by a sense of duty, but they also carried a certain sense of deep wisdom.  Above each of his eyes was a sail-like ridge of black skin, supported by bony rods.  Where the final rod should have been, however, was a gently curving horn.  These two horns were a bright, glowing orange, the color of molten metal.  This creature was an omni dragon, and his name was Ardaron.

The omni dragon was gliding nearly effortlessly, guided by a fortunate wind.  He dared not walk through the mist, a substance unlike any natural mist he had seen before.  He knew to be cautious of that which one did not understand, so he flew above the mysterious stuff.  Finally, that which the dragon sought came into view.  An island in the mist.  The dragon pumped his wings, adding his own power to the strength of the breeze that carried him.  It didn't take long for the speck of land that he saw to become a giant plateau, and a black, temple-like building to come into view atop that plateau.  Ardaron slowed his wingbeats in preparation for a landing, bringing his body into an upright position.  His feet, scaly yet lionlike paws that were tipped with the same amber claws as his hands, touched the moist earth.  The dragon folded his wings against his back, and strode towards the black building he had seen from the air, his thick tail swishing back and forth with each step.  He walked through the entryway into the courtyard, and his eyes fell upon the two duelers, particularly the one who had just created a humanoid form out of solid darkness.  Elemental combat was something that Ardaron was very interested in, and darkness was one of the elements he was still a long way from mastering.  The omni dragon stopped walking, and stood a good distance away from the circle to watch the battle, carefully evaluating the methods of the two combatants, hoping to learn a thing or two for himself.  He leaned against a nearby pillar, supporting his weight against it, conserving his energy in case he should get a chance to prove himself in the Honor Circle.  Some part of him noted the existence of a restaurant that was a little further into the courtyard, but for now, the duel was far more interesting.

 Cog was an erudite gentlemen, able to use words and phrases that most men would have found obtuse, or perhaps opaque, or at least would have left them scratching their heads. As Cog saw Stygian simply jump out of his own body over him, the only words that came to mind were certainly of the wrong etymology, and usually used to describe objects and functions not regarded to be suitable for polite company.
More out of surprise than anything: Stygian had the right idea, certainly. Attacking a swordsman from multiple angles and directions was the best way to get him off balance. Certain prescient knights of old could block from seemingly any direction, but for merely mortal swordsman, seeing every angle at once was difficult. Blocking from every angle was more difficult still. There was one flaw with his plan, however.
Attacking a swordsman from purely linear angles was about as effective as attacking from one. As he ran, he didn't even stop as Stygian flew overhead. He brought the sword down, and then as the clawed hand neared him, up again, in an angled strike. The glowing sword met the shadow and cut through, but Cog didn't stop there. He turned with the cut, slicing the nearest tentacle to his head, and then proceeding to desperately fend off the others. Allright, maybe not such a bad plan. he thought, and he began moving to the right, getting out from in between the two shades.

Stygian growled with the pain of a very nearly dismembered hand and a whole lot of his other self being sliced up like last day's turkey. Still, he had been counting on some cost for going into melee directly. And as this range, he could start making some very serious damage. The free part of his shadow split and seethed as it assaulted Cogidubnus, and both Stygian and his shadow merged again, moving along with Cog's movement and cutting him off. And now, as Stygian tore out all of his darkness from the shadow beneath and beside him, there was a whole lot of him, many times his own "body size" and weight, to cut the werewolf off.
   A veritable flood of darkness slammed into Cog, some of it being burned by his sword but the majority just not paying any heed. It smashed into him from beside and below, sending him flying like a toy, and then whipped back to surround the black-clothed man from beneath whom it emanated, as he stood straight again and regarded Cogidubnus with vicious eyes.
   "Good! You've gained even more of an edge since last..." Stygian said appreciatively, the shadow circling his feet and clawing and slithering around him. "Not to mention you couldn't keep that holy aura up so strongly before. You improve, puppy." He laughed, and clenched his long, black-clawed hands, one of his wrists piecing itself together before one's very eyes, together with a slight cut to his shoulder that seethed of black. "Don't presume that I haven't too though."

 Cog grinned at Stygian, despite the danger, and though he was closer to death than he had expected. The longer he stayed in this position, the bigger chance that Stygian would crush him like a bug. Of course, he'd have to break the power in his protective charm first, but that'd take...oh, a few moments at best.
"You know the thing about jello, sir?" he said, tilting his head. "It bends so easily." he said, clenching both fists. A wave of force burst from his body, pushing the shadow back - and in the few moments he had in that black-painted fishbowl, he nearly ripped the lining out of his jacket and grabbed a bronze coin, and rubbed it between his fingers, then flipped it off his thumb. It flared to life with an incredible brilliance, the sun in miniature.

It had to come sometime, he guessed, but Stygian still snarled as Cog played his real forté. He threw up his arms and dashed back, trying as much as he could to get away from the blinding light. One could see how the darkness that was not directly part of his body seemed to burn and peel off him, being pushed back as if by a strong wind. Dark matter that could usually cut armor and bend steel with ease was turned into little but shadow and smoke as it was forced off him and back.
   There was no time to waste. Since he was vulnerable anyway, Stygian spared no effort in getting away, making a backflipping leap as far to the ring's edge as he could, and then almost crawling on all fours backwards. He made a growl as he swept out his hands, and mystic signs of fire trailed his fingers. A complex circle pattern for an incantation appeared before him, a bit to the side, and an intricate magical symbol that one might have recognized as meaning Posside with an imperative twist to it appeared within it. He was thinking of using another one of the werewolf's weaknesses, though this one might be a bit more difficult to exploit. Or rather, he thought it might be difficult to exploit correctly, and without hurting the man severely...

As the two warriors fought, another figure entered the building, his brown hooded cloak billowing from the outside wind. His face was hidden by the shadows the hood of the cloak created, but a blue outfit, black sandal-like footwear and white fur could be seen underneath the cloak as it billowed in the wind. Staying silent, the figure walked to the bar, before turning round and leaning on it, the figure's shadowed face turned towards the duel being played out.

Ardaron became more and more focused upon the battle as it continued.  The man with the sword seemed very skilled in its use, and Ardaron found himself mimicking the man's sword-strokes as he watched.  Ardaron's imagined sword cut downwards, and back up again, as he mimicked Cog's move that had cleaved the shade's hand, turning his body with the movement of his 'sword'.  His movements possessed a certain grace that was inherent to his draconic heritage, but it was fairly easy to tell that he had very little experience with swords.  He was only acquainted with the simplest of sword techniques, and so was determined to learn everything he could from watching the events that were unfolding.  It was his duty to learn all he could about combat, if he was to have a prayer of halting the war that was brewing between the nations of his world.

Ardaron stopped his imaginary sword practice and turned his attention to Stygian once again, as the shade summoned up a great mass of shadow that left the omni dragon staring in awe.  And at the same time, a twinge of bewilderment.  The omni dragon was beginning to notice that the darkness summoned by the shade seemed very different from the sort of magical darkness he was used to.  But he couldn't quite place what it was that made it different.  Just that the shade's darkness seemed darker, somehow.  Not in any sort of literal sense, not that it was any more lightless than other kinds of darkness, but it was just . . . darker.  That was the only word Ardaron could think of for it.

Ardaron continued to watch as the swordsman brought out a small metal coin which then transformed into a miniature sun, and the shade's unnatural darkness began to weaken.  The dragon would have kept watching, but then he spotted something moving outside the dueling circle, and upon shifting his attention to the newcomer, saw that it was a figure cloaked in brown.  The figure's cloak made it impossible for Ardaron to discern any details about him from the distance and the angle he was at, but it was easy to tell that he was headed for the restaurant Ardaron had scarcely noticed earlier.  This brought the bar into the foreground of the dragon's thoughts, and he began to walk toward it, curious now.  As he walked, he continually glanced back at the circle, not wanting to miss any of the duel.  He noticed Stygian beginning to cast a spell, but whatever the spell was, it wasn't one with which Ardaron was familiar.

Stalker watched the duel with intent, gauging each of the combatant's abilities. Without a doubt these two were among the best fighters he had ever seen.

He noted the dragon-man's arrival, and watched as he became enthralled with the battle. The fluid movements and skill held his attention as another person entered the temple.

As the brown-cloaked person reached the bar, and the dragon-man approached, Stalker coughed politely. "One assumes that this will be a rather longish fight. I'm Stalker; if you'd like a drink or food, I'd be happy to provide it."

He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen area and clattered something gutteral. Something clattered back, ending with a moist-sounding phlut!

A pretty young woman with dark hair cut in a loose pageboy around her face walked into the bar. She wore a dark blue uniform with a yellow symbol like a clock with the hands on midnight on the chest and black combat boots. On her hip was an odd kind of holster, holding a pistol that looked like it had been carved from black glass.

  She glanced at the ongoing fight, then brushed her hair back from her face, revealing four huge puckered scars in a perfect square, one above and below each eye. Walking over to the table nearest the bar she turned a chair backwards, sat, and lit up a cigarette on the tip of her finger.

She nodded to the dragon-man and the cloaked person at the bar while eyeing the other patrons appraisingly. She sucked a huge drag off her cigarette and blew a large cloud of smoke from her lips.

Her voice when she spoke was soft and pleasant. "So, here we are again. Looks like a better group of fighters than the last time."

 Cog breathed heavily for a moment and grabbed his sword off the ground. As soon as he touched the handle, the sword again alighted with iridescent light, glowing the color of the moon. Cog cracked his neck, and stared glumly at the symbol in the air. Magic. he thought. I hate magic. He really had not much defense against such attacks, excepting for the protective charm around his neck. He hoped it would stop whatever it was. He didn't have much knowledge of the arcane, but he did know that glowing symbols generally meant very bad...
He had another problem. Stygian wasn't as fast as he was up close, true, but he could outrun him. So far, he was doing a pretty good job of keeping his distance, and there was little Cog could do to make him stop. Yet again, he shows good tactical sense. Cog thought. There was, then, only one thing he could possibly do.
He sheathed his blade, and stood completely still. He grabbed the coin and placed it in his hand, and waited.

Stygian grabbed at the fiery symbol hanging in the air, and seemed to grasp the flames into his hand. He then slapped it down on the ground, sending a circle of fire rushing out around it just a bit before it faded. Nothing seemed to happen, but there was an obvious change in the aura of the place, a shifting that both Cog and the spectators could feel to some extent, like when someone stares at you from behind.
   Stygian prepared, drawing up more of his shadow to merge with him and watching the hex take effect. This was a type of dark magic that he was uncomfortably good with. He just hoped that it wouldn't prove to disagree too much with the werewolf.
   A flame burst out from the ground just beside and under Cogidubnus, snaking through the air. The fire of it writhed and contorted as it trailed, the head of the worming flame taking a shape that looked like a human skull, but fanged and wicked, and with a long ethereal spine flowing after it. Soon, another one like it joined it, and then more. They circled Cogidubnus only inches from him, snapping their sharp teeth and emitting wailing cries of pain and malice.
   Do it! Stygian thought, and then dashed with speed to the side, flashing blackened teeth in a snarl. If this worked correctly, he wouldn't even have to fight the man anymore, but just in case he wanted to get in closer where he could use his speed and not be outmaneuvered by that sword.

There was not a worse situation that Cog could have been in. Multiple opponents, different angles, independent movement, and very small. Swordsmen don't win this kind of fight..., Cog thought, still grasping his sword as he dodged the snapping teeth. They were ethereal - it was unlikely the protective charm around his neck would stop something like that.
He did the only thing he could. Drawing his blade and striking in the blink of an eye, he struck one of the heads. It worked, and had he the time, he would have sighed in relief. The skull did not scream, but merely faded as it was struck by the holy magics in the sword, and Cog took the gap and rolled from out between the skulls, tumbling on to his feet and putting some distance between him and them. It was a stopgap measure at best, but if he wanted any hope at all of not being...whatever those things did, being surrounded wouldn't help.
He raised an eyebrow at Stygian. He hadn't expected him to move from where he stood, at least not without some goading from him. Perhaps he could use that...
He took the coin and placed it on his palm, and as the skulls neared him, he raised his hand, and let loose another blast of force. The coin was propelled at an insane speed, aimed right for Stygian's head. He swung his blade at the first of the skulls to attack him, made it flow into a block for the second while dodging a snap from the third, and hoped that the coin would knock the creature out, or at least do something.

Stygian's head snapped back and to the side, and some blackness spat out behind him, as he bent backwards in his run and stopped. The rest of the skulls seemed to wail and then flew quicker, aiming straight for Cogidubnus' head.
   Then, Stygian made a low chuckle, and turned his face back. The left side of it was practically ruined, black flesh having been torn off from his skull, which could be seen, cracked and dark grey, under the peeled skin and muscle. Yet, in his sharp teeth, he held a small, shining star the shape of a coin in a tight bit.
   "Sho closhe..." he said lowly, and then spat the coin out on the ground. His face began piecing itself together with speed. "But it's a matter of power too, Cog. You can expose me, but you'll have to do more than shed light on the darkness to hurt it. If you don't, you're just creating more shadows..." He chuckled, and watched as the first of the skulls neared the back of Cog's head, followed by a dozen more or so.

Watching the battle unfold before him, the figure smirked under the shadows of his hood.
"Hmmm...quite the battle going on here...very skilled fighters indeed." the figure muttered, nodding his head in greeting to the woman and the dragon-man, before turning to Stalker.
"Nice to meet you." the figure said, before reaching for his hood and removing it from his head. "I am Gareeku Manoko."

Underneath the hood was the head of an anthromorph wolf, with white fur execpt for the black fur that was present on the tips of his ears. Gareeku also possessed handsome features, with deep blue eyes and a face that could express softness yet could also express coldness as well. On his forehead, inbetween his eyes, was a visible x-shaped scar.

Ardaron was close enough to the bar to hear Stalker introduce himself, and replied, addressing both Stalker and Gareeku, "I'm Ardaron.  Just got to this world from Paleon a couple days ago."  He thought it was only polite to tell people what plane he was from, so they wouldn't be left wondering what the heck he was; he assumed most people would at least have heard of Paleon,* even though the world didn't get a great deal of off-world visitors.  As he finished his statement, he pulled up a bar stool and sat down, such that he was halfway facing the various habitants of the bar and halfway facing the battle that was still in progress.  "What do you have in terms of meat?" he asked, in response to Stalker's offer of food.  He was rather hungry, and knew better than to even consider combat on an empty stomach.

The dragon nodded back to the woman who had just arrived.  "Indeed," Ardaron said simply in agreement as he, too, turned his eyes to face the battle.  He watched as Stygian's spell came to completion, and there was that curious darkness again.  But this time, instead of it being associated with an actual substance, it was something the dragon could feel.  Almost like someone watching him from behind, but that wasn't quite it.  What was it about Stygian's magic that it seemed so dark, without actually having anything to do with a lack of light?  It wasn't like anything Ardaron had ever seen or felt before.

Ardaron watched the flaming skulls surround Cog, somewhat surprised to see someone he had judged to be a dark elemental master making use of the fire element.  Then again, he knew this was a different sort of magic than the elemental forces of his own plane, so who knew what these combatants were capable of?  The thought unnerved the omni dragon a little as he realized just how little he knew about what he might be getting into; he was, after all, intending at some point to do battle with someone in the Honor Circle, and it was quite likely that such an opponent would have abilities that were similarly unfamiliar to him.  But he shook off his nervousness, and told himself that it would go both ways; if he knew so little about off-world magic, his opponent would likely know equally little about Paleon magic.  This idea excited him, and he immediately started thinking of ways to use this ignorance to his best advantage.  If he could keep his opponent guessing, he surmised that he had a better chance to win.


((*In case anyone wants their characters to have heard of Paleon, here's a summary of the basics.  All the native, sentient beings of the plane are humanoid dragons like Ardaron.  There are sixteen different 'clans' of such dragons, and each clan has their own nation and represents a different element; the nations are Volcanon (fire), Hydria (water), Avionne (wind), Terren (earth), Lumere (light), Nocturn (dark), Tundris (ice), Amperion (energy/electricity), Draug (venom), Ferron (metal), Cerenia (mind), Yinya (luck), Vel (agility), Onorh (strength), Gardea (life), and Abyssen (death).  The clans can interbreed, but usually don't because crossbred dragons tend to have lots of health problems and short lifespans, not to mention that crossbreeds have far inferior elemental power compared to purebreds.  Currently, the plane is on the verge of a world war, as tensions between the various elemental nations are building.))

Cog had no time, and no options. Dozens of skulls were about to make mincemeat out of him, and he couldn't swing everywhere at once. Scias could have, but his Sensei had been dead a long time...
He did all he could do. The Broken Moon infused every part of him with holy magics, and although it did not actively help him in any way, there was one way he could take advantage of that fact. He slammed his sword into the ground, followed quickly by his fist.
What might have been considered a small explosion of energy expanded outwards from him. A audible crack was heard as the air displaced, and the ground beneath him spiderwebbed outwards. Where the waves of force touched the skulls, they faded and disappeared, and it expanded outwards quite some distance before stopping and fading. The air around him was clear.
As soon as it faded, Cog almost fell, and leaned on his sword for support. The blade's white light faded from the steel, leaving it once again mere steel. His charm was drained, as was he. Can't do that again...He started staggering towards Stygian, reaching into a pants pocket and removing a small hounds-tooth from it...

"Oh no, you don't!" Stygian roared. His shadow drew up around him, flowing through and over his skin and changing him. His wings reemerged, now blackened and leathery instead, made out of shadow as they were, and the enormous mass of darkness reached over him as he speeded against Cogidubnus, sliding above the ground. It was hard to keep one's eye on him with that speed, and it looked like he reached the other man in a flash. He spun, his right leg whipping up in a roundhouse kick that nearly had him make the split in mid-movement, and it was plain to see from his moves how practiced a martial artist he had to be.
   He is not going to pull more tricks! I only need to knock the wind from him, since I'm stronger than his werewolf form anyway. If he tries to smack me, I'll just hold him. But I won't take more fooling around! he thought.

Stalker clattered back over his shoulder again, then whistled a few times, atonally. The whistles were repeated back, with a clacking. "Mne says we're pretty well stocked back there," he said to Ardaron. "Everything from mice to mammoth."

He winced as Stygian kicked out, and nodded. "Looks like the wolf is going out soon."

The woman snorted, blowing a plume of smoke. "Ten credits says the wolf takes him, oldtimer." She smirked at Stalker.

"I'm Risky, good to meet you both." She nodded to Gareeku. "Nice marks. We'll have to exchange stories sometime."

She tilted her chin towards the other patrons. "Guy in the visor looks like some kind of 'borg, Rita the Robot looks combat ready. " Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Giles. "Him, though...I bet he'd be a handful."

Cog saw Stygian raise his leg to begin his kick and grinned dreamily to himself. The edges of his vision had gone blurry, likely as a result of his overexertion of his force-waves. He didn't have the strength to chase Stygian down, nor continue the fight for much longer.
   His next move, however, was simplicity itself. Instead of jumping back from Stygian's kick, he moved into it – and did several things at once. As he moved forward, he dropped to one knee, letting his trailing leg let him fall into a kneeling stance, and with his other hand he smoothly brought his sword back over his head. His movement was grace itself, as though he had practiced this particular technique thousands of time before. With that grace, that almost-lethargy, his other hand dropped the hounds tooth and came up and grabbed the hilt of his sword. He struck at Stygian with blinding speed – but not fast enough.
   Before he finished the cut, Stygian's thigh slammed into his head – the charm around his neck flared and died, a net of light magic's keeping his head from being knocked off, but unfortunately, it did not absorb the inertia of the blow. He was knocked over, and Cog's vision swam with blackness, and he saw no more.
He knew not if his last strike had gotten though, or whether the shade had saved himself in time.

Stygian looked down on the man laying on the ground just a bit off from him. He had felt the hit quite surely, and knew that the force should have knocked him out, if he wasn't acting. Everything was allowed, after all. Slowly, he felt the cut to the back of his thigh that had almost severed a tendon, running his claws over it as it healed. He watched Cog warily as he held out a hand at his dropped shirt and undershirt, the clothes turning into strips of shadow and crawling over the ground and up on him as he reassumed his normal form.
   "Right. Good one..." he murred, still watching Cog. The man really had progressed. Stygian himself had only increased slightly in speed, but Cog's technique and practice gave him enough to match his blows unless he overwhelmed him with his shadow. That was very quick indeed. And it bothered him somewhat that he'd actually go this far when it was mostly a fight for fun. Still, he had been a bit rough on the man...
   Turning, Stygian made his shadow reach out and lift up his glass, bringing it to him. He grasped it, and emptied it, before walking up to the man and crouching down next to him.
   "Hey," he said, rustling him a bit. There was no blood, so he hadn't fractured or broken his nose, and if he'd have gotten a concussion he could just lie for a bit. "You reasonably okay?"

Cog lazily opened one eye, and tried desperately to focus on the world around him. It hazed for a moment, then got far too bright for his liking. He squinted and tried to get up, them hissed and fell back down. He heard Stygian's inquiry and waved his hand.
"I'm fine." he said, rolling onto his stomach, and then getting to his knees. "Just a headache." He stood, and after picking up his sword and putting it away, grinned at the shade. "Nicely done, good sir. Such a fight I've never had." Though he was bent over, he extended one hand to the shade. "Congratulations on your victory, good sir."

In the midst of all the battling and the conversations going on between the inhabitants, a diminutive figure managed to make it into the area relatively unnoticed.

The anthropomorphic jackal was reasonably young, perhaps around the age of twenty, and athletic, surprisingly confident in how she carried herself for her size of five-foot-two. Her hair color was plain enough, a shaggy dirty blonde, and her eyes chocolate brown—although one of them was considerably duller than the other—from behind the oddly mismatched lenses of her glasses, but everything else that topped the girl off was wildly abnormal.

Curling outlines of sable-splotched, abstract markings branched along her body from head to toe, forming a rigid mask of crescents and jagged streaks along her face, vines hiking up her arms and the tapering points of her elongated ears, streaks down her vulpine tail, and webs on her bare, clawed feet. A bizarre, vaguely '7'-shaped marking was engraved on her right shoulder, underlined by tribalesque, flowing scars of equal depth. Both had been somehow drenched in ink even darker than the shade the girl's markings were in, same with a thick scar around her left eye. The rest of her fur unmarred by the shadowy tattoos was a vibrant shade of saffron-yellow, sharply contrasting the darkness sloping along the jackal-woman's body. Creamy yellow of a lighter shade coated her muzzle, chest, and the underside of her tail, occasionally overlapped by the coattails of her gnarled markings.

Hefting what appeared to be an unusually large and heavy Morningstar-club over her shoulder, the young jackal leisurely strolled within the compound, immediately heading for the bar as she gave the fighting Cogidubnus and Stygian a passing glance.

Yawning, the jackal quickly located a seat next to the rest of the patrons, leaning her weapon against the counter and removing her glasses, the right lens of which was large, opalescent and outfitted with a dazzling array of stained glass, and the opposite a crystalline half-moon. They had grown clouded with fog during the arduous travel there and her feet ached like hell, but hopefully the trip would be worth it.

For now, she leaned back in her seat, stretched her arms high above her head, and lazily braced her head against her upright wrist, idly cleaning her glasses as she awaited the next match. It had been a long, long time--too long for her liking--since she had last fought and all her pent-up, violent exuberance would likely break free on the battlefield.

As the battle concluded in the background once the noises ceased, the jackal craned her upper body around to watch the two contestants eagerly. Brilliant, she thought, Now things are speeding up.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"Hmm.  I seem to be in the mood for seal.  Got any seal meat?  I'll have a cut from the tail, medium rare, please.  How much will that be?  Uh, do you accept Paleon money?"  As he made his order, Ardaron reached into a pocket of his tunic, and pulled out a number of coins that looked to be made of some sort of ceramic material, coated in a glittering glaze.  The two largest ones were white, one was green, and a good number of them where sky blue and dark purple.  They all had the same design; a map of the sixteen nations on one side, and on the other was a depiction of all the clan emblems, arranged in a circle; a drop of water, a flame, a crystal, a cloud, a sun, a half-opened eye, a snowflake, a lightning bolt, a sword, a fang, a feather, a scroll, a cracked stone, a winding trail, an egg, and a dragon skull.  Ardaron set the coins on the table for Stalker to see; the whole collection was thirty-four draks of Paleon money, or about fifteen dollars.

Ardaron nodded to Risky, to confirm that he had heard her introduce herself, and replied, "Good to meet you, too."  He glanced at the other patrons to whom she referred, wondering why they hadn't introduced themselves yet.  Probably best not to press the issue, Ardaron decided.  Some people simply liked their solitude.

Ardaron looked to see the end of the battle.  It was hard to believe it was over; the two opponents had seemed so evenly matched that the battle could have gone on for a lot longer.  It seemed somewhat ironic that, after such a display of magic and swordsmanship from the two opponents, a simple roundhouse kick was what finished the fight.  Simple, at least, in comparison to the shade's other abilities.  But hey, whatever works, works, Ardaron thought to himself, noting that, in combat, simplicity was sometimes the best strategy.

Now that the battle had concluded, Ardaron noticed the jackal who had just entered the bar.  The first thing he noticed was her glasses; he'd only seen people wearing glasses a few times, and he'd never seen anyone wear lenses like those.  He made note of the fact that she wielded a morningstar, which, when taken together with her glasses, only made the jackal seem that much stranger.  But of course, judging by the way she carried herself, she was probably far more skilled in combat than would be apparent from her odd choice of possessions.  Realizing he was being rude, the dragon introduced himself; "I'm Ardaron."

In the midst of her idle relaxation, the jackal-woman at first didn't realize Ardaron's appraisal, up until the telltale, uncomfortable prickling darted up her body. Ears pivoting upright, her head snapped towards him, appearing slightly startled, as though she were jolted out of a deep and concentrated trance.

"Hm?" she murmured, then became fully alert as she realized he was the one inspecting her. "I'm sorry," she said, feigning pleasantness--she decided that it wasn't good to instigate a fight for once, "But do you want something?"

As though to counter him, she gave Ardaron an obligatory once-over. At first appearance, he seemed to be rather draconic, which put her on-edge at first. However, he was far too small to resemble the dragons she was used to accosting, which started to put her at ease, as the sudden shifting of her once-tense muscles indicated.

Body language could show a lot about a person, as she had learned in combat.

Settling her glasses back on the bridge of her nose, she said, "Ah, good to meet ya, Ardaron. I'm Keaton."

Rather, 'Keaton' was the epithet that she had adopted at some point in her life, one she brandished almost like it were her real name. Despite how many times she repeated it, it always seemed like she was reciting a lie, but it had long ceased to bother her.

"So, what brings you here?" she said, deciding to start conversation with the dragon.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Stalker took one each of the coins, and whistled a phrase or two over his shoulder. "And bring the medkit," he added.

He looked Keaton over with a practiced eye. "Rules are on the sign, food and drink are open to all." He turned and smiled at Risky, all teeth. "Pay up." He held his hand out, palm up.

Risky looked disgusted, but withdrew a square metallic green coin. She tossed it to Stalker, whow snatched it from the air in a blur. "Don't be so smug. You've been wrong before."

She looked Keaton over and nodded. "Nice club. I know an ogre that would be drooling." She finished her cigarette, and stubbed it out on the edge of the table.

A clatter of dishes came from the back, and the swinging doors flew open as what looked like a six-foot tall Praying Mantis came bustling out. The exoskeleton was dark green like a spruce tree, with lighter green highlights here and there.

It was carrying a large platter of cooked meat in its' upper arms, and clutching an old-fashioned black leather bag nervously in its' lower ones, three fingers and both opposable thumbs on each hand grasping and shifting.

In a soft, musical voice it stated, "Seal meat, here you go...Oh my, I may be needed!" It smoothly slid the platter down the bar, and walked quickly on its' oddly-jointed legs over to the circle. leaving those at the bar with a lingering scent of fresh lemons.

Bending at the waist, it bowed to Cog and Stygian in turn. "I am Mneslentruvex, but you may call me Mne. May I help you with your injuries, if any?" It cocked its' head almost sideways, huge, unblinking, multifaceted blue eyes regarding them both.

Stygian made a coarse laugh, then sighed and stood back up. From Cog's eyes he might well have had a concussion, but that was a minor problem for a man like he. So Stygian himself paid no more heed, but turned and picked up the bottle he had brought out and took it with him back into the restaurant. As he did he muttered more to himself, thinking of his own stupidity. Whatever he should have done, it was not to go into direct melee with Cogidubnus. But he had wanted to finish quickly, and without hurting the man. Well, he thought, good thoughts are on your own expense...
   When he got back in, his two companions goaded him a bit, especially the machine-woman.
   "What got to you there? 'S far as I could see you could have ripped him to chops at the end," the machine commented. "'The light and the power,' you know?" That seemed to be the continuation of some other conversation.
   "Go screw yourself, Moira," he replied, putting his bottle down and walking over to the bar. "It was the first fight." He said that as if it should explain everything. The machine shrugged, and went back to reading a book.
   "Well, all I have to say is that you didn't fight as you should," the man in the suit said, and walked up to the counter too, ordering a platter of chicken and potato salad. "But knowing you, it was most likely planned." Stygian didn't answer, just muttered.
   "Blood for me, please, if you have any," he said.

As  Stalker mentioned food, Gareeku would have taken up his offer had he been hungry. Looking back at Risky, the wolf smirked slightly.
"That we will. A pleasure to meet you." he replied with a polite bow. It then, however, that he saw another figure enter the building; a female jackal, and from what Gareeku could tell, one who possessed quite the confidence for someone so petite looking. Then again, from Gareeku's he experience he should be used to the fact that appearences can be most deceiving.

Giving the jackal a polite nod of his head in greeting, the wolf turned back to the two fighters just in time to see the conclusion of the battle. His swivelling, Gareeku raised an eyebrow as he heard the winning participant's friend ask what got to him, almost as if they were suggesting he should have killed the other participant. However, the wolf was slightly worried when the reply came; "It was the first fight". Did he mean he would be looking to kill in any future fights? Gareeku wasn't sure, but one thing he was sure of was that killing would not be looked kindly upon, especially in what are supposed to be non-fatal duels.

Eyeing the Honour Circle, Gareeku walked up to the edge of it to see whether the other participant of the previous fight was ok. Smiling slightly to himself upon realising he was, Gareeku then walked back to the bar.
"Hmmm...looks like the circle will be free very shortly, if not now." the wolf commented. He was looking for a good duel. Weapons or none, it mattered not to him.

Ardaron looked down guiltily as he realized just how long he'd been staring at Keaton.  "A thousand apologies, ma'am.  I didn't mean to stare."  He quirked a sheepish half-smile, still looking down, and added, "I of all people really ought to know better than that," with a slight emphasis on the words 'of all people.'  He, like many crossbred dragons, had a tendency to attract strangers' stares in his native plane of Paleon; as such, he felt all the worse for being caught staring at someone else.  He shifted his wings, fidgeting a little in his embarrassment, as he mentally berated himself for his rudeness.

"I'm here to learn," he said, reciprocating Keaton's attempt to begin a conversation, relaxing a little as the conversation shifted away from his earlier faux pas.  "My home world, Paleon, is on the verge of a world war, so I'm learning all I can about combat so that I might survive."  He didn't mention the fact that it was his intention to try to stop the war; he had already made a fool of himself once today, there was no need to add to that by making such an arrogant claim as that he thought he could halt a sixteen-way war.

Ardaron picked up the coins that Stalker had left, and put them back in his pocket.  He was surprised at how quickly his food was ready, and inhaled deeply, taking in the lovely smell of cooked meat.  "Thank you," he told Mne as he grabbed the platter with a clawed hand, stopping it sliding any farther.  He picked up the knife and fork and began to saw off large bites of the juicy steak, and as he placed the first piece in his mouth, he smiled with pleasure.  "This is delicious," he commented to Stalker after he had swallowed his mouthful.

Ardaron's attention then turned to the victorious combatant who was now entering the bar.  "That was a marvelous show of skill, sir," Ardaron said to the shade.  There were a thousand questions the dragon wanted to ask Stygian, but introductions had to come first.  "I'm Ardaron," he said, introducing himself for the third time that day.

Keaton snorted slightly, waving her hand dismissively. "Eh, don't cry yourself to sleep over it. You're not the first person who's done that," Keaton shrugged, adjusting her seat so that way she was fully rotated around to face Ardaron. She wasn't too surprised about the idea of Ardaron being subject to intense staring in the past--after all, she had been apprehensive of him at first. Even then, Keaton invisibly kept her guard up, unsure what to expect of the dragon, despite his friendly exterior.

"Learn, huh?" Keaton asked, ears twitching acknowledgingly. She listened closely to his tale, punctuating his final word with an understanding and slightly intrigued nod. "World war?" she repeated, "Well, that's a good reason to want to learn combat..."

Keaton wasn't really sure how to respond to that. Having experienced a war before in her five hundred year-long life, she knew perfectly well that, despite her personal, sadistic 'quirks', they were nothing to laugh or scoff at. Being smack dab in the middle of a nightmare tends to warp one's understanding of the world.

Just before Keaton could say anything else, she was interrupted by Stalker. Snapping her gaze back to him, her ears plastered against her skull for a moment before she lifted her index finger in an 'excuse me' gesture to Ardaron—something rare for her, as she normally wasn't one for civility—and climbed to her feet, taking her Morningstar with her as she strode towards the sign as instructed. Cupping her chin in her hand, she quickly scanned over the words emblazoned on the sign, eyes zipping from letter to letter.

Once more, she was interrupted, this time by Risky. For a moment, Keaton looked down at her weapon: it was intricately designed, from the spiked globe crowning the handle, to the long, elaborately engraved hilt. The same symbol that was carved on her shoulder  was etched just beneath the club's head in pure white, the only splash of color on the otherwise completely melanoid weapon. The Morningstar was almost her height, and despite its size she could wield it quite effortlessly. At first, Keaton was unsure whether or not Risky was actually complimenting her, or just being rude, but she went with what her (sometimes very incorrect) instincts told her.

And that was to boast.

"Oh, him?" Keaton said, admiring the aforementioned club. "Yeah, isn't he gorgeous?"

Why she had referred to her weapon as a 'he' and a living being was left absent-mindedly ignored by Keaton in spite of the perplexed or just plain amused. Remaining perfectly oblivious to it, Keaton continued to appraise her weapon, finger outlining the track of engravings carved into it, which vaguely resembled her own atramentous markings.

"I'm sure he would make anyone drool, really. You won't find a better club... I keep him in really good condition."

The fact that Keaton kept her Morningstar in good condition was entirely true. 'He' happened to have not a mark on its obsidian surface, despite the club's possible age. It could've been that Keaton maintained it by magical means to keep the weapon untarnished, making the Morningstar look as fresh as the day she made it.

As Gareeku returned, Keaton strode back over to her seat, perching herself on the chair with a flick of her unusually fluffy (at least for her species) tail. "Heh. Sorry about that," she said, another startling thing to emerge from her mouth. Leaning her Morningstar back against the counter, she looked to Stalker. "Hey. Got any beer here?"

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Stygian looked back at the wolf as he re-entered, pouring himself some water with ice to go in between drinks.
   "Yeah, I know... Don't expect me to get up and in that soon though," he said to the wolf, and turned away from him quickly, and over to the dragon at his introduction.
   "Right. Pleased to meet you," he said, offering the man his hand. "I'm Sebastian. Most call me Stygian though. A bit of humour, some would say." His nostrils twitched for just the slightest moment, and his eyes scanned Ardaron up and down, a piercing, grey-eyed look that assessed him quickly. Then he nodded to his both companions. "That one over there is Moira," he said, and the machine-woman smiled a sweet, mouthless smile and winked with one green-glowing eye, "and this here is Stephen."
   The man in the suit didn't answer immediately. He nodded his head forward, and the formerly seamless visor on his face suddenly made a bit of a hiss as lines became apparrent over it. Then, with a series of sharp mechanical rasps and swishes, the metal, which seemed just as flexible as Moira's skin, parted and peeled back, folding into itself and vanishing together with lines and metal wires, away from the skin of the human face behind and down into its neck, revealing it.
   He was quite positively the best looking man that one can imagine, his dark, slightly androgynous features contrasting against Sebastian's. Black, smooth shoulderlength hair that naturally fell just right framed an ideal face, with high cheekbones, deep, dark and clear eyes, perfect lips and nose and just slightly tanned skin. Its only one marring feature might have been the clear, golden cybernetic eye that replaced his right one, a thin vertical scar over it. He flashed a white smile at the dragon.
   "Pleased to meet you," he said.

Stalker turned and shifted, flowing back to the kitchen and returning to the bar almost immediately with a large plate of food for Stephen, and a huge snifter of deep red liquid for Stygian. Passing them over, he bowed. "A good victory."

He then grinned at Keaton, and deftly pulled a large mug of cold beer from the tap. "Any coin will, do, here you go." he said, as he handed it over. He bowed slightly.

Risky watched Stephen's visor fold back on itself, and lit her fresh cigarette on her fingertip. "Nice. Alarian technology, or nanotech?" she asked Stephen. "I'm Risky, by the way."

Mne walked with Cog to the nearest table. "That was an excellent duel, Sir," he said. "I will bring you refreshment." He bustled back to the bar, whistling and clattering softly, but loud enough to be heard. He chuffed at Risky as he passed, skirting her in a wide circle, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Stalker grinned and chuckled. "Okay, who's next?" he called out to everyone, indicating the empty circle.

Ardaron grinned at Keaton's sarcastic remark; at least that meant that she wasn't upset with him.  "I suppose I can manage to contain my tears tonight," he said jokingly back, using a tone of sarcasm he had learned from a friend of his.  It wasn't like him to crack jokes like that, but every now and then he would get the idea to try to be funny; usually with no better results than this time.

His usual seriousness almost immediately returning, Ardaron simply nodded agreement to Keaton's statement about war being a good reason to want to learn combat.  It wasn't a question, so he didn't reply.  He didn't really suspect that she, too, had been affected by war; he merely figured that war was just generally an awkward subject for people.  So he was more than happy to let it drop.

Keaton's movement to go read the rules of combat reminded Ardaron that he hadn't read the rules yet, either, so he got up from his seat and followed her over to where the rules were posted.  He read through them more slowly, committing them to memory, lest he mistakenly break one.  He decided they would be easy enough to follow, and returned to the bar.

Returning to his own seat sometime after Keaton had returned to hers, he decided to try and rekindle their earlier conversation a little.  "So, what brings you here?" he asked curiously, beginning to saw off another piece of his seal-meat steak with his knife as he spoke.

"Pleased to meet you, Sebastian," Ardaron replied, taking the offered hand.  He nodded to Moira and Stephan, meeting Stephan's smile with one of his own, and answered, "Pleased to meet you too, sir."

Ardaron looked thoughtful for a moment as Stalker brought up the idea of having two new combatants enter the ring.  But he decided against entering a duel just yet.  He wanted to watch a few more battles first; get a better feel for what he was getting into.  Know thy enemy, as Rakara would say.  And besides, he had a steak to finish.

Keaton reclined in her seat somewhat, her entire posture relaxing save for that one, defensive shred which insisted that she keep at least part of her defense up. Even then, it was not readily visible to the naked eye, but by this point and after some settling down, Keaton had openly grown more comfortable to her surroundings.

The mug she ordered was neatly pushed over to Keaton, who caught it by the handle and held it up to her ebony-dyed lips almost immediately. Her other hand quickly plunged into a satchel which was hanging off of her belt, removing the appropriate amount of money and setting it before Stalker. "Thanks," was the only thing she said before she downed a mouthful of beer, making it quite clear she was no novice when it came to drinking.

Once her mouth was free of booze, Keaton inclined her head towards Ardaron almost inquisitively, restraining a small hiccup. She rested the mug back on the counter in front of her. "Oh," Keaton played slightly with the handle of her mug, turning it this way and that absent-mindedly. "Well, I guess you could say I was in the neighborhood, and I heard this place had fighting..."

Keaton shrugged her shoulders loosely and rolled her eyes from behind her glasses. "I'm gonna come clean with it. I like fighting. I like fighting a lot. And it's been a while since I've blown off some steam, so I decided it wouldn't hurt to come here."

There. She said it, and in a reasonably casual, if flippant manner, as though she were discussing something as innocuous as the weather or the time. Then again, fighting was rarely treated seriously by Keaton, even after all her years of living and strict lectures from her parents and countless tutors. In some ways, it was just a game to her, weapons her toys, and most importantly, people her playmates.

Sometimes they could be treated as playthings, too, for breaking and crushing. Depended on how her mood swung at the time and although Keaton forged a reasonably casual, outgoing exterior, fighting was probably the time her darker side would emerge.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

The circle suddenly flashes with light, first white, then red. As the glare disappears, it reveals a tall person wearing a long, hooded black cloak. The only thing that can be seen of the wearer is a pair of human hands, clenched tightly into fists.

The figure steps out of the circle, then reaches up and pushes the hood back, revealing the face of a young man with green eyes and red hair cut in a short crew cut. He sweeps his narrowed eyes over the area for an instant that takes an hour, his jaw clenched tightly.

He steps to the nearest table and removes his cloak, pointedly ignoring the others in the bar. Underneath his cloak he is wearing a short-sleeved navy blue shirt that shows off his well-toned biceps, dark gray slacks, and black leather shoes.

He pulls a chair out and sits down facing the circle, his back to the rest of the bar, and starts casually cracking his knuckles.

"Syphon," Risky says as though she just drank something nasty. "Figured he'd show up sooner or later."

Cog picked up the random charms he had scattered about the arena and shook his head at the healer. "I'm quite alright, thanks." he said, before following Moira back into the bar.
The place was much livelier than it had been. He sighed to himself at the din, his ears a little sensitive, before settling back in his seat. Giles was grinning at him, and Cog scowled.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, next rounds on me..." he said, placing two silver coins on the counter.

"Nano," Stephen answered to Risky, giving her one of those smiles that should have had him wearing a warning sign. Without further explanation, he began stuffing himself with his meal.
   Stygian though, did not seem overly happy. He eyed Cog in between emptying a glass of blood, and then made a short nod toward Stalker.
   "I'll have Scotch, if you have some proper," he said. Then, he set down his glass, and turned his face to Cog. "So," he asked, "why'd you hold back on me?" His face was one more of chill than dissappointment, but it was still there.
   In between all of this, both Stephen, Stygian and Moira shot the man walking in a quick glance, and then all disregarded him.

Looking at Stygian for a moment with a slightly suspicious expression on his face, Gareeku then looked up as he heard Stalker ask who was next to duel.
"Hmmm...might as well. Don't want to get rusty..." he muttered to himself with a slight smirk, before getting up and, with a nod of his head in greeting to the stranger who had just stepped out, stepped inside the circle and waited for anyone who would like to duel with him. Though he had taken his katana with him, the wolf was not fussed on whether the duel wold take place with armed or unarmed combat.

The man with the armor, Stephen, had downed his meal in positively the fastest time that someone could possibly eat a healthy lunch, and quite a bit faster than that even. He was still munching when he got out of his seat, and headed outside the restaurant. With a quick stride he was at the circle and inside its border, and then turned and made a fluid bow against Gareeku.
   "With your permission, I'd like to try," he said, and made a somewhat sharp smile.

Cog slightly raised and eyebrow at Stygian's statement. "Hm?" he said, leaning back in his chair. "Hold back?"
He mused for a moment. "Did it occur to you sir that you may indeed be better than I?" he stared at Stygian from behind shaded lenses. "The skulls were clever. I couldn't possibly fight so many at once, and my only option left me...well..." he tapped his head. "Those waves of force take a physical toll. Too much can make you pass out. My vision was blurry before even before you hit my head." he reflected for a moment. "I perhaps did not...well..." he paused for a moment.
"It could also be possible, sir, I did not wish to sever your leg." he said, looking at nothing. He grinned. "Of course, I should be asking you the same question. The avatar of darkness kicks my head?" he said, almost chortling. "Come now. Don't tell me the only thing that occurred to you was closing to melee. Under any other circumstance, that would have been foolish indeed. And there was no way you could have known I was on the edge of passing out."

Seeing the stranger enter the circle a propose a duel, Gareeku returned the smile that Stephen expressed.
"Good to hear. I hope this is a good fight." he replied, before removing his katana from the side of his waist, as well as the brown hooded cloak from his shoulder, and putting them outside of the circle before turning back to his opponent, shifting into a fighting stance. "May the best warrior win."

Stygian scoffed, and took another swig, then poured the last of the blood into his other glass and began emptying it. When finished, he licked his lips and looked at Cogidubnus with his eyes blacked out again.
   "I was waiting for you. The skulls were nothing but a trick to try and get you distraught. I would have expected you to pull the stop at that last attack," he said in that horrid voice. "You know that you can't harm me with a mere blade." He returned to his drinking, and then messed with something in his pocket, pulling out the makings of a Red Bull and Jägermeister. Then he sighed, and looked at Cog again.
   "I don't know any techniques that would have worked, other than lethal ones. There, you have it. Even in the best scenario you'd lose an arm or die from internal bleeding." He mixed the drink up roughly, and took a swig. "I'm a poor fighter in that respect. And I'm a poor winner anyday..."

   Stephen made a short bow to Gareeku, still with a friendly smile. Then, that armor came out of his skin again and covered it up, the aerodynamic visor taking place before his eyes.
   "Right. I hope it goes well," he said. He flexed his hands, his knuckles covered with some sort of studded golden metal plates that seemed made for punching. Then, he leaned back a bit.
   There was a humming sound, as six large metal spikes shot out of his back, glowing red through some lines in their smooth black metal cover. Bolts of red energy crackled between them, and then...
   A quick, crackling sound, fast as a gunshot, was all that was heard before Stephen was standing next to Gareeku. There were just some few scorchtracks on the ground. He had flashed by, moving in a blur so fast that eyes could not keep up.
   "Looks like that's a no then."

Ardaron simply shrugged nonchalantly at Keaton's 'confession,' his wings moving slightly up and down along with his shoulders as he did so.  "That's really not so bad, to like fighting," he said.  "I know quite a few fire dragons who are like that.  Heh, a couple of light dragons, even.  It's good that you came here to let it out.  That's a lot better than beating up random passersby in dark alleyways."  He shrugged again, in a way that made it clear that he didn't really think it was Keaton's fault that she had violent tendencies.

Ardaron glanced at the Circle as it flashed with light, watching with intrigue.  He almost introduced himself to the man as he came into the bar, but decided that this Syphon didn't look like the sort of person who would want to talk to anyone.  So Ardaron gave him a little nod to acknowledge his presence, and then went back to eating his steak.

The dragon looked up from his platter again as the other combatant from the previous battle entered the bar.  He quickly swallowed his current mouthful of steak and said, "Excellent match, sir.  I know admittedly little about sword-fighting, but you seem to be a very accomplished swordsman.  I'm Ardaron."  Four introductions in one day.  This had to be a new record for the dragon.

Ardaron looked over to the ring once again, eager to see another battle take place.  Much like the last battle, he didn't have any way to predict who would win.  Stephen looked quite fearsome in his battle armor, but judging by Gareeku's scars, the wolf had seen more than his fair share of battle.

Ardaron barely had time to blink when Stephen moved, in a blur that would have made an agility dragon green with envy.  It seemed the combatants were getting ready to begin.  Ardaron was almost literally on the edge of his seat, ignoring the few bites of steak left forgotten on his plate as the dragon watched the Circle eagerly; the seconds before the match began seemed to be ticking by like hours.

Keaton snickered from behind the glass mug in her hand as she once more hefted it to her lips, but said nothing else as she gulped down the remainder of her beer, which had quickly depleted since she had first purchased it. Suppressing a hiccup with the back of her gloved hand, Keaton rolled her eyes again and looked almost mischeviously to Ardaron.

"Who's to say I haven't done that, huh?" she asked, but the impish tone in her voice and the sardonic grin on her cream-yellow muzzle would've been enough to disarm anyone's suspicions.

Well, almost anyone's.

"But you're a dragon, huh?" Keaton tilted her head. "Huh... not to be rude or anythin', but you're kind of short compared to the ones I've seen before. The ones I've seen were... like... as big as a building," Keaton used her hands to illustrate the enormity of the aforementioned dragons. "No kidding."

Scooting her mug, which now contained just a few flecks of foam glued to its glassy interior, away, Keaton took a moment to catch her breath before she contemplated buying another drink. It probably wasn't a good idea to drink a lot prior to a battle, as intoxication hindered her senses severely (it probably wasn't allowed, either), but judging by the two men who had entered the arena, it would take a moment before she would experience any action.

Curbing her impatience, Keaton turned around in her seat so she would get a clear view of the fight, tweaking her glasses so that way they were perfectly unmarred. She leaned her athletic body back, elbows resting behind her on the edge of the counter, and folded her muscular legs, completely relaxing for the time being. Just because she wasn't on the battlefield at the moment didn't mean that she couldn't observe and have fun. After all, it was best to inspect her future opponents' movements and strategies.

This composure was quickly jolted as Stephen's body underwent some bizarre, mechanical transformation, sprouting lethal spikes and moving with such deftness that it was impossible for Keaton's off-colored eyes to keep up. Sure, she was a fast person herself, but she certainly couldn't move at the speed of light. The moment Stephen appeared beside Gareeku, Keaton felt a devious smile spread along her lips, wickedly baring daggered teeth the color of ivory.

This would be interesting... very, very interesting.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Watching Stephen undergo some form of transformation, Gareeku braced himself for the battle that was about to commence. However, in less than a blink of an eye, Stephen was right beside him, moving at a speed in which he his eyes simply could not keep up with.

Hearing Stephen speak again, the wolf glanced at his opponent with a calm yet serious expression. In his mind, however, he was greatly surprised.
His speed...it's incredible... Gareeku thought to himself. Great...how am I supposed to land hits when I can't even catch him...?

Saying nothing, the wolf suddenly lifted up the fist nearest to Stephen in an attempted shot to his gut, followed by a spinning roundhouse kick aimed at his opponent's jaw, using all the speed he could muster...

Cog shrugged and tapped his fingers on the table. "To be honest, good sir, I was somewhat out of my skull." he said. "I try to not throw those force-waves about willy-nilly for a reason. That reason, actually." He grinned at Stygian and put his head in his palm. "Truly, sir, had I been somewhat more aware, I certainly would have given into my more feral natures."
He tipped a hat to the dragon, and again, grinned somewhat. "You might say I have some skill." he said, crossing his legs.
He turned to the grey-robed owner. "Whiskey is a drink for everyday. Might you have some wine on you, good sir? From a nocturnal root, Which feels the acrid juice, Of Styx and Erebus; And turns the woe of Night, ,By its own craft, to a more rich delight..."

"Hmph... unlike Emerson, I like to stay in reality and in touch. Beyond the worlds and within the mind there is no power, only confusion..." Stygian muttered, and slapped his other glass on the counter, indicating that he could well use some Wiskey, rather than wine. He didn't pay the fight outside any heed.

   At Gareeku's strikes, Stephen didn't seem to move at all. There was a blur as the wolf's fist went through thin air, and then his kick came around, hitting just as little. When he then had to move around to get into stance to strike again, Stephen simply shot out a palm against his chest, with such speed that the force would be enough to throw the wolf back quite a few yards.

Stalker nodded to Cog. "The place came fully stocked. Red, white, year, place? I even have absinthe if anyone wants some." He frowned slightly. "It's the only thing my adversary ever freely gives, is creature comforts."

Risky caught his eye and hooked a thumb at the circle. "Is that thing fully shielded? Fully?" She blew a puff of smoke from her nose, almost like a snorting bull. "Because if it is, I think I'd like a whack at Speedy Gonzalez in there next."

Stalker winced, then carefully stated, "Yes, it's fully shielded like all of the rest. But you'll have to provide your own medics; Mne's still twitchy after last time."

Cog nodded to Grey. "I'm not exactly a wine connoisseurs...although..." he rattled off some obscure vintage. "Or, if not that, whatever you'd feel appropriate."
He quirked an eyebrow at Stygian. "Within the mind is the greatest power, sir..." he grinned. "As I have proven. Without it, I fell to you easily." He brushed some of his bangs out of his eyes. "At, least, that's the way I feel. If you do not rule your mind, than truly, you have no power. The master does not seek power, and thus he is powerful..." he said, rambling off. "You can, in reality, posses everything. I know a few people who think they do. And yet, and yet..."
He shrugged. "I wax philosophic. It happens sometimes when I get my ass kicked." he said, grinning. He looked out the windows to the arena outside, and grimaced somewhat. "Some friend you've got there Sebastian. I don't think even I move that fast. Well, not recently anyway..."

Grimacing as he saw his attacks go through thin air, Gareeku then grunted slightly as Stephen's strike hit his chest as he flew back a couple of yards, before flipping and landing on his feet, quickly shifting back into a fighting stance.
How am I gonna slow him down...? the wolf thought to him in frustration. I wonder if...only one way to find out...

Gathering magical energy into his palms, Gareeku then slammed his hands onto the floor. As he did so, the floor was quickly covered in a thick layer of ice, aiming to trap his opponent in it in an effort to slow him down.

"I have a purpouse, and I seek to escape it. How is that, philosopher?" Stygian commented and continued his effort to get really drunk. "As for Stephen... He has his power for a purpouse as well, and he's not afraid to use it either. I think Gareeku is in for one hell of a fight..."

   Stephen slid back and stopped, trying to get a grip on the ground and then jerking back when he stuck to the stone. It wasn't visible behind that mask, but he grimaced for a second. Then, his feet began to blur where they stood and crackle with some red bolts, and the ice around them started to melt. Quite obviously, he was creating heat by moving them very fast. His look went to Gareeku again, and then he zipped forward and to the side, skidding over the ice and aiming to tackle the wolf sideways, at about the speed of a car on a highway.

Stalker raised an eyebrow and rummaged beneath the bar, coming up with a dusty bottle of the exact vintage Cog had mentioned. "Amazing. These places are always well-stocked...." He set the bottle in front of Cog, along with a clean glass.

Risky watched the duel with something akin to impatience. "C'mon, Gareeku, kick his ass..." she said, watching as Stephen tackled him.

Cog grinned and tipped his hat. "You seek to escape fate?" Cog outright laughed and his glasses slid down his nose. "Good sir, I have met few men who blamed fate when his their child was born, although I have met many who blamed fate when it died. Fate, if it does exist, is so arbitrary as to be random." he sighed. "If there is fate, or if not, we live the same. How does one act like everything they do is controlled?" He smiled. "If we are controlled, nothing we can do about that. So might as well live like we're free. After all, this is a real world, where very real things happen..."
Giles coughed, and Cog blinked and pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. The ex-paladin drummed his fingers on the table. Cog ignored him, and busied himself pouring a glass of the wine Stalker had given, and stayed silent.

Stygian made a bitter, yet still amused laugh, and began with his second bottle. He turned to Cog with a smirk, one of those that practically spells out: 'you have no idea...'
   "There is no such thing as fate, you say? That may well be true, but within our limited timescope and power, there are ways to assure that certain things do happen, no matter what. Especially when you yourself aid in it..." he said, and swigged, then brushed a bit of his blond forehair out of the way and straightened his own glasses. He poured himself another. "I find it absolutely hilarious that you should mention fathers too... sometimes, the children themselves may curse..."
   Moira looked at them and shook her head. Then, she closed the finished book and set it aside, and walked over to them.
   "I'll have a jack on the rocks, please," she said. Then, she looked at Stygian. "Not this again," she then said, "Talk about the fight or something, but not this. I tire." Then, she eyed Giles, obviously with a certain liking. "Maybe we could plan for some other fight later..."

In the back, there's a quiet clatter as the balls are racked up on one of the tables, by a young man in dark clothing. He looks vaguely weaselish, but sets up the balls quickly, with minimal movements, before removing his leather trenchcoat and hanging it up on a coat rack, stretching a bit, grabbing one of the cues, and starting to practice. The way he managed to move out of the mist, enter the bar, slide past everyone, and reach the table without interrupting any conversations says something right there, though.

Under the coat, he's wearing dark jeans and a dark shirt, and is apparently unarmed. He handles the cue as if he knows his way around a table, and, in fairly short order, he has cleared the table, and is racking up for another round.

He glances up at the bar, raises one finger, and sidles over, still holding the cue in his other hand, arriving just as Stalker slides a bottle of newkey down the bar. He reaches out, catches it, one-handedly using a coin to remove the cap, then bounces both the cap and the coin off the bar, back at Stalker. They pass either side of him, ricochet twice off the corner behind him, and back out again, the cap ending in the bin under the taps, the coin spinning on the bar beside Stalker. He raises the bottle at Stalker, grins, and returns to his game, without having said a word...

With his eyes locked on his opponent, Gareeku looked on as Stephen utilised his speed once again and zipped off to the side, before coming back in for a tackle. Thinking quickly, the wolf jumped up a little before striking his foot out in an aeriel kick. Stephen may have been going as fast as a car, but he wasn't one. At the same time as he executed this manoveur, Gareeku gathered soul energy into his plams before landing back on the ground and slammed them into it, causing waves of powerful soul to go tearing through the circled in all directions.

Cog sipped his wine and stayed silent, and Giles looked over his shoulder at Moira, sending a puff of smoke into the air. He took the pipe out of his mouth. His mouth was flat, but his eyes seemed merry.
"Haven't fought anybody worth fighting in a long time, miss.", he said. This time, Cog coughed, who Giles studiously ignored. Cog gave him a nasty look and sipped his wine. "Hard to find somebody who doesn't die when you light them on fire." He smiled, and his white teeth were startling against the ashen pall of his face. "If you think you can keep from dying, be my guest."
Both Cog's and Giles eyes turned to the sound of the pool balls. Cog raised an eyebrow at watching the sudden display of dexterity.

The kick was deftly avoided by Stephen, who spun and blurred his feet again to come to a halt. When he was about to dash back and make another hit at Gareeku though, he was flung back by the shockwave of energy and tumbled along the ground before stopping on a knee and getting up again. He looked a bit dizzy, but he shook his shoulders again, and then sped for Gareeku with a burst of crackling red bolts, vapor blowing out as the ice was melted with speed. This time he intended to stick close...

   Moira chuckled and made a nod to Giles, a smile somehow on her featureless face. A sort of green wave of light coursed out through thin seams in her metallic skin, just once.
   "I think you'd have a tough time, big guy. There's more than titanium, magnesium and bor to me..."

Giles laughed roughly and put his pipe back in his mouth. "I'm glad to hear it." he said, and fell silent.
Cog watched the battle outside with interest. It would seem Gareeku was outmatched, but he'd shown surprising resourcefulness thus far... the battle bore watching, in any case. He sipped his wine, and waited to see what Gareeku would do next.

Gotcha. Gareeku thought to himself with satisfaction as his attack had hit its target, though his face did not show anything else than a calm yet serious expression. The ice was quickly melting thanks to his opponent's actions. Seeing that Stephen was about to go on the move again, white flames appeared once more in the wolf's palms. As his opponent made his move, Gareeku made his; utilizing his soul energy to explode outwards in a powerful blast in all directions.

Stephen hit the wall of energy with tremendous force, and there was a crackling, shattering sound. He flew back again, this time a great deal harder, and hit the invisible wall that the circle represented. There were pieces of metal thrown about everywhere.
   With a clear effort, Stephen got to his feet, and swayed. His visor had broken, as had many of the other parts of his armor, and wires and metal stuck through his skin in places.
   "Not... quite yet..." he said, still crackling at places and breathing hard.

As the energy flared outwards from Gareeku and slammed into his opponent, Risky yelled "Yes!!" She threw a fist into the air, grinning wildly, then suddenly pulled it down to her side and blushed.

Stalker merely raised an eyebrow at her as he served out the latest round of drinks, his attention on the weaselish creature playing pool. He shrugged, then turned his attention back to the battle inside the circle.

Syphon still sat quietly, watching, the steady, constant popping of his knuckles the only sound he made.

Seeing his attack hit and throw Stephen against the invisible barrier of the circle, Gareeku shifted back into a fighting stance as his opponent got back onto his feet. The wolf was, like Stephen, panting. This was due to the soul energy he had used up in the last two attacks.

This time, Gareeku decided he would be the one to attack. Dashing forward, the wolf moved with intense speed, before leaping up and bringing the heel of his foot down in an axe kick aimed at Stephen's head, followed by a punch aimed at his opponent's gut and a thunderous uppercut aimed at Stephen's jaw.

The cybernetic switched to the side a bit, and parried most of the blows deftly, the one for the gut being the only one that hit somewhat. Despite his damage, he still seemed to retain a great deal of that speed. And although it seemed that he didn't move as fast now, or that perhaps his moving around before was a different way of motion, his speed was still considerable. He countered the moves with an attempt at a backflipping kick to the wolf's head and to get to the side.

The pool player, without apparently looking, mutters something about "heh, triple-hit combo. Pity it missed." as he lines up his next shot...

It was a long journey taken to the plateau, but once the building came into sight, the one arriving knew it would be quite worth it.  The traveler stepped up to the door and had paused behind it, listening.  From inside could be heard talking...cheering...and of course that pointed straight to the true purpose of the place.  After a pause, the doors were opened, and a new individual stepped in.

The figure was draped in red, a cape of crimson flowing from the shoulders down to where a pair of long trousers ended over bare black paws.  The head was similarly covered with the hood, draped in enough shadow where one would only see the face if it was allowed to be so.  With a quick look around, taking in the scenery, The figure moved further into the building with flowing, graceful but strong steps that gave the knowledge that it was a female.  Walking, she was calm and deliberate, not at all hesitant, flickering a snaking black tail from beneath the cape with a single emerald ring.  If anyone were to guess her profession, no doubt from the blood-like color and from the almost stealthy gait, that she was an assassin.  A silvery weapon glimmered in the light on a black belt, and on her right wrist she wore a bracer that seemed to glow softly.  An assassin she was, more a hunter...but with the dark blue clothing and the fact that some light magic might be sensed, hers was a side leaning more towards benevolence.

She stepped past the bar, past a few tables, pausing only to raise a hand in greeting to those who were nearby, and to the one who seemed to own the place...and already she could tell that it was going to be quite an interesting visit, looking over all of the individuals seated there.  The female paused then, hearing sounds of battle from where the Circle was...right, the Circle.  Everyone here would be familiar with it at one point, if they hadn't already, and perhaps so would she.  It was as much in her blood as the others...the anticipation, the adranaline, the thrill, of a good and honorable fight.  One was in progress already.  There was a grin which lightly bared her fangs.  Just in time to watch.

There was a stolen glance at the bar.  People there...she wasn't one much for socialization at first.  With a quick nod to herself, the hooded felid strode towards a table and sat down, glancing over all of those who were in, especially at the very few who were moreover animals as herself.  Then she watched the one playing pool for a bit, before her head turned back to the fight in the Circle, the smirk still on her hidden features.

With a grim expression on his face as his moves parried, Gareeku ducked as Stephen attempted a backflipping kick to his head, wincing a bit as his opponent's foot caught his head slightly.

However, the wolf would react quickly, throwing out a punch aimed at where Stephen's head would be when he landed, using the fist closest to where his opponent would be, before following it up with a powerful kick with the foot furthest away, bringing it round in the hopes of conneting it with Stephen's rib area, before throwing forward a powerful palm attack aimed at his opponent's chest.

The fist was avoided, but Stephen couldn't dodge the foot, being so close to the wall and with nowhere to go. He was thrown aside, and rolled away before Gareeku's palm could connect, and then rose up again. He shot a look to the wolf, and reared back. Red energy crackled around his right fist intensely, gathering. He was going for a one-shot-or-nothing last blow. With the accumulated force and speed, his hand struck out like a bullet, aiming for the wolf's chest...

Stalker called back to the kitchen as he sprouted several arms and mixed up a drink in a blur. "Mne, I need you for a minute."

The oversized mantid came out hurriedly, whistling softly and wiping his lower hands on a white towel. He sported an incongruous white apron tied around his lower thorax. "Yes?"

Stalker handed him a silver tray with a colorful drink on it. "Take this over to the lady, with my compliments," he said. "She could probably use it." He indicated the red-clad figure at the table.

Mne scuttled over to Aisha's table and bowed low, offering the tray with his upper hands while folding his lower ones gracefully. "Welcome. The bartender sends his compliments," he whistled to her.

Stalker's attention was back on the fight, and he nodded in appreciation of Stephen's gutsy move. "He's got balls, that one." he said, ignoring the frown as Risky shot him a look.

Watching Stephen rear back and begin to gather energy, Gareeku did the same, his fist burning bright with white flame as the wolf gathered up soul energy, before throwing it forward as his opponent did, their fists colliding in a violent impact.

The resulting blast tore up the air within the circle, throwing it around like a hurricane, tearing at the clothes of the both combatants. Light flared out, dimming the vision of the two men where they stood, seemingly frozen, as power coalesced between them.
   Then, the light exploded in a visible shockwave, and both of them were flung back against the walls of the circle. The brightness died down, leaving both of the fighters laying, static crackling around them. Stephen was out cold, his clothes torn and part of his visor and armor peeled off. Gareeku didn't look much better for wear, but at least he was conscious.
   In the bar, Stygian made a nod to himself, casually, and took another swig. Then, he placed up two more glasses, put ice in them and some on the counter, and a bottle next to them, and continued in his endeavour to get drunker.

"Victory. Your soul is mine."

This, from the pool player, in an ironic tone. He glances up, grins, and fires off another break, attention, for the moment, apparently back fully on his game.

It was easy to keep one's concentration on the fight...the felid almost wished she were to see it from the beginning.  Both opponents were quite fast, quite skilled, and from where she could see, too stubborn to give up.  Aisha sat comfortably in the chair, resting an elbow on the surface.

After a moment she pulled back a part of her cowl, a black ear swiveling in the direction of the bar, upon hearing someone approaching.  She turned to glance up at the mantis, blinking with a visible eye that was the same shade of crimson as her cape.  The felid took the drink with a nod.  "Hm, thank you," she said in a somewhat deep voice with a light accent, something akin to Hispanic, with a polite smile.  "I send my thanks to the bartender, as well."

Sipping her drink and turning back to watching the fight, Aisha cringed as the violent blows met, and sent the combatants flying straight into the walls.  "...That'll leave a nice bruise or two," she muttered, wondering with suspense as to what the outcome was, only to smirk again as only one seemed to be moving.  Well, there's one to favor.

Mne bowed to the feline, and headed back towards the bar. As the fight ended in a blinding flash, he cringed away from it, shielding his eyes with a truhand. "Violence, always violence," he whistled mournfully, then scuttled off into the kitchen.

Stalker nodded as the fight ended. "Good duel." He turned to Stygian. "Your speedy friend is quite a combatant. There should be a repair station somewhere around here if he needs it."

Risky reached over the bar and snagged the medkit. "They'll both need this. Where the hell is your healer, Stalker? Did you eat it again?" Without waiting for an answer she headed towards the circle, tossing the stub of her cigarette onto the sand outside.

Stygian laughed, and slapped another empty glass down on the counter. He grabbed a bottle, and speedily began filling it up again. His speech was just the slightest bit off when he spoke.
   "Aw, psh. Don't mind him. Steph heals about as fast as he runs, and a medkit doesn't help much unless you're mostly organic. Me, I'm surprised he didn't decide to just go round in circles until the wolf was tired. But he is hasty too..." he said, and chuckled. Then, another swig, more pouring in...

"Ugh!!" the wolf had exclaimed upon being thrown against the edge of the circle from the shockwave of the impact, landing hard on his front on the floor. For a couple of minutes the two fighters laid there motionless. However, one of them was still conscious. Using the edge of the circle as something to lean against, Gareeku slowly but surely got back onto his feet, panting hard. His clothes were for the most part ripped, exposing his white furred athletically built torso and parts of his legs, all of it which sported various cuts and bruises.

Looking down at the unconscious Stephen, the wolf staggered over to where he lay and, with much effort, picked him over, putting one of the man's arms over his shoulder and making his way with him out of the circle.

Cog frowned at Stygian and raised an eyebrow. "It's not going anywhere, good sir. Keep drinking like that and you'll likely not be able to sit there very much longer." he said, sipping his drink. Giles simply laughed at him and patted Styg on the shoulder. "Feh. Sebastian here can hold your liquor, right boy?" He slapped Stygian on the back and continued smoking his pipe. Cog shook his head and leaned back in his chair.
"It would seem the wolf was much more formidable than we thought..." he said. He grinned, and took out about two or three silver coins from the inside of his pocket. "I think a friendly wager on the outcome of these battles might be in order?"

"'Course I can!" Stygian said, and swigged another glass, then making himself another Red Bull and Jägermeister, and downing that one in a single sweep again. "Though watch your hands, Gil. Back home, when someone touches ya like that, it often has a meanin'. S' I'd usually either have to kill ya, drug ya, or screw ya. Or maybe all three." He chuckled, and poured another drink for himself, and one for Gareeku and another for Stephen, who was slowly stirring. "Well, maybe not that severe, but ya get the point..."
   The man laughed again, and downed about half the glass. Moira shook her head, smiled with a mouth, newly formed from her smooth faceplate, and then drank up herself. Then Sebastian took the word again.
   "Nah, I'd much rather hurt ya. So what d'ya say, Giles? A fight? I mean, I won't steal time from you 'n Moira. I can wait." The machine-woman chuckled. "Aw, no that, sweets. I promise I won't killim'," Stygian said, smiling. For a moment, there was not a trace of drunkenness in his eyes. "I promise."

Giles raised and eyebrow and took a deep pull of the tobacco. He exhaled, and grinned at the inebriated shade. "I don't know what kind of drunken fist technique you plan to use, but I'm not one to refuse a fight." He grinned wider, and his blue eyes seemed to burn with an inner heat. "But, I don' t know if it would be fair to fight you drunk and tired. A'course, you'll burn the same with or without alcohol...trust me, drunks don't burn much better than sober ones."
  He scraped a single armored digit across the wooden table, leaving a long, black scorch mark. The bitter smoke twisted up and burrowed into the nostrils of those around, whether they breathed in or not. He set his pipe down.
"The lady did ask first. If there is no objection, though..." he said as he turned and grinned at Moira.

Walking up to Gareeku, Risky helped take some of his burden by offering her own shoulder to Stephen. "Here, let me help." She eyed Gareeku's form appraisingly, something a bit more than friendly concern in her eyes. "Once we get him settled in, I'd like to take a look at those. I'm a fair hand at fixing people up." She smiled as they reached a table.

Stalker coughed audibly, then looked at Giles. "A few minutes, if you please. The rather impulsive young lady," he gestured towards Risky, "is right. A healer should be present, and that requires another circle."

He placed one hand on the bar and half-vaulted, half-flowed over it to stand nearby. "Bar's open while I work. I'd suggest no one gets too close until I'm done." He strode purposefully out into the courtyard, off to one side of and nearer than the circle.

From where she sat, Keaton had attentively observed the entire fight, watching every insignificant detail, from the postures of the fighters to their styles of combat. Nothing escaped her sight, everything was stored in that calculating mind of hers for her to prey upon and turn over, almost like how a scavenger would pick on a discarded corpse.

One thing needed no further exploration, though: both fighters definitely needed healers. Smirking slightly, Keaton cocked her head in the direction of Stalker, as though waiting for the command to send in healers. Sure enough, Risky was the first to reccomend it and had walked inside of the ring to assist Gareeku.

With surprising swiftness, Risky was outside of the bar and heading over to the circle to apparently inspect it. Until he got back, Keaton remained on the edge of her seat: she would volunteer next to enter battle, that was, if anybody was willing to enter the arena.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Moira shook her head, chuckling, and Stygian laughed out, lifting his glass a bit and looking around at his fellow patrons. He swigged the drink, and then slapped down the glass upside-down on the counter.
   "A'right then! First one to claim a challenge! The ring is free, an' I'm up, if anybody wants a fight. The winner gets a free wish!" he said loudly, and smiled. Then, he shot an interested look first at Stephen, who was holding some ice to his de-armored head and downing a drink, and then a longer one to Gareeku and Risky. Then he muttered to himself: "Figure we're gonna need a bigger ring later too..."

As he walked out of the circle, The wolf stopped to pick up his cloak and katana before noticing Risky arriving.
"Thanks." he replied with a smile of appreciation. Noticing her look, the wolf turned away slightly, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink as he did so.

Arriving back at the bar, Gareeku noticed that Stephen was now conscious again. Giving Stygian a nod of appreciation and downed it in two large gulps.
"Thanks for the drink." he said to Stygian, before turning to Stephen. "That's quite some speed you've got."

Leaning against the bar, Gareeku looked around, before his eyes stopped as he spotted a figure dressed in a crimson cape...he recognised that figure...

Ardaron simply gave an amused smile at Keaton's impish comeback, and gave a shrug at her comment that most dragons she'd seen were bigger than him.  "Paleon dragons just typically aren't that big," he said, somewhat distracted by the battle.

The dragon seemed to be watching Stephen quite closely throughout the battle.  Like Stygian, the man seemed to possess some elemental ability, but also like Stygian, it seemed to be mixed between multiple elements.  Energy, metal, and agility seemed to all be equal components of Stephen's powers.  It was perplexing to Ardaron that so many people would make use of multiple elements; on Paleon, elemental purity was a goal to be strived for.  Ardaron didn't understand it, and that frustrated him; he narrowed his eyes with a look of concentration as he contemplated how magic might work in this world.

He noticed and nodded to the cloaked panther who entered the bar, but didn't notice the pool player until he spoke.  He glanced at the pool table for a second, then turned back to the battle, remembering to take another bite of his nearly forgotten steak before he did so.  Waste not, want not.

Ardaron showed a look of surprise as Gareeku's and Stephen's attacks created a shock wave.  Both of them showed incredible strength.  His surprise was replaced by worry, as he wondered if they would be okay.  They seemed hurt, but alive.  Gareeku was certainly still alive, and Stephen . . . yes, he was alive too.  Ardaron breathed a sigh of relief.  He had never liked the idea of people getting killed, even if it was someone he hardly knew.

As the cloaked figure spoke up again, Ardaron realized that nobody had yet introduced themselves to her.  And since the battle was now winding down, there was nothing to distract the dragon.  So he said, "My name's Ardaron.  Are you a regular around here?" having noticed that Stalker seemed to know the girl.

As Stephen and Gareeku re-entered the bar, Ardaron commented, "Excellent fight."  Now that he saw the two fighters up close, he saw that they were more injured than he had at first thought.  He got up from his seat, leaving his now-empty tray where his steak had been, and approached the two fighters.  He said, "I have some modest healing ability, if either of you think you need it."

The dragon made it a point to ignore Stygian.  It was one thing to get drunk; drinking was a perfectly good source of entertainment for everyone involved, and Ardaron saw nothing wrong with such an indulgement.  But getting drunk right before a battle?  He was either incredibly overconfident in his abilities, or just plain stupid.  Or perhaps even both.

So, even though Ardaron was thinking of entering the next battle, he decided against fighting Stygian.  He refused to fight a drunk; not only would it be dishonorable to Ardaron, but it would be unfair to Stygian.  Therefore, once again, Ardaron would wait; and hope that perhaps Stygian would come to realize that entering another duel was a mistake.

"Paleon, huh?" Keaton asked, stretching her arms high above her head and cracking her knuckles, apparently busily preparing herself for something in-between talking to Ardaron. She stopped her exercising for a moment to cup her chin in her hand and look thoughtfully up at the ceiling, idly regarding the hooded figure that Ardaron had introduced himself to with a nod, and the stranger playing pool in the background. "I've never heard of those before... this is just a wild guess, and feel free to laugh if I'm being an idiot, but are you from another world? Doesn't seem that far-fetched to me... I've seen weirder stuff.

"'Scuse me for a moment, though."

After stating this, she lifted her finger once more to indicate that she was going to detach her attention from Ardaron for a moment, craning her head toward the drunken Stygian. "Hey, buddy," she said, unable to restrain a roguish smirk, "You seem pretty drunk, so I wouldn't be fighting if I were you... but if you want a fight, I'd be happy to do so," she gestured openly toward herself, jabbing a finger proudly at her chest. "Just be prepared to get your butt kicked."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Upon watching the fighters exit the Circle, Aisha twisted herself around in her seat, taking a sip of her drink while her eyes followed them, tail twitching somewhat idly.  She was thinking about what the next battle would be like...looking around, she wondered even if she should either take or make a challenge...she wasn't one to really make them. 

Now that she could see the fighters up close, indeed she had recognized the winner...as usual, she figured that he would be the one to stay standing, even if he was pretty broken up.  There was a gaze of concern cast, but it wasn't noticed immediately.  She watched the goings-on at the bar for a bit in amusement, before smirking to herself beneath the fold of her hood.  Noble as usual.  More fighters need to be like that.

However, the panthress hadn't gotten in another gulp of her drink before she heard another voice, addressing her, seemingly.  She cast a glance at Ardaron, nodding politely in greeting, but chuckling slightly at his inquiry.  "A regular?  I'm a traveler.  I'm a regular everywhere," she answered cooly, a part of her cowl still pulled to show a red eye enveloped in the shadow.  "But not here, muchacho.  Name's Aisha."

She then watched as the dragon started speaking to the fighters, and that was also when the felid noticed that the wolf's eyes had stopped on her.  She pulled the cowl back to reveal her face, that of a young black jaguar, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with a couple of grey streaks in her otherwise pitch-black hair that were present on the fringe...the rest of it was tied in a braid and pinned beneath her cape, with a bit left to frame her face.

With a grin directed at Gareeku, she raised her hands and clapped.  "Indeed an excellent fight.  Way to show them how it's done."

The man blinked once before looking back at the jackal anthromorph. Then, his face split in a drunken grin that could probably easily have rivalled anything she could have mustered right then, but only for his drunkenness. He arched his head similarily, almost with the tip of his nose against hers and looked her in the eyes, still grinning.
   "Sure then, sweets! It's a deal!" he said, laughed, and turned on the spot. "Jus' you prepare to get yer butt groped!" The statement was followed with the singling of a heavy coin, the starter of a wager. "Ten to one that I can do it in ten!"
   He walked slowly out against the circle, smiling to himself and eyeing Stalker a bit.

   Stephen nodded a bit and snorted.
   "That's quite some power you've got," he said, eyeing the wolf up and down. "Guess it's my fault for thinking I can end everything quickly." Then, he caught sight of the red-caped figure too, and his eyes went across the same direction as Gareeku's. He shook his head a bit, and shot a look to the wolf. "You know this gal?" he asked.

At the sight of Stygian's intoxicated grin, Keaton returned it with as much ardor as she could muster, her undamaged eye glinting with a mischevious shine. Nose to nose, the two stared at each other, Keaton's smirk never fading in the slightest, even in response to the butt-groping comment. She was confident that he wouldn't have the chance to do so--the last person who had done it had been blasted sky-high by a swing from her weapon, Catastrophe, then had his soul stolen.

Then she needed a very long, very cold shower to erase any and all lingering remnants of 'taint' she felt.

"I bet I can kick your butt five minutes before you even THINK about laying your hand on me," Keaton said, pierced eyebrow arched against the other, her fanged teeth bared in a viciously devious smirk, "And 'sides, if you DID, you'd be deader than dead, trust me on this."

She turned her head toward Ardaron, then grinned. "Be right back in a moment, Ard. I've got a fight to win." With that, she leapt out of her seat, grabbing Catastrophe on her way as she strolled over to the ring, the upper half of the mace resting on her shoulder.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Giles grunted and went back to smoking, and Cog raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a laugh. He grinned wide, and took a long pull of his wine.
"Oh, dear lady..." Cog said, swishing the glass around in his hand. "You might be surprised to find your words come true...deader than dead indeed." he said, now laughing in truth. "This should be interesting indeed!" he said, shaking his head. Giles turned to Moira and coughed out a question. "D'you think your pal can fight plastered off his ass?"

Moira waited until Keaton had walked out of the bar before she looked up at Giles with a knowing smirk. She took a sip of her drink before continuing.
   "As far as I know, there have been thirty-seven attempts to poison him, and we're talking deliberately and set up here, neurotoxins, hemotoxins and chemicals. He's got about as much chance as I do to get woozy, even less begin to get wasted..." she said, and grinned.

Stygian walked around the ring half a lap, looking mostly down at his feet and still smiling that off grin. He stepped up into the circle, and then nodded to Keaton with a bit of a glint to his eyes.
   "Righ'. Your call-out, your challenge. You set the rules, sugar. But I don't think you need to mess things up, now do ya...?" he said, and flashed teeth. Slowly, he took the shirt off his t-top and let it fall, starting to straighten and tighten the black wrappings around his hard arms.

Entering the circle, Keaton took her position across from Stygian, preparing herself with a few rudimentary stretches. Weighing her mace in her hand, she said, "What, didn't read the rules? Well fine. We fight until one gives up or is knocked out. No holds barred. And if you INSIST on grabbing my ass, expect to get your head handed to you." Keaton stated all of this almost as though one would recite a shopping list, leaning against the handle of her mace so she could count off on her fingers. "Now," she lifted Catastrophe again, gloved hands squeezing the intricately engraved hilt of the weapon, a smirk spreading along her ebony lips. "Your move."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Ardaron nodded to Keaton; yes, he was from another world.  "You haven't heard of Paleon?  I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  We don't exactly get a lot of visitors."  He was about to continue by mentioning the sixteen types of dragons, when Keaton rose to make her challenge to Stygian.  Oh, good lord, Ardaron thought to himself, This isn't going to end well.

The dragon smirked, suppressing a laugh, at the use of his nickname.  It wasn't the first time his name had been shortened in such a manner, but for some reason hearing it in a place like this amused him.  Or perhaps it was because Keaton already reminded Ardaron of a certain Agility Dragon who was a friend of his; the common use of a nickname served to highlight the similarity even more.  Indeed, it was the irony that amused Ardaron.

Ardaron raised an eyebrow at Aisha's use of an unfamiliar word; muchacho.  But he dismissed it as unimportant, and replied to the panthress, "Pleased to meet you, Aisha."  A salutory nod accompanied his words.

Ardaron's left wing began to itch, and he unfurled it a little, reaching a clawed hand back behind him to find the source of the itch.  Ah, a feather was ready to fall out.  He pulled the metallic golden plume the rest of the way out, looking down at it as he spun it between his fingers, absentmindedly noting how it seemed to reflect a good deal more light than the light that hit it.  What was really on Ardaron's mind, though, was worry for the looming battle.  He tried to dispell his concern by noting that the Wind Dragons of Paleon were quite capable of fighting drunk; some of them had elevated it to an art, even.  But Stygian was obviously no Wind Dragon.  His technique in his earlier duel had involved a good deal of strategy and quick-thinking; a technique which would not mix well with alcohol, Ardaron quickly realized.  Looking up from his feather, he turned his gaze back to the battle, part of him resisting; he almost didn't want to watch.

Then he overheard Moira's words, and smiled with an odd combination of relief and amusement.  So, Stygian was not so dumb as to fight drunk, after all.  He was only faking.  Clever, very clever.  It was too bad Ardaron was not as talented at resisting intoxication as Stygian, or he might be inclined to try the same trick at a later time.

Stalker stepped back from the circle, shaking his head. "Impatient," he said to himself, then moved back to lean against a column.

At the bar Risky brought out antiseptics and bandages for Gareeku. She smiled at him, then began to gently clean his wounds. "You'll be good as new in a few minutes, I promise."

Stygian's grin dissappeared, mildening into a chilly smile. He straightened and turned very precisely against the jackalmorph, a smooth movement that contrasted sharply against how he had just been walking around. Lowering his head, he chuckled. He took word in a voice that was neither drunk, nor human.
   "Inficio Cosmos per Umbra!"
   When he looked up, his eyes had turned a complete, glossless pitch black. Thin black lines began creeping out around his eyes. And around him, from beneath, it was as if the shadows began to gather, to condense...
   Then, things happened very quickly. The whole of the surroundings suddenly dulled in lighting, as if someone had just decided to blot out the sun with grey clouds or slowly turn down all the lights at dusk. Stygian leaned forward a bit, the darkness now slithering and snaking around him taking on more and more form. From his back, a pair of burned feathered wings, their white colour darkened and grayened and black at the tips, spread out, seeming to grow blacker by the second. And then... he vanished.
   It was not so much that he moved, or that he faded, but more that he became one with the shadows of the surroundings. His whole shape went black, and seemed to crumble and break up into the dark. Something moved, yes, a more pronounced black than the other shadows. But there was much more than one of it. And it was all around...
   Then, the shadows behind Keaton writhed for an instant, ripples moving in a way that looked like the light was bending, and in the blink of an eye the darkness congregated behind her, both drawing together from outside and inside her own shadow.
   "Smile, sweets! You've just been pulled..."
   On her right buttcheek, large, long-fingered and clawed, pressing firmly but not too firmly, was the unmistakeable feeling of a hand.

When Stygian's grin disappeared to make way for the new, serpentine smile that crept along his lips, Keaton knew that it was time for the fun and games to end. Her own smile vanishing, Keaton withdrew her body ever so slightly, legs sliding apart, weapon raising and eyes narrowing into venomous slits as they followed Stygian's every movement, even as he lowered his head and bellowed the following words.

Newly-shadowed eyes met dilated, hawk-like pupils, pinpricked from slight bewilderment as atramentous webs began to slink along his face. Keaton took a step back instinctually, pulling her arms back, preparing herself for an incoming blow--

--for a moment, the light that had once suffused the room was completely eclipsed by an unseen force, darkness encroaching in on the room like approaching panthers. They gathered together, white wings--which were quickly growing darker and darker, as though they were drenched by ink--emerging from his back and stretching--

--then he was gone. Keaton froze where she stood, looking back and forth for her seemingly invisible opponent. Ears pinned flat, and teeth grit, she took a step forward, lifting her weapon, unaware of the sudden metamorphosis of the shadows behind her--

--and then she heard his voice, just as a hand rested on one of her buttocks.

Everything else moved almost blindly. Keaton's eyes widened, pupils shrinking down into tiny, ant-sized specks of brown, her jaw dropped, her body gave a series of violent twitches (especially around her eyes, one of which seemed to be bulging out of her skull), and her ears perked. She hadn't expected for him to get the opportunity to do that. She was so confident in her own abilities that she had underestimated his unrevealed skills, and now...

Moving almost electrically, the air surrounding her bristling, Keaton whirled around, iridescent lightning flashing in her eyes like thread-thin chains. White light drowned out the color of her pupils until they were just silvery outlines, pearlescent teeth exposed like glistening knives as she brought her arm back, and with a blood-curdling roar swung it forward, sweeping Catastrophe towards Stygian in a black blur.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

The enchanted mallet struck the man with a force that made the average carcrash look pale, and with a loud and awful sound, his head and much of his neck and shoulder just smacked off. The inside was as black as could be expected, the contours of the stuff inside just barely visible, his spine and some bones jutting awkwardly.
   Stygian's body looked like it had just gone entirely limp, which in fact it had. It fell back in an awkward manner, slumping to the ground of the circle in a pile, seething darkness still slipping out of the enormous open wound where his head and right shoulder used to be. His head itself had been smashed up, scattering into darkness and quickly crumbling black ash and quickly vanishing. Slowly, the darkness trailed around and out from his broken body and wings...

As the loud crack of Catastrophe swinging against Stygian's head resounded, Keaton was just about to erupt into peals of triumphant laughter--before she noticed that the collision did far more damage than she had anticipated.

The sheer force of her swing had gruesomely decapitated Stygian, as well as swept away a good deal of the area beneath, leaving only a few stubs of bone. Keaton took a few, startled steps back, her expression arguably more thunderstruck than it was when he managed to grope her, up until she regained her casual composure in the most violent of situations. She was more than used to seeing and administering such grisly injuries and deaths, but she couldn't hide the disgust and shock on her face from these unexpected results.

Stygian's apparently dead body crumpled to the ground, oozing the same darkness that had saturated his body before. Keaton stood over his corpse, arm lowering as she looked around the room. Her expression was at first unreadable and remained so when she glanced back to Stygian and the disintegrating remains of his head. The shadows around him was starting to spiral in on him, much to her piqued curiosity, despite the person that summoned them being killed...

~Keaton the Black Jackal

The man's corpse lay still, seeping darkness and beginning to crumble into a black, charcoal-like composition, shadows like smoke flowing out over the ground around it.
   Then, as quickly as it had fallen to the ground, the crumbling carcass turned into shadow much the same way as he had before, and the darkness gathered inward. It shot up, grabbing hold of Keaton's arm, as it rapidly drew itself together, regaining an already standing humanoid shape, its large wings, certainly proportionally larger than her own, now bat-like, clawed and leathery and made completely out of the same blackness that twisted around him. Dark, ashen grey skin formed over Stygian's torso and face, almost equally grey hair sweeping out of it as he arced his neck and stared at her right up close with those horrid, empty black eyes, his clawed, darkened hand holding her arm in an iron grip.
   "Boo!"

After a few more, tense seconds of inspection and watching Stygian's corpse decompose into some strange, ashen substance, Keaton grew bored of merely standing there and wasting precious seconds staring at something which didn't matter anymore. No longer fascinated with the odd churning of the vapors and shadows encircling the corpse, Keaton scoffed inaudibly and turned to move away, only for, just on the borders of her peripheral vision, the body somehow became drenched in shadow and lurched to life, seizing her arm.

Eyes widening, Keaton's head snapped around to face the suddenly animate carcass, its body carefully drawing itself back together into a complete, unfragmented shape. Stygian's wings, looming over her, had transformed entirely, morphing from a feathery structure to something almost demonic, sloping out from his back almost like enormous, fanged claws. Pallid grey exuded over his features, dreadful black eyes staring into her own--

"Boo."

And with a startled roar, Keaton swung her opposite arm (which, unfortunately, did not clutch Catastrophe in it) around, hoping to cuff the newly-regenerated Stygian across his face.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

The thing grinned at her, its hand sweeping up and catching her blow with little effort. A pointed, long tongue flashed over razor-sharp, glistening black teeth and gums.
   "That's some strength. Normally, I wouldn't expect that from a woman, regardless of circumstances," it said. The light seemed to ripple and bend around its eyes, like the blurred ring around a growing black hole. It chuckled in that horrid, seething voice. And its skin and the darkness beneath shifted, so that Keaton suddenly found her arms held by dark tentacles instead, while it folded its arms across its chest, some flowing black cloth forming around it in places.
   "I knew that you weren't a doll from the start, sweets," it said amusedly, looking at her with less of a grin now, and more of a still smile. "Of course, so far you're still a toy..."
   Stygian's right hand swept out, and it let her go just an instant before the broad side of its right arm went against her midsection, with it putting strength and weight behind the blow to send her crashing into the barrier on the other side of the ring.

Now that Ardaron knew that Stygian wasn't drunk, he watched the battle with renewed interest.  Watched Stygian disappear, and a hand grab Keaton's bum.  He gave a nervous almost-laugh, but it was almost instantly sucked back into his lungs as a gasp at what happened next.  Keaton swung her mace, and Stygian's head was obliterated!  The dragon stood up from his seat in alarm, suddenly clutching the feather that he still held in his hand, so tightly that the stem snapped.  Then his hand went limp, and he let the feather drop to the floor.

But wait a minute.  Something wasn't right.  As the shock of seeing someone 'die' began to wane slightly, Ardaron's sense of reason came back.  The shadows were still moving, he realized.  And Stygian still felt alive to Ardaron's senses.  Soon, the shade's body began to reform, and Ardaron smiled an approving smile; Stygian sure knew how to bluff.  Apparently, Stygian bluffing drunk had not been enough to teach Ardaron that lesson.  Realizing he was still standing, he glanced at the other patrons of the bar, feeling a twinge of embarrassment as he realized he had overreacted to a false alarm, and sat down again.

The battle continued, Stygian's re-formed hands grabbing both Keaton's arms.  Ardaron began to wonder if the shade could be defeated at all.  Ardaron found himself mentally rooting for Keaton; if she could beat Stygian, it would prove that the shade wasn't as invincible as he seemed.

Keaton felt a growl escape her as her hand was easily ensnared by Stygian, her muscles tensing as she struggled, yanked, tugged, and attempted to twist her way out of his powerful grip. Gritting her teeth, the glow returned to her eyes, flooding them with incandescent electricity in a way almost similar to how the light spread out from Stygian's own eyes. Nearly distracting her from her rage was the feeling of Stygian's body shifting somehow, modifying itself so instead of his hands, a pair of ichorous tentacles were gripping her. Keaton gazed in horror down at the tendrils, straining and pushing to jerk herself free, her glare growing all the more intense as she glowered down at them.

Stygian garnered her attention once more, her still-glowing eyes snapping up to meet his in a panicked rage. Suddenly, much to her shock, she was released simultaneous to a fluid movement of his arm--

--and it hooked right into her, sweeping her right across the arena with a shriek. Keaton slammed against the wall, back arching, muscles clenched, as she slumped to the ground in a shuddering heap. Catastrophe clattered to the earth beside her, rolling a few inches away from the jackal. Keaton groaned and tried to ease herself back onto her feet, still reeling from the lingering pain stabbing at her throbbing spine. Dirty blonde hair dangled like a cowl before her bowed head, concealing her expression thoroughly as it went from agonized, to stunned, then at last to frighteningly murderous.

Purple sparks crackled along Keaton's obsidian-painted nails defensively, bending and twisting like fiery snakes. Bending, serpentine wisps of livid violet danced up her arms, her legs, her tail, until they focused like a spasming web over her spine, which began to ripple and quake erratically. With an undetermined blast of light, a pair of leathery, yellow wings tore themselves loose from Keaton's back, slipping through flesh and fur effortlessly and stretching, free, toward the air with groping claws. Spirals of black covered the muscle and sinew of the wings in a manner similar to the markings on her body, sloping from the fingers of their claws to the tips of the membrane. Shortly after the appearance of their brethren, smaller, petite wings flexed from Keaton's scalp.

Gripping her head, Keaton used the handle of Catastrophe as leverage as she rose to her feet, sweeping her hair back and out of her face. The glow in her eyes, which had extinguished upon collision with the wall, had returned, guttering dangerously until it completely illuminated her face with blinding white light. "Not bad," she said, flashing a wicked, likely forced smirk at Stygian, "But you're going to need to do better than that..."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

With the hit having connected, Stygian moved back over the ground to the ring's edge, the shadows snaking and circling around his feet. He took a simple position, standing just a bit sideways from Keaton, his stance casual and his arms folded across his chest, while his wings shifted and moved to a closer, less unwieldy position.
   Then, he stopped, and looked up as the woman began changing. He could feel the power coalescing off her, feel the concentration of it and the almost electric sensation when her previously held back powers came into action. He had sensed darkness in her before, smelled and felt it, and he had guessed at her power too. But still...
   The fallen arced his neck and bowed his head forward just a little bit, shifting his feet into a more comfortable stance. His expression went from chill, to surprise, to exaltation. And then, when the light in her eyes returned in full force, he laughed with joy.
   "Yes! Spirit. Heart! That, I wish to see," he called, and laughed again. Then, his face settled into that chilly smile again, and he said; "Amoto quaeramus seria ludo..."*
   Then, without warning, his right backwing morphed, and he made a sort of striking motion against the ground with his right hand. The wing swiped down into the stone under him, and his shadow stretched out...
   The next second, he raised his arm in a sweeping motion, and with a series of whipping sounds the surface of the stone erupted into dozens of black spikes, all of them heading straight for Keaton.

*(Jokes aside, let us return to serious matters)

Now on her feet, Keaton stood where she was, shuddering occasionally with her heavy breathing, and the jabs of white-hot pain that assaulted her abused back. The emergence of her wings had numbed the pain, but its slow descent from agonizing to tolerant was torturing her. Some part of her felt relieved, however, that she had endured far worse in the past, while another seethed as it was reminded that there was probably more to come.

Lopsided smirk still on her face, which was bathed in the luminous energy radiating from her eyes, Keaton straightened her posture the best she could and readied her mace. Witnessing her resolve, Stygian's attitude had apparently been uplifted somewhat, as his boisterous laugh indicated. Not long after his declaration, his composure drifted back down to where it was, the icy smile on his maw returning.

His wing twisted itself about as Stygian gestured to the ground, his shadow morphing and convulsing. Suddenly, a torrent of pikes emerged from the earth with a final swoop of his wing, darting right for Keaton. Teeth sinking into her lower lip, Keaton swung her arm around in a wide arc, purple-bruise light surging from her palm. Lightning flashed, thunder crackled and with a sweep of Catastrophe, a massive shell of pitch black energy weaved itself before her, the spikes crashing against it with a collective screech. The surface of the shield buckled slightly, wavering, but it managed to endure the entirety of the onslaught before it vanished altogether.

Hefting Catastrophe, Keaton leapt forward, wings spread and fresh energy collecting in the white symbol carved into the top of Catastrophe's base. Gripping her mace tighter, Keaton swung her arm back around, sparks flinging from the spikes of the mace's globe, then thrust it up into the air. Halos of light pulsed around Catastrophe, concentrating into the very top of the uppermost spike on the club, then contracting once Keaton swept her arm downward. The air surrounding her tensed, retracted--then rushed as a spear of black lightning lanced out, dashing toward Stygian like a crackling pillar.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Stygian snarled shortly when he felt his attack being deflected. Still, he had felt it take, and if he could just apply more pressure... come closer...
   Then, he felt power surge between the woman and the mace. Had he really had vision in this form, one would have seen his eyes dart, his attention shifting for a split second as he made a connection. He had no time to stand around though, before her attack came; a black spike of power, blinding to his senses. He flowed and dashed to the side, using all his speed. Still, he had the upper hand. Still, he could take her out, with just a bit of maneuvering. Separate them...
   The way that Stygian had to move, a substantial part of him still felt some of that blast, the static around it enough to sizzle and surge through the darkness to his core. He didn't pay it any heed though. Trailing darkness and shifting light, he speeded like a bullet to the side and circled up on Keaton. Then, from about fifteen feet away, he nearly stopped and shifted his momentum into his darkness. His wings broke up and morphed into a good dozen large, almost serrated tentacles, blurring through the air as they lashed out at Keaton and her mace, aiming to knock them both very separate ways. Stygian himself almost leaned through the air as he leapt, smoothly moving to do a spinning kick to Keaton herself.

 "Poor dear..." Cog said, his eyes dancing with mirth. "I wonder, has she figured it out yet?" He tilted his head and grinned strangely at the fight, entranced. If she can beat the shade...that would be surprising indeed. he thought.
  Giles sat in stoic silence, alone with his thoughts and his smoke. Looking closely, one could see the fire smoldering in his eyes beginning to catch...and his mouth was beginning to grin involuntarily. He wondered if the shade could even be truly be beaten with such magics...

"Sebastian vs Keaton: Fight!" is heard, quietly, from the, as yet, anonymous pool player, as the two move into the circle. {0} No further attention is granted, although...


After a minute, it becomes apparent that the strokes of the cue are in time with the strikes of the players. As Keaton is bounced off the circle itself, several balls are sunk. Perhaps more attention is there than is immediately obvious. Perhaps... and perhaps not.



{0} Hey, you guys posted this much overnight, I get to throw my moves in when I like.
:mowtongue

Much to Keaton's eternal frustration, the bolt of lightning which had rocketed toward Stygian was swiftly and effortlessly dodged, the electrical spear sailing past and crashing in a glorious flurry of sparks and ripples against the wall on the other side of the periphery of the circle. Angry, but hardly shaken, Keaton pulled back, unaware of Stygian's revelation up until it was too late: with a barely unseen movement within a sudden, tumultuous storm of mixed darkness and light, he appeared a few feet away from her. Keaton's head jerked to the side, struggling to follow Stygian--it was impossible to tell where her eyes trailed after him, as her pupils had disappeared in the glow suffusing her eyes.

Stygian's wings began to twist and morph again, this time taking on the appearance of dozens of razor-sharp tentacles. Narrowing her eyes, Keaton began to lift Catastrophe into a defensive position, simultaneous to the moment the tendrils launched themselves at her. Unfortunately, one of the tentacles managed to snap itself across Keaton's wrist, loosening her grip on her beloved mace. Following a split second after, yet another lashed out and after a quick struggle, both mace and jackal were thrown seperately to the side, Keaton managing to land on her feet a good distance away from where her mace clattered. Snarling, Keaton moved to run to Catastrophe, only for Stygian to go flying at her with a powerful roundhouse kick. Once more, she was caught off-guard, his leg catching into her side and flinging her back, her backside crashing against the ground.

Now unarmed, Keaton rolled back to her feet, concentrating deeply. Suddenly, the tips of her wings began to spasm and twist, shaping themselves almost like clay as they elongated, forming necks, ears, heads...

Within seconds her wings were now sporting several, strangely jackal-shaped heads, each one sporting frilled ears, glassy, brown eyes, and covered in stretching coats of gnarled black, much like their owner's. Each one grit their teeth simultaneously, chattering and snarling at the person who dared to harm their mistress. Looking back and forth briefly, Keaton's gaze landed squarely on the mace discarded to the side, her body reacting involuntarily as her feet started to carry her to her fallen weapon.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

This was it, Stygian thought. If there was any time where it was right to go out with force, then this was it. Moving smoothly, he aimed to place himself next to the mace, before and in the way of keaton. Much like she now called on her full strength for a close-in fight, he too prepared to go all-out, should she decide to attempt to attack him at point blank. Now, much of him hoped she would not. What he had mentioned back in the bar about his techniques was true...
   Behind Stygian, the swirling darkness thickened and intensified as he began calling out the full of it. In short, he was soon immersed in a veritable swamp of tentacles and tendrils, their black surface serrated and shifting. There were maws and heads among them as well, but hardly anything like the jackal heads of Keaton's. They looked more like horrid parodies of black-eyed, skull-like human faces, with long, fanged jaws. And rather than grit their teeth they seemed to scream soundlessly...
   Stygian moved, relatively slowly, amid this mass of darkness. He looked down at Catastrophe, studying the mace, while his darkness moved to cut Keaton off. His fingers flexed, and he readied...

Just as Keaton closed in on the last few feet separating her from her mace, Stygian appeared before her, effectively blocking her from her target. Clenching her fists, Keaton's jackal-headed tentacles reared back on their craning necks and snarled threateningly at Stygian, trilling aloud in sharp, shrill screeches. Out of my way, Keaton's narrowed eyes and bared fangs seemed to say, or I'll tear you to shreds.

This did virtually nothing to faze Stygian, however, who merely prepared himself for what would become the climax of their battle. Distanced from Catastrophe, it seemed as though Keaton was completely unarmed, left defenseless...

But that couldn't be further from the truth.

The spasming darkness encircling Stygian began to churn and thicken into impenetrable, atramentous nothing, transforming itself into a vile, lurid puddle around his body. Tendrils emerged from the mishmash of shadows, containing oddly skull-shaped, horrific faces of some kind, shrieking in an unheard voice.

Keaton folded her arms over her chest and lowered her head, dirty blonde hair falling over her head in a tumbling shroud. Slowly, it seemed as though her surroundings were oozing onto her body, spreading outward from the outlines of her blackened markings like a gooey net of ichorous sable, smothering her in a manner quite similar to how the lines on Stygian's face materialized. Webs of black stretched themselves taut over her wings, the tips of her hair began to dye themselves an obsidian black, and every inch of yellow on her was soon drenched in shadowy ink...

Her wings unfurled from her body, which was now coated from head to toe in nothing but pure, lifeless black, as though she had torn the shadows from the ground and shrouded herself in a palpable blanket. Layers of sable hugged every muscle and curve on her body almost like a second skin, rippling as she flexed and moved, then tightening altogether so it assumed a more stable state. The only source of light on her was the glow of her eyes, and the strange, white outline that had appeared on her right hip, resembling the sigil on Catastrophe, which was now in Stygian's possession, and the carving on her shoulder. Smiling a fanged, serrated smirk of pure, insane malice, Keaton pulled her arms back, the heads of her tentacles disappearing within the rippling expanse of her wings. The tips of the elongated tendrils started to sharpen automatically, as though chiseled away by an invisible stone, sparking with ferocious, livid energy.

She was now ready.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Yet another transformation came over the girl, and Stygian's eyes narrowed. It was the same power, the same person, but... The darkness in her was more pronounced now, much more. He did not know how she hoped to achieve victory this way, but she was sure to have some sort of trick up her sleeve.
   Regardless, Stygian had already let out the full of his own power, that which he controlled. Now, if he needed to be more threatening to make this girl realize that she had no hope of winning if she persisted, he could be so.
   Catastrophe seemed to lift of itself, floating up next to Stygian, carried by the darkness. It was placed just at arm's length from him, and he lifted his hand to touch it, trailing fingers across its surface.
   "How do you think that I earned my power, sweets?" he asked. "Dreaming too many bad dreams?" He laughed sarcastically. Slowly, the claws of his fingers extended, until they were the size of kitchen knives. The razor-sharp edges played over the mace. "I can tear life and magic asunder, both as easily..." What he really meant to say should not have passed her.
   The fiend turned against Keaton, and looked at her with those hollow eyes.
   "You have no hope of winning this, whatever power you bring. The dark is mine."

The pool player starts to sing, quietly, to himself, a little ditty about shades of grey...

"Thank you very much." the wolf replied to the compliments he received from the others as he sat on a barstool, leant against the bar top as he let Risky tend to his injuries. He hadn't noticed up until now, but the injuries he had received in the fight were beginning to make their presence felt through dull aches and pains.

It was then, however, that his attention was turned to the fight. Aisha's and Stephen's words would fall on deaf ears, as the wolf was keeping his full attention on the battle inside the circle. He didn't mean to be rude, but there was something taking his notice. It was Keaton.
There is something worrying about that woman... Gareeku thought to himself, looking on with narrowed eyes as he observed the almost insane expressions that Keaton sported on her face.

"This 'gal' is a friend," the panther answered simply and stood up, having decided to answer for the wolf as his attention was trained back on the fight that was now starting again...he couldn't be blamed, and to her relief at least he was getting his injuries looked at.  She grabbed her drink and finished it in a gulp, then took a seat nearby at the bar and placed the empty glass there with another nod of thanks to the bartender.  "Though I guess here, friends are as much rivals.  You too are to be commended on that fight," she complimented with a polite smirk before following their gaze back to the Circle.

She was perhaps as amused as the others at first about the jackal girl battling someone who appeared to be drunk...but as it started to heat up, Aisha was having some second thoughts about judging the fighters...both of them.  Her eyes narrowed at the hits and misses, dangerously powerful, and at times just plain wierd.  Something tells me that before the day is through, that place is going to look like a tornado went through it.

In the face of Stygian's increasing intimidation, Keaton only continued to grin, her already questionable sanity having deteriorated with her physical state's transformation. White teeth flashed in whiter light between blackened lips, her smile never faltering in the slightest, up until Stygian's statement, in which it fell nearly instantly. Ephemeral eyes followed the movement of her mace as it levitated into the air, hovering beside Stygian's face. Part of her wanted to snatch Catastrophe as it cried out to her, begging to be returned to its mistress--while another presence kicked and screamed within it, rattling at the shadowy cage of the weapon's interior.

Keaton had long learned to ignore that presence, and even enjoy its suffering. After all, 'he' deserved it.

"You know, I was assuming you had earned it the same way I had earned mine," Keaton said in an echoing, detached voice that was no longer hers, seemingly radiating through the air, "Unless you have a story to tell me."

In retaliation to Stygian's elongated nails, Keaton lifted one of her tentacles up before her, its sharpened edge glinting behind the layers of tangible darkness coating it. Once more did the virulent smile return to her face, a grin that was not of benevolence or gaiety, but all poison. She looked protectively at Catastrophe for a moment, watching Stygian's fingers play tantalizingly along the painstakingly carved, gnarled decorations.

"I need to give you some credit, however... I've never fought anybody quite like you," That was all the respect Keaton allowed in her voice. "It'll be a shame to knock you down. We'll have to see who the darkness belongs to."

And with that, Keaton pulled back her serrated tentacles, which all began to gleam with erratically pulsing halos of electric, corrupt energy. Her eyes narrowed, her hands orchestrated the movements of her tentacles, and with a roar, she thrust them forward with as much speed as she could manage, lightning bursting from the surfaces of the tentacles in fluctuant, tempestruous waves.

The time for fun and games was over.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

 Risky finished tending Gareeku's wounds and smiled softly at him. "There we.." Her voice trailed off as she realized his attention was fully on the battle, and turned to see what had him so engrossed.

Her jaw dropped slightly as she saw the transformation Keaton had undergone. In a heartbeat her attention was riveted, and her hands began to tremble. "Oh please, don't let it be one of those..." she whispered softly.

Stalker watched the battle avidly, his eyes glued to the fight. He had stopped leaning against the pillar earlier, and was now tensed, as attentive as a tiger watching a deer edge within range.

Syphon stopped cracking his knuckles, stood, and went to the bar. His face still a mask of cold rage, he grabbed a bottle of beer from behind the bar, knocked the cap off on the rail, and drank half of it in one draught. He went back to his table carrying the beer, and went back to ignoring the other patrons entirely.

Ardaron winced as Keaton was thrown into the wall of the circle.  Now that he had decided to hope for her to win, he didn't like to see her get hurt.  But she seemed to get up fairly quickly, so the dragon relaxed.

Ardaron leaned forward in his seat as more magical abilities began to come into play, Keaton's first obviously magical move being to reveal her wings (Ardaron was far enough away that he hadn't immediately noticed the electric light in the jackal's eyes).  So, Keaton had magical abilities, too.  For whatever reason, this didn't surprise Ardaron at all, although he briefly wondered why she would choose now to reveal her wings, since she didn't seem to be intending to use them.

This didn't occupy his attention for long, however, as the battle was moving along at a rapid pace.  Stygian created black spikes from his controlled darkness, which Keaton blocked with a shield as black as Stygian's shadows.  Keaton responded with a lightning bolt made of darkness that lanced from her mace.  At this point, Ardaron had accepted the fact that non-Paleon magic could combine different elements without difficulty, but he still didn't understand /how/.  Keeping at least some of his attention still on the battle, he decided to amuse himself with a little experiment; the prevalence of multiple-element magic in this world was too much for his curiosity.  He created a tiny sliver of darkness, and tried to endow it with the properties of electricity.  Immediately, the electrical energy separated from the darkness, refusing to do anything more than touch it, and even then, unwillingly.  Both the darkness and the spark of energy Ardaron summoned were tiny, making them easier to work with and harder for the other patrons of the bar to notice, for Ardaron wanted to be able to surprise his opponent when it came time to battle.  The Omni Dragon kept at his experiment for a few seconds, then tried a tiny spark of fire instead of electricity, using an element he was more familiar with.  Still nothing; the two elements stubbornly remained as separate entities, and Ardaron could not make either one take on any of the fundamental properties of the other.  There really was just something fundamentally different about the kind of magic Paleon Dragons used, he decided, as he dispelled the spark of fire and bit of shadow, watching the battle with renewed interest.

He hadn't really missed much; he had kept some of his attention on the fight, so he had seen Stygian dodge Keaton's strike, transform his wings into tentacles, and throw Keaton away from her mace.  As the dragon finished his short experiment, he watched as Keaton's wings transformed, growing heads; followed by a more drastic transformation of her entire body.  He'd never heard of cubi, so he just thought she was an expert at shape-shifting magic.

Stygian looked at the jackal as she seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness she possessed. And he cursed. It was enough that he had been bluffing when it came to the mace, but now the girl seemed to be losing herself to her darkness. And this was all becoming very irritating. No holding back, was that what she was saying? He wasn't holding back. But he hadn't moved yet.
   That was exactly what he did now, at last. Move. The darkness was truly his advantage, after all, despite what she might say. She drew on dark power. Shadows loomed around them. All of it was perfect.
   Stygian's movement was very hard to see. The way that he slipped between shadows, the way he blurred and sped, leaving trails almost like afterimages... The darkness didn't move precisely with him either. It broke up around Keaton's assault, the lightning coalescing off it and Stygian growling a bit at the pain that flared. But nevertheless, it moved along with him, according to his directions. And him with it.
   It took less than half a second for him to move out of position and make the first strike, a tentacle whip to crush Keaton's tentacles from the side. Then, they began coming even faster, an assault from claws, tentacles, fists and feet from all around. He moved with practiced fluidity, mixing elements of Kung Fu with Shaolin Long Fist and Tae Kwon Do. And at the same time, he was lashing at her, barbed whips of darkness not yet formed to spikes, meant to wound and lacerate, but not yet impale or tear asunder.
   "There is a fundamental difference between you and I," he shouted, standing still after a swipe, just before blurring around her again. "You've just taken your power," he hissed, and threw an arm against her with full force from the side, a broad sweep that would have made a car fly. Then, he stopped, and glared at the jackal with dark eyes whose surface seemed to glow like a corona, sheer power condensating around them.
   "I have paid for mine!"

o/~ "thirty pieces of silver, thirty shekels of shame..."

Stygian was moving now, his body blurred and unfocused, trailing behind illusory shades of himself as he sped by. Keaton whirled around to follow Stygian's movements as the darkness seemed to dissolve around her attacking tentacle, its brethren rearing back with barely-contained magic sparking at the daggered tips. Before she could react, Stygian lashed out first, one of his own tentacles smashing against hers, breaking one and returning it to its normal state with one successful hit.

Keaton barely reacted to this reversal, the darkness cloaking her evaporating some of the pain. It was why this was one of her favorite tactics in the midst of battle: it absorbed some of the damage, some of the pain, and helped her fight longer. However, no matter how much speed she possessed, it would do little to help her from the bombardment that ensued. Keaton withdrew, struggling to counter and deflect some of his assaults, but failing--they were just coming too fast, at a rate too unpredictable. A veritable blitzkrieg of tentacles snapped and whipped at her, met with swift stabs and jabs from Keaton's undamaged tentacles.

Several of the hits penetrated her frantic defenses, tearing through the cloak of darkness like it were a carpet of magma, flinging beads of oily substance about. Mingled glimpses of red-stained yellow filtered through the lacerations, only to be sealed back up again by the shell that contained it, which repaired itself quickly, concealing the scratches and gashes that the onslaught of Stygian's tentacles created.

Within a second, Stygian started to blur around her again, only for an unexpected swing of his arm to sweep out, just as her head turned around to face him--

--then it smashed right into Keaton's side, piercing right through the very shadows that enveloped her. Shards of caliginous nothing went flying around where Stygian's arm struck, floating weightlessly for a split second in the air before they disappeared, particle by particle. Keaton herself went flying easily--after all, Keaton only weighed 110 pounds in comparison to a car--and smashed against the wall of the ring. More chips of darkness sailed off of her, deconstructing the skeletal shield that protected her and steadily exposing her body beneath it, as though it were a collapsing jigsaw puzzle. Keaton slumped to the ground, clutching her head with a partially-unshrouded arm, groaning, her tentacles lying limp akin to lifeless serpents around her.

"Auugh..." Keaton moaned, voice as distorted as her physical form. The shadows around the place where Stygian's hit impacted was falling apart, revealing yellow fur dirtied with an ugly, gigantic bruise swelling beneath her skin.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

"Finish Her!" the pool player chuckles to himself...

While still, Stygian's form took on some solidity again, the darkness instead coalescing out from him and forming those wings and tentacles again. He walked slowly over against Keaton, the smile on his face replaced by a bitter, cold stare.
   "I have died for this. And it is all that I am," he said, a statement just as icy as his face, and as horrid as his voice. He motioned with his hand, and threw Catastrophe before the prostrate jackal. "But I'm glad, since there's a lot to be," he murred, some of the smile returning to his face, though not to his eyes. He flexed his fingers with some cracks, still pacing slowly over against her.
   He stopped at about five feet away from her, the dark that snaked around and behind him almost reaching out to her.
   "I can keep this up. So if you wish to continue, please do. But I have proved my point already, so I won't be fighting for fun..." he said, and then just looked, not moving an inch while the darkness seethed and snaked around him.

Near where the rules of combat were written, there was a flash of red light and a sound like fireworks in reverse. Of course, such things rarely happen for their own sake, and so Tock was now standing near the poster on the wall holding an old, musty looking tome.
"Aha! So that's what that spell does! Gabriel will be so pleased that I tested it for him..." He looked around, smiling as he brushed soot off of his suit and face, "Now, whatever did it do?" then, of course, he took note of the poster.
Honor circle? Hmm.... Face cracking into a yet further smile, Tock picked up his bag of spare parts off of the floor where it had fallen after he'd arrived and strode toward the bar, turning gears visibly moving under his jacket.

Keaton continued to lie where she was, cursing fitfully in her head and snarling against the hand that cradled her head. The mantra of expletives that circulated in her mind drowned out everything surrounding her, from the rapid, jackhammering palpitations of her heart, to the jeering of that stranger, and the footsteps of Stygian as he approached. Glowing eyes widening, Keaton's downtrodden head looked up at Stygian, too delirious-looking to appear defiant, or smug, or as insane as she did before.

Catastrophe was flung to the ground before her, the voice she felt radiating from it uttering a low grunt as it collided with the floor. Keaton looked at it for a moment, feeling her rage boiling up inside of her, sizzling up her insides like crawling acid. Narrowing her eyes venomously, Keaton tried to lift her tentacles again, sharpening them down, only for them to fluctuate in and out of their acicular state. It was just too hard to focus, it was as though someone had dragged a giant stormcloud into her head...

Finally, Keaton glanced back down to Catastrophe, her eyes lingering there for a long, decisive moment. She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.

The darkness covering her started to peel off of her, slowly stripping away in massive, foggy clumps. Within a matter of seconds, every trace of shadow had disappeared, revealing the cuts that criss-crossed along her body, and the gruesome bruise on Keaton's hip. With her atramentous armor gone, Keaton curled her back in, her wings beginning to sink into her shoulder blades until they, along with their diminutive spawn atop her head, disappeared completely.

Her transformation finished, Keaton leaned back, stared up at Stygian, and finally said, "You're not a half bad fighter..." she forced a lopsided smirk, obviously as stiff as her begrudging words were. "You win."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Stygian might not have looked it, but he was a bit on edge, until finally the blackness that covered Keaton's skin began peeling back. At the final confirmatory words from the jackal his stone-like face softened somewhat, though it was hard to see in his form.
   The skull-like faces and tentacles that whipped around him began retreating inward, fading away into his darkness at the same rate it slipped back in under his skin, and the shadows of the surroundings lightened. The dull grey of his skin itself spread out over more than just some of his upper body and face as well, cracks of darkness sealing up as it regained a more vivid color, along with his hair, and some darkness solidifying into strips of black, melding together and re-forming his clothes. He walked, as smoothly and silently as ever, up to Keaton, and then bent forward again, reaching down a wrapped arm and hand.
   "You look like you could need some help," he said, and actually smiled. "And you're none too shabby yourself."

As the darkness bastardizing the area started to subside, Keaton took a moment to curb the throbbing irritating the back of her head and the centers of her numerous cuts, more importantly the stabbing sensation that stemmed from the bruise she cradled. She watched Stygian's physical appearance warp back to its normal state, along with the rest of the world around her, with a piqued fascination, too detached by the antagonizing injuries to really observe. Idly, as she inspected Stygian briefly, she wondered if she had actually succeeded in striking him in any way.

Ah well, she would do better the next time. While Keaton could be a sore loser, she could respect a good opponent when she could, and at least conspire to do better the next time--if she lived, that was.

Keaton took Stygian's hand and allowed him to assist her to her feet, cracking her wingless back and shifting her shoulder-blades a little further apart. "Erf. Maybe a little," Keaton admitted, looking at the bruise with a raised eyebrow. "Really clocked me there."

Off to the side, perhaps within or outside of Stygian's vision, one of Keaton's tentacles, sporting a jackal-head, slipped out from her hip just over the belt of her pants and dipped down, scooping up Catastrophe with its maw and returning it to her waiting hand. Just as quickly as it came, the tentacle retreated back into her body, and it disappeared for good.

"Christ, I think I need a beer."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Stalker relaxed from his aggressive posture, realizing Keaton wasn't what he had first thought. He moved with an odd walk off to one side of the circle again, like a man walking through deep mud. He retracted the tendrils he had sank deep into the sandy earth through his feet.
Warping matter inside himself, he began to harness the power necessary to the task at hand.

Nodding to Stygian and Keaton as they left the circle, he glanced up for a moment. "They go unstable when they're scribed. You might want to stay out of it for a bit."

He drew his blade in one smooth, swift motion, and began steadily slicing at the ground. It picked up speed quickly, becoming a silvery blur that arced down to just graze the sand. Runed shapes began to take form, drawn by Stalker's blade, which began to him and glow as it moved as though alive.

The first circle began to flash, bursts of light pulsing outwards from the center as energy was drawn from it. It formed a bluish nimbus in the air, then flowed towards Stalker's blade like swirling smoke drawn towards a fan, sinking into the ground.

With a flare of energy, a second circle rose from the sand. Colored charges began arcing along it with the humming sound of a million maddened hornets. The sand itself glowed and flowed like water, then suddenly stopped as Stalker's sword stopped moving.

The sound died at the same time, leaving Stalker standing next to a second circle, this one seemingly carved from obsidian and giving off a slight greyish mist as it stabilized.

The grey-clad swordsman sheated his sword carefully, breathing heavily as though he had just moved a mountain by sheer will. He turned and nodded to Stygian and the others.

"Go ahead," he said in a weary voice. "It should be safe now."

At the bar, Risky had closed her mouth and watched as Stalker summoned another circle up from the depths. "It never ceases to- Hello?" she said, as she caught sight of the newcomer as he appeared.

Stygian almost picked up Keaton, but decided that she'd neither appreciate it nor need it, so he just slung her arm over his shoulder, and supported her, having to bend a bit to make up for the ten inch height difference. He snorted at her remark about beer, thinking that much better drinks were in order.
   He almost began walking back to the bar, but couldn't keep himself from stopping when the creature that had introduced itself as stalker began working. While the signs were unfamiliar, Stygian's senses and knowledge itself guaranteed that he could make out what was really going on. After all, if there was anything that he knew...
   When Stalker stopped, Stygian whistled a bit. Now, there was some really complex and powerful stuff. And yet, it only seemed to be a link, a small part that tied into a much, much larger chain or system. The kind of thing that would be the result of long and hard research, and much work. It did live up to expectations.
   Then, he quickly turned, and soon he was taking the limping Keaton into the restaurant, helping her to a chair, and then heading for the counter himself.

"Ah! Hello there," Tock said with a jerky bow to Risky as he reached the bar, "It would appear that I'm here to compete in this circle affiar. A pleasure to make your aquaintance," With that, he sat down to wait for the barkeep, "My name is Tock. And yourself, Madam?"

 "Mariska Callan, you can call me Risky." She nodded out to where Stalker was walking back inside. "The circles are out there; if you want a look at one while it's not being used, now's your chance."

Syphon rose from his seat, downed the last of his beer, and strode out to inspect the new circle. He muttered something as he passed Stalker, who stood up straighter and glared with hatred at the young man.

Reaching the bar, Stalker flowed under the divider and back to his usual place. "Young bastard's going to get himself killed someday. Soon, I hope," he said.

Ardaron watched the battle draw to a close, anxiety mounting as he made the firm decision in his mind that he would be next to fight.  No more watching and waiting; he had learned all he needed, so delaying now would be pointless.

However, before the battle was over, Ardaron saw red lights out of the corner of his eye, and heard accompanying crackling noises.  He turned to see Tock, right as the clockwork construct was making his introduction to Risky.  "I'm Ardaron," the dragon said, joining into the introductions that were already being made.

Looking back at the battle, the dragon watched Keaton as her dark armor peeled off, and Stygian helped her up.  Ardaron had been too far away to hear Keaton's concession of victory to Stygian, but it was all too easy to guess who had won.  Ardaron looked a little disappointed, but not very much, and not for long; the jackal had put up a good fight.  It was hard to be disappointed in someone who had done well, even if they had lost.

The Omni Dragon's attention was drawn by Stalker's activities; he seemed to be writing in the sand, for some reason.  As the sand began to glow and liquify, Ardaron realized it was a spell.  A few seconds later, he realized that Stalker was creating a second Circle.

As Keaton and Stygian re-entered the bar, Ardaron commented, "Excellent fight."  He wore a look of concern as he saw Keaton's injuries, but he wasn't going to worry about that just now.  Instead, he stood up, summoning his confidence, and strode towards the nearer of the two circles; which happened to be the original one.  He stepped over its boundary, and turned back to face the bar, using only his facial expression to communicate the message that he was ready to fight.  His wings flared out slightly as his body tensed, preparing himself for the challenge ahead.

Admittedly, Keaton would've had a much harder time walking if it weren't for Stygian's helping hand (well, arm, but let's ignore little discrepancies like that), but even with with his body for support there was an obvious, herky-jerky limp to her gait, a drastic departure from her formerly arrogant stance.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

The Jackal Cubi would've been embarrassed if she weren't too busy focused on drowning herself in alcohol until she couldn't remember the agitation of her wounds--she would probably get those tended very soon, or fix them herself if no medical assistance was provided--and possibly losing any recollection of her name, like she had the last time she nearly drank herself unconscious.

Keaton didn't really learn from mistakes outside of the battlefield.

Stalker had apparently gotten to work, seemingly managing to make yet another circle emerge from the earth. Keaton couldn't help but admire his magical prowess and foresight beyond her astonishment: the presence of another circle would be only practical, as more and more people were trickling into the bar. When helped to her chair, Keaton all too eagerly collapsed in her proper seat, which, ironically, was the very same one she had used before.

"Erf. Thanks for that," she muttered to Stygian, massaging her scalp. "Now if you could magically make a big mug of beer appear out of nowhere, you'd REALLY solidfy your position as my personal hero."

Swerving her stool around, Keaton slumped against the bar, chin resting against the counter, her arms draped lazily over her head. She removed her glasses again by detaching it from the earring the chain of the glasses was connected to, examining the enchanted glass once more for any sign of tarnishment: somehow, Keaton's glasses had managed to blend into her body after her transformation, and it was only thanks to the length of chain that they didn't go flying in the middle of her being knocked around.

Her ears pricked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Head turning to the side, Keaton gazed over at Ardaron with ears quirked, a slightly sleepy glaze to her eyes. "Oh, thanks," she said sheepishly, yet genuinely, as the crooked smirk on her maw attested. She chuckled, "I guess I managed to lose in style, huh?"

Ardaron climbed from his seat and ambled over to the first of the circles, turning around to face the other competitors. Judging by his facial expression alone, Keaton could tell he wanted a fight: and it was obvious that here he would get a good one, as she herself had learned.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Aisha had been watching with as fervent interest as the others, the events of the fight moving on a course none too similiar to the plot of a story...beginning, rising action, a very dangerous climax...there was a grimace at the 'Cubi in particular.  The power wielded was more than just a little awesome in its entirety.  Though as the winner, her opponent had proven himself as dangerous if not much more.  A more impressive display of raw energy she had never seen before.

Her crimson gaze followed them as they came back to the bar, with a polite nod of greeting, she added her own congratulations among the others... "Now that was a performance."  Just as I thought, definitely have things cut out for me, the huntress thought, one hand idly stroking one of the bladed edges of the favored weapon hiding at her belt, as well as trailing a thumb over her sword's sheath.

Then she watched as the second Circle came into being, and she had to laugh inwardly, though with slight intrigue at the way it was built.  That will solve the problem of total obliteration, she thought.

Syphon noticed Ardaron entering the other circle, paused for a moment, then headed over to it. He stopped just outside, glaring at the dragonman.

He tilted his head, the vertebrae in his neck cracking. "Looking for a fight, lizard? Last man standing?" he asked with a sneer.

(OOC: Think it over; I have to go for the night and won't be back for almost 24 hours.)

At the bar, Stalker slid a huge mug of beer to Keaton. "No magic on my part. My kind can't use magic, though if it's there we can trigger it." He nodded out towards the circles. "They respond to technology and energy as well as they do to magic."

"Kind of noticed that, yeah... Must be some power," Stygian said, and hummed, thinking secrets to himself as he quickly swept up a bottle, ice and two glasses; a lower one for himself, and a taller one for Keaton. While pouring, he looked a bit at the panthress. Clearly, her definition of a good battle was much different from his.
   "It was a big, gaudy, excessive piece of damnation, yeah," he said, and looked into her crimson eyes, whipping out his own slim glasses from somewhere and placing the black-framed things on the bridge of his nose. "That's very much different from how a battle should be." He chuckled, finishing pouring the despicable yeasty brew that Keaton had requested, and then took the glasses, walking over to the table and setting them down, then seating himself. Casually, he moved some other chairs out, to indicate that those who wanted to could join in.
   "So..." he then said, turning to the jackal. "Darkness. Where did you get that power, and how? There were some interesting things about that... bolt, earlier."

Sipping the large glass of beer he had ordered from the bar as he watched the climax to the fight with a grim expression, Gareeku was thinking along the same lines as Aisha was; both of them were powerful, and both seemed to be somewhat sinister.
Something tells me those two should have an eye kept on them... the wolf thought to himself as it seemed that Stygian had become the victorious of the two.

"An excellent fight." the wolf commented as the two returned to the bar, nodding his head as he spoke with a smile on his face. Glancing to the side, Gareeku noticed Aisha, or more precisely, the hand stroking her weaponry. Lifting up his eyes to gaze into hers, he slowly shook his head, looking into her eyes with a serious gaze as he did so.

Snapping out of it, Gareeku then sported a smile as he looked at the pantheress.
"It's been a long time, Aisha. How have you been?" the wolf asked. Though he seemed cheerful and calm on the outside, he had kept an ear swivelled towards the others, interested in their conversation about the dark energy that Keaton and Stygian both possessed.

When the mug was pushed over to her, Keaton immediately snatched it up in her hand, once more fishing out some money to pay for it out of her pocket and slapping it onto the counter. Using one of her tentacles once more, Keaton leaned Catastrophe against the counter's edge.

"Thanks," Keaton said groggily, tipping her head back and gulping down a great deal of the copper-hued drink.

She set the mug back down on the counter, wiping away the residue the beer left around the fur on her chin with the back of her leather-gloved hand. Considering how much experience she had drinking, it would probably take her a while before she became as intoxicated as she desired. Not only did someone provide her with the mug, but Stygian took her words to heart and slipped her another, taller drink.

"Hey, thanks!" Keaton exclaimed, scooting the drink a little closer, almost protectively beside her mug, which was now mostly finished. Keaton lifted the mug for the final time and guzzled down the remaining remnants of the beer, pushing the mug away from her once she placed it back down on the counter.

"Hm?" she nearly missed Stygian's question, but the moment she processed it she was more than happy to answer. "Oh, you're curious about that, now? Well..." she idly looked up at the ceiling, folding her arms. "I guess I was born with the potential for Dark Magic, but it was my parents who taught me how to completely harness it. My clan" -- Keaton pointed to the carving on her shoulder, tracing its outline with the blackened nail of her index finger-- "is renowned for their prowess in Darkness."

Keaton puffed up her chest in pride in a manner similar to an inflated, arrogant rooster, as though fondly remembering something. However, it deflated a moment later as she asked casually, "So, what about you? I don't think I've ever seen anybody fight like you did."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

As Aisha watched the Circle, or more appropriately the Circles now, she was wondering who was going to go next, and no sooner than having the words form themselves completely in her mind, the dragon Ardaron had gone to claim the battlefield.  She watched the scene for a moment, thinking that if he went too long without a challenger that she'd oblige...but then someone else had gone in to take the dragon's call.  She leaned her back on the bar with a hum.  Nobody wastes time around here, do they?

When the victor of the last battle had answered her, Aisha chuckled quietly.  "Maybe that's how a battle shouldn't be fought...but then, it depends on the situation, doesn't it?  Nobody was killed, at least," she added, a prospect which she certainly liked, an honorable fight at least without the fear of taking a life or having your own driven from you.

And then finally she turned her head, noticing Gareeku looking in her direction, and giving her a gaze that was very much like him...the wolf had a sort of authority in his eyes, wordless but still effective.  She gazed back to those eyes with a slightly quirked eyebrow and a playful smirk that belonged on the face of a rogue, almost the direct opposite look, for just a moment before taking her hand from her belt and resting it on the bar.  "I've been well, thank you, old friend.  And what about you?  Haven't changed a bit, it seems," she smiled, then ordered another drink while listening to the patrons, and soon what would be going on next in the Circle.

Ardaron gave Syphon a displeased look at being called 'lizard,' but he'd been called worse.  "A fight is indeed what I'm here for," he replied, nodding confirmation to Syphon's terms.  He took a half-step back, getting into a battle-ready posture; ready to react at a moment's notice.  His wings flared out to their full expanse, lifting upward and back, ready to propel Ardaron quickly out of the way when the first attack came.  His horns seemed to be glowing a slightly brighter orange than they had been a few moments before, as well.  The dragon waited for Syphon to enter the Circle and begin the duel.

Stygian chuckled, and leaned back a bit, taking a mouthful before looking down at the table a bit and speaking.
   "I was involved in... a bit of a science project, you could say. Not as much more than a specialist, but..." he said, and chuckled. "Well, I won't bother you with the hard details. Short story is I died, found my nightmares, and then I became this," he continued, and raised a hand, displaying as dark cracks spread over it, and something seemed to move under his skin. He played with the black claws his fingertips had become over his glass a bit, looking at the ice cubes in the amber liquid.
   "I kind of foresook my humanity and the light even before I died, but it was that incident that really turned me into something of the dark. So now, I am darkness and nightmares." He drank a bit more, and then smiled. "Of course, there's a much more accurate and complex explanation, but I think I'd have to draw you quite a few formulas and pictures if you really wanted to know," he said, and then looked a bit at the people in the bar, half listening in on Aisha's and Gareeku's conversation.

Noticing Aisha's reaction to his silent suggestion, Gareeku smirked slightly.
"I can see you haven't a bit, either." the wolf replied, before taking another large swig of his ale. With his ear still towards the others, Gareeku's face did not give anything away, yet he still mulled over the explanations in his mind.

Figures...so she comes from a clan of the dark... Gareeku thought to himself. But that look on her face as she fought...it was almost insane...a little disturbing...that Stygian guy, too...something about him...

After that quick glance, Stygian again turned his eyes to Keaton, and pushed up his glasses, examining her. He would be very surprised if that power of hers could be chalked up to black magic alone. Most things that had that kind of power were more than just hexes and formulas, and darkness had a very nasty tendency to harbor many evil wills. He knew.
   "Your family... You come from a magical world?" he asked her.

Syphon stalked into the circle, almost marching. He stood with his feet planted wide, arms straight by his side, fists clenched, staring coldly at Ardaron. "Last man standing work for you?" he said.

Risky glanced away from Tock to the circle, then swore under her breath. "Stalker?" she said in a voice loud enough to be heard, "ten Cestan credits on Ardaron."

Keaton's rigid facial features twitched into a slight, pouting scowl as her question was either ignored, or unnoticed, but didn't say anything about it. If Stygian didn't want to answer it, it wasn't up to him, and she wasn't going to pry into his family life. If he had dared to do the same to her, she would've done a lot more than simply disregarding him.

Keaton idly scratched at one of the cuts on her arm, which had grown slightly itchy for no real reason. "You can say that," she said, folding her arms before her bosom again. "I'm a Cubi, a Succubus to be specific. We're capable of using all kinds of spells, but my clan and family just specializes in Dark Magic. Guess I haven't really worked on the other basics. We have since we founded it."

Brown eyes shifted for a split second, almost ponderously, up to the ceiling. "It's really no surprise the clan founder was off her rocker."

Snickering, she looked back to Stygian. A black-striped ear lifted inquisitively, then Keaton shrugged her shoulders loosely, nonchalantly, as though what she said was completely trivial. "But what about you?" she cocked her head, examining Stygian curiously from all angles. "Where are you from?"

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Ardaron nodded again, and said to Syphon, "Yes.  May the best fighter win."  With that, he flexed his wings downward, lifting himself off the ground; at the same time, he concentrated on summoning a breeze, making an accompanying upward motion with his arm, and was lifted higher on the updraft.  A few more strokes of his wings, and he was a good ten feet off the ground.  He knew he couldn't stay in the air forever; hovering in place was much more tiring than flying in a particular direction; but at least until he knew his opponent's capabilities, the air was a good place to be.

The Omni Dragon dispelled the breeze he had conjured, relying now only on his wings to keep him aloft, and instead focused on his primary element; Mind.  He opened his own mind, reaching outward for Syphon's.  Sensing the presence of the man's psyche, Ardaron began to look for anything that would help him; particularly any information about what Syphon was, and what he was capable of.  Throughout this, even though the dragon was having to concentrate on his elemental abilities, he knew enough to keep his eyes open and on Syphon; for all he knew, Syphon was as capable of flight as he was.

((If Syphon has good enough reflexes to keep Ardaron from taking off, feel free, and I'll just delete the second paragraph))

Tock looked up in interest. He was rather curious as to what this thing was all about. He'd seen the rules, yes, but that's not the same as witnessing the phenomenon, and he wanted as much info on wherever he was as possible for Gabriel when he got back. Assuming he figured that out, but then, there's plenty of other spells that he didn't know the effects of.
"Barkeep?" he called without looking back from the two in the circle, "Whatever alcohol you have closest in composition to jet fuel. Then, add some real jet fuel until you have a substance capable of dissolving spoons. Add one spoon, a splash of pinapple juice and one of those humorous drink parasols, if you please," He layed out a $20 on the counter, still not taking his eyes off of the two fighters. At this distance he couldn't make out too much detail, but it couldn't hurt to wait for his drink first.

"Dyssea," Stygian said, the name short and uttered softly, with a slight intonation on the 'd'. "It's a war-torn world, mostly. Big place, empty landscapes. Abandoned cities. That sort of thing. Not the kind of place you'd expect to be a civilization at its height, but if you live in a city..." He empties his glass, and took a bottle, pouring some more in.
   "It's a harsh place, I'd say, compared to most I've seen. Beautiful, but harsh. Most don't get by without connections or strength. Some have both and never make it alive anyway." He chuckled at that last statement, and thought back to Keaton's previous question. "That's something that guys like me assure." Now, there was a hint if any.

Cog swallowed the last of his wine, savoring the sweet taste, and let out a sigh. Delicious. he thought, about to relax again, when he jumped in his seat. Giles was looking straight at him, with a diabolical grin on his face. Cog remembered that particular grin.
"I'm not bailing you out if you kill someone." Cog said, and shook his head. Giles left his pipe where it lay on the table, and took three heavy steps towards Moira. He tapped her on the shoulder, his eyes dancing.
"There's a circle left, m'dear, thanks to the grey one there." His grin grew wider still, showing oddly white teeth, and he began to walk towards it. "I'm thinking to claim it a'fore anyone else gets antsy. An' since you were the first to ask to dance, I'm thinking now's the time."

As Ardaron lifted off, Syphon moved. He ran across the circle towards his opponent, reaching the center as he felt a presence in his mind. He literally growled as he crossed the remaining space and leapt up to grab Ardaron's foot.

Ardaron got an impression of an incredible amount of pain and rage boiling from Syphon, along with the name "Stasi", as he felt something leaching the energy from him.

Stalker grinned at Risky, showing all of his teeth. "You're on." He turned to look at Tock, then started mixing up something that fizzed, fumed, and smelled faintly of fuels. "Here you go. Coins only, please." He handed the drink across the bar.

"Terribly sorry," he replied, returning the bill to his pocket and placing a large pile of coins on the counter, "And thank you." He took a long swig of the caustic looking drink that had been handed to him and smiled, "You know, it really is quite hard to find someplace willing to make one of these." He leaned back to watch the show, I believe I rather like this place.

Aisha laughed quietly at Gareeku's answer, taking her own drink from the bar and sipping it.  She gave him a smirk after swallowing it.  "Of course I haven't.  As always, amigo, I couldn't resist the call of this place.  I'm not too surprised to find you here either."  She smiled.

With another sip, she as well kept one of her ears on Keaton's conversation with Stygian.  Her eyes were narrowed slightly...though she wasn't as thoughtful as the wolf was on the way that they were fighting, she still couldn't get it out of her head how impressively dangerous it was.  At least the comments about dark magic could be verified...her tail ring had a steady and slight emerald glow to it upon their return.

But the attention couldn't have been held for long, as another battle started in the first Circle, and her attention was turned to it, though one of her ears was still quirked to the patrons of the bar in case she caught something.  The panther was quite content to watch a few of them first, just to get a feel for how the other fighters worked the ring.

Ardaron was not expecting Syphon to be able to jump that high; in hindsight, he scolded himself for not flying higher.  At the last moment, he tried to move his foot out of Syphon's reach, but he wasn't fast enough, and Syphon's weight jerked Ardaron down out of the sky with a jarring lurch; Syphon was now standing on the ground, holding a still-airborne Ardaron like some kind of draconic balloon.

Ardaron withdrew from Syphon's mind, since he had more important things to worry about right now, and as he did so, he noticed something wrong with his own mental state.  He was losing energy; it only took a second or two to realize that Syphon's touch was somehow responsible, and, somewhat panicked from being taken so off-guard, he followed the first thought that came into his head; FIRE!  A gout of flame flared up in the space between Ardaron's leg and Syphon's grasping hand, and Ardaron tried not to wince; it wasn't like the fire didn't hurt him, but he was in hopes that it would hurt Syphon a lot more.

With Syphon (hopefully) distracted, Ardaron summoned a fierce updraft of wind, filling his wings with the upwelling air.  If Syphon had loosened his grip during the earlier burst of flame, Ardaron might be able to get away, and if not . . . well, then, it was time to see just how much weight those wings of his could carry.

Syphon felt the presence leave his mind seconds after he touched the ground. Before he could take advantage, however, a burst of flame enveloped his hand, setting it alight and charring his flesh.

Gritting his teeth against the sudden pain, he absorbed the fire into himself, the flesh knitting across his hand as he continued to drain the life from Ardaron.

He reached up with his free left hand to try for a better grip, but the sudden downdraft from Ardaron's wings threw him off-balance, his grip on the dragonman's foot the only thing keeping him from falling on his ass. "Get down here and fight like a man!" he yelled, his eyes taking on a dangerous yellow glow.

Stalker watched the battle with obvious amusement as he picked a single coin from the pile that Tock had offered. "This will do fine."

Risky listened to the byplay between Gareeku and Aisha and sighed inwardly. "The good ones always have a past," she thought, "and beautiful ones at that."

"I'll take a Flameout, Stalker...make it a double," she said, moving slightly away from Gareeku to give him space.

The flame-and-fly tactic having not worked, Ardaron tried to think of something else as he continued to flap his wings and focus on creating as strong an updraft as he could manage.  He could feel his mind beginning to cloud over slightly, and he had to resist the growing temptation to simply give up and fall to the ground.  NO!  He had to fight it!  Redoubling his efforts, he managed to lift Syphon off of the ground.  He thought of something, but it would be risky, and incredibly difficult.  And he needed to be higher up; he flapped with all his might, summoning a column of wind that approached whirlwind speeds.  His vision was turning black at the edges, from the combination of physical exertion, mental concentration, and Syphon's energy draining.  But he had to focus; if this worked, then he could rest for a second or two.

Finally, he was high enough; the ground was about fifteen feet from Syphon's feet.  Suddenly, Ardaron dove, straight down.  As he fell, he continued to flap his wings, turning himself in a dizzyingly fast somersault, aided by the wind he had created; as Syphon reached the top of the flip, Ardaron kicked out his captured leg, propelling the man even faster.  Syphon would experience several times the force of gravity, trying to wrench his grip from Ardaron's foot and fling him high into the air.  And, if the man managed to hang on through that, Ardaron was close enough to the ground by the end of the flip that Syphon would be slammed quite hard into the floor.

Exhausted, but not quite beaten yet, Ardaron panted, "Why . . fight like . . a man . . when I'm a . . dragon."

Syphon tried to swing his body to throw Ardaron off-balance, but the sudden whirlwind surrounding him made it all but impossible to do anything but hang on. As his arm and shoulder took the brunt of the punishment, all he could do is drain and heal as his opponent took him for a dizzying ride.

Suddenly, he felt himself at the end of a flip that felt like a giant using him as a whip to crack, and he lost his grip. Flying at the edge of the circle he tried to tumble in mid-air, barely managing to hit the ground rolling.

As it was, he bruised at least three ribs and wrenched his shoulder. They started healing, of course, but the momentary pain enraged him. Worse, he was now at least ten feet away from his opponent as he stood up again, fists clenching.

"Dragon, right", Syphon said as he wiped a trace of blood from his nose with the back of his fist. He shifted his feet into a wider stance, left leg foremost, knees slightly bent. He drew back his right fist at waist-level, then held out his left, palm-up.

With a look of pure, smoldering anger, he flexed the fingers of his left hand in a "come-hither" gesture.

Hearing Aisha's comment, Gareeku smirked once more.
"You read me like a book." the wolf replied with a chuckle. It was then that he noticed the look on Risky's face as she pulled away from him.
"Something wrong?" he asked, concern evident on his face.

After casting an interested look at the wolf and the panthress, and an even more intrigued one at the mechanic construct who appeared out of nowhere in the bar, Moira found herself face-to-face with the towering Giles. Smiling at his words, she stepped down from her stool and looked him squarely in the eyes.
   "Allright. But prepare for this dance to be hard, blackguard," she said and walked back over to fetch the packing she had been carrying earlier, before following the armored man out to the circle. "I don't want you going easy on me either."

Risky accepted her drink from Stalker as Gareeku spoke, then took a long drink from the glass before answering. "Nope, nothing at all," she replied with a smile, then turned as Ardaron slammed Syphon to the ground. Her smile widened. "Double or nothing, Stalker."

Recognizing that staying in the air would be too much drain on his precious energy right now, Ardaron landed heavily on his feet, trying to quickly think of a strategy on the limited information he had.  So far, from what he had experienced, Syphon's touch seemed to be his main weapon; therefore, Ardaron made up his mind to try his best to turn this into a long-range fight, keeping as far away from Syphon as possible.  But Ardaron had already seen that one of his primary long-range weapons, fire, had had very little effect, if any at all.

Time to try something a bit different.  Ignoring Syphon's 'come hither' gesture, Ardaron stayed exactly where he was, and reached into a pocket of his tunic, pulling out a small, transparent blue-green stone.  While keeping his eyes on Syphon and remaining ready to move should he approach, the dragon tried to discreetly focus on the stone, using his elemental power of Earth, and the stone grew, building itself up into a long, thin crystal, which then seemed to split apart of its own accord, giving the dragon a multitude of small, but very sharp, prismic shafts.  He then threw the entire handful, creating a spray of the tiny projectiles.  He was able to steer them slightly with air currents, but he had no direct control of their movement once they left his hand; still, that should be alright, because he only needed for one to hit.

Syphon saw the spray coming at him, and uttered "Aw, shi-" before moving quickly, using his feet and the backs of his fists to try to deflect the crystals as they came.

Even with his efforts, however, several of the shards sliced into him, bloodying his arms and chest and tearing his shirt in several places. Wounded and angry, he lowered his head and shoulders and charged at Ardaron, arms spread wide.

Ardaron felt a small sense of accomplishment as several of the crystals became lodged in Syphon's body.  But it didn't last long, and within seconds Syphon was charging him.  He darted away, using his wings as much as his legs for the needed extra speed, and tapping into his Agility side as well, making time seem to slow down as he put as much distance as he could between himself and Syphon.

As he moved, he was focusing on something else as well.  Ardaron concentrated on the crystals inside Syphon's body, causing them to grow; thickening and branching off in multiple directions as they grew.  It was incredibly slow work; Earth was a stubborn element, and even masters of it could not make crystals grow very fast, and Ardaron wasn't even a purebred Earth Dragon.  It was likely that Syphon would feel nothing at first, but in a few minutes he would start to feel the points of the crystals as they cut him from the inside.  That is, if Ardaron could maintain his concentration that long.

Syphon followed Ardaron around the circle, not even slowing as he followed the dragonman around. He shifted course abruptly a few times, eating up the distance between them bit by bit.

He had nearly caught up with his opponent just as the first set of stinging pains began inside him. "Poison," he said, then lunged forward to tackle Ardaron's legs.

As the fight started between Ardaron and his opponent, Aisha had been following their moves carefully, and from what the panthress had seen so far, the dragon seemed to have some of the advantage...as long as he was in flight, at least.  His control over the elements was the thing that caught her attention.  He's gonna take it, she bet herself and took another gulp.

She had almost forgotten about the other Circle, until she heard and saw the other two individuals making their way across.  The panther still couldn't get over how diverse it was in that place, fighers and personalities from unimaginable corners.

Aisha turned after a second to grin at Gareeku's statement, also to notice Risky moving away, tilting her head, only to shrug as she said nothing was wrong.  She smiled politely anyway, toward the other patrons.  "While I'm here, I forgot to introduce myself as well.  Name's Aisha."  Inbetween words, she glances back to the fight, and finishes her drink.

Tock watched the fight with interest, standing up and moving closer to the windows for a better view. Creative use of magic, and forms that according to my knowledge shouldn't work at all. I heard people mentioning other worlds, but from my understanding "world travelling" was just a matter of causing yourself to be on other sides of the various filters between what we percieve and what reality really is. However, if it's true then the magic used by these people may be entirely alien to what I'm familier with.
I should have brought a notebook.

Ardaron let out a growl of surprise as Syphon tackled him; once again, he had dangerously underestimated his opponent, not expecting him to be able to move so fast.  Ardaron's concentration broken, the crystals inside Syphon momentarily halted their growth, and the dragon went down, managing to catch himself with outstretched arms before he hit the ground.  Having only barely recovered from the earlier energy draining, he felt that same sensation again, and knew he had to do something, and fast.

The dragon twisted around in Syphon's grasp, bringing his claws to bear.  Aiming for his face, Ardaron slashed several times in quick succession.  At the same time, he kicked his legs, taking advantage of any freedom of movement Syphon's grip would allow him, trying to do as much damage as he could with the claws of his feet, as well.  He flapped his wings as he thrashed, determined to escape from the energy leech's hold.  He managed to regain a little of his concentration on the crystals, but their growth was even slower now, since most of the dragon's focus had to be elsewhere.

Syphon felt his opponent twist at the last second, but couldn't dodge the slashing claws. He felt them sink deep into his face, carving ragged slashes through his cheeks and gouging one of his eyes.

Howling in pain, he started to curl into a ball while Ardaron kicked his way free, tearing strips from his chest and abdomen. He rolled twice and came to a rest a few feet away, face down and unmoving.

Freed from Syphon's grip, Ardaron's wings propelled him several feet in the other direction before he saw that his opponent wasn't moving.  The dragon got to his feet and stood where he was, not wanting to approach for fear that it was just a ploy, but not wanting to retreat further or attack Syphon for fear that it wasn't.  He stopped the crystals' growth again, because if Syphon was badly hurt, the dragon didn't want to make it worse.  Ardaron used his Life-based senses to judge how badly injured Syphon really was, almost appearing to be sniffing the air as he did so.

Syphon lay motionless save for his breathing, which was slow and steady. The blood which had flowed from him had slowed and pooled, staining the stone a bright crimson.

At the bar Risky shook her head, then finished her drink. "Another, Stalker. And I think you've just lost your bet."

Ardaron's Life-sense, not to mention his eyes, told him that Syphon really was badly hurt.  He rushed forward, concern written on his face, crouching next to the motionless body, and asked, "Are you alright?"  Even though the answer to such a question was obvious; the dragon was really only looking for any indication of consciousness that Syphon might give him.

Stygian looked up, and shot a glance at the ongoing battle in the circle. He was curious as to how Moira would fare; after all, she did have a tendency to exaggerate certain of her human traits. But the other battle was just as interesting. Not because it was spectacular or because it was that easy to discern just what the both combatants' real strengths were, but because what appeared to be a normal human man thought he could go up against a dragon, however small, and because the dragon wasn't thinking ahead as much as he should have been able to...
   "That one doesn't seem to go very well. I'd watch out, if I were that dragon," he said to Keaton.

Syphon twitched just a bit, then suddenly shot both hands up and grabbed Ardaron by his harness. His face was a mass of healing scars and his left eye was only partially healed back into its' socket, but the look of triumph on his face was unmistakable.

"Gotcha," he said, and willed his power on full, draining Ardaron's life-force at a rate that would knock a human unconscious in twenty seconds.

Tock continued to watch, a slight twitch of disapproval crossing his face. "Faking a forfeight; poor show..." He murmored into his drink as he took another sip, "Poor show indeed."

Angry at himself for falling for such a simple trick, and at Syphon for pulling something so low, Ardaron once again struggled to escape, thrashing and flapping his wings in an attempt to fly away, but his strength was fading fast.  Whatever he did, it would have to be quick.  He had noticed earlier that Syphon seemed to be using Ardaron's energy for himself, which now gave the dragon an idea.  Syphon wasn't the only one who could absorb energy from an outside source.  Quickly, Ardaron focused upon his Death element, reaching out for the souls of all those who had died within this Circle, asking to borrow their strength; someone watching might have seen strands of eerily glowing grey mist snaking their way into Ardaron's body.  It was enough to buy the dragon several extra seconds.  At the same time, he concentrated as hard as he could on those crystals, urging them to grow as fast as possible.  It was all-or-nothing now; everything rested on who could hold out the longest.

Syphon held on tight, feeling explosions of pain within his body as the crystals grew. His body swelled in four places as the crytals grew, and the energy he was draining fought to heal him.

As they broke through his skin he released Ardaron, falling heavily to the ground. On his knees he screamed as his body used his opponent's energy to expel the crystals, blood streaming from four massive holes that sealed over slowly.

Shuddering, coughing up clots of blood, Syphon rose shakily to his feet, the tatters of his clothes hanging from his body. He glared at Ardaron where he hovered unsteadily. "You win," he said through clenched teeth...

...Then collapsed to his knees, the world a grey blur that spun around him.

Tock nodded as the fight ended. Some of this he'd recognised. The calling of spirits, for instance, was a trick he was used to seeing Gabriel perform, seeing as he often had too little power of his own for his purposes. He placed down his drink on a convenient nearby table and applauded. It really had been quite the show.

Shrugging slightly as Risky said she was fine, Gareeku turned towards the fight, only to find it ending with the dragon as the victor. As he had been talking to the others, he had been noticing the fight out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, the wolf glanced at Keaton.

"Excuse me," Gareeku said politely as he walked over to the jackal. "I would like to fight you, when you are feeling up to it."
Gareeku was quite eager to fight the succubus, as part of him wanted to see if that manic personality would emerge in battle once more.

Ardaron was seeing in tunnel-vision, clenching his teeth, fighting off unconsciousness himself when Syphon conceeded the victory.  "It . . . was . . a . . very close . . fight," Ardaron panted heavily, his exhaustion obvious as he put his hands on his knees to rest.  But now that Syphon was no longer draining him, his vision was beginning to clear, and he saw that the man was in an even worse condition than him.  After a moment or two, Ardaron thought he had enough strength back to help Syphon without risking blacking out himself.  He offered the man a hand to help him up and asked, "Are you alright?", this time in earnest.

Syphon shook his head to clear his vision, and ignored the helping hand as he slowly rose to his feet.

"I don't need help," he growled, then staggered from the circle and back to his table, collapsing heavily into his chair.

Stalker said nothing, but placed two coins into Risky's outstretched palm at the bar. She pocketed them, and mimed a curtsey. "I knew he could do it. You've always been to cynical, Stalker." she said. She claimed her fresh drink as well, and wandered over by the pool table to watch the odd furry creature play.

Giles simply smiled the wider at Moira's words, and stepped calmly into the circle. His steps echoed on the stone floor, steady, regular thuds into the rock, and he turned. He grabbed the haft of the spear on his back, and yanked it out of the stone sheath at his hip with a crack. It hissed as it met the air, emitting a foul smell to whoever stood close to it, and he set the glowing tip down in front of him. "You don't got ta worry about me going easy, eh? I got two speeds, slow and fire." he said, his eyes suddenly coming alive. His earlier, sleepy demeanor left, and he seemed suddenly infused with a renewed vigor. He suddenly moved, and slammed the butt of his spear into the ground. Flames erupted from where the stone met wood, fanning out in a small circle and fading away just as fast. He grinned savagely, and waited for her to get ready.

Ardaron stood back to let Syphon get up on his own, saying nothing more, then followed him, walking with heavy steps back to the bar, sighing gratefully as he sat down in his chair again.  He folded his tired wings against his back, as the feathered limbs vibrated from the previous exertion they'd had to endure.  He was quite pleased with himself for his victory, and relieved that the duel was over and he could rest.  "Could I just have a glass of water?" the dragon asked of Stalker.

Ardaron looked over at Syphon, briefly considering whether to try to make conversation with him, or whether to just leave him alone like he seemed to prefer.  But Ardaron's diplomatic instinct to try to be sociable won out over what may have been his better judgement, and he said, "That was quite some power you have, sir.  Our duel could have honestly easily gone either way."

Syphon rolled his shoulders painfully, then turned a cold glare on Ardaron. "It won't happen next time." He turned away and began peeling off the remants of his shirt, wincing as his still-sore muscles moved.

Moira chuckled, and followed closely. He had been the one to ask for this battle. Now, that meant that she could set some rules...
   The moment her booted foot touched the ground inside the circle, it was as if someone had decided to slap a camera objective onto the rest of the world and change the focus. Slowly, the world distorted, and what was outside became... wider somehow. And Moira herself became smaller and smaller in the distance to Giles. When she stopped, three feet within the border of the circle, it seemed about a thousand feet between her and Giles to the both of them. Unseen by the man, she grinned with her once again smooth, mouthless face somehow.
   The crate on her back made a crashing noise as it smashed hard into the ground. Next, she swept off her jacket and top. She was going to need them off for this. Then, she kicked off the latch that held the crate together, and grinned.
   Inside was enough mechanics and machinery parts that the crate must have weighed like a big motorcycle, maybe more. The machine-woman bent down, and wires began flowing out of her arm. The thing powered up, and with clicks and metallic rasps began flowing up and attatching to her back. It took about a dozen seconds until it finally locked into place, two huge cylinder-like power cores and a pair of enormous extra arms on top of some other mechanics and modules now on her back. One of them swung down, landing a long two-pronged conductor to her side and pointing it at Giles, steadying at a lock-on.
   "Burn this!" she said.
   The thing crackled, and then a bright beam of white, purple at the edges and fizzing with electricity, like a solidified shaft of lightning, tore against Giles. The two power cores on her back thrummed.

Giles spun as the blow tore at him, fire spewing up and curling as he turned, the white energy searing the right side of his body. His armor was half-melted, the gold salamander on the front glowing blindingly bright, and it was perhaps that enchantment that saved his arm from destruction. His arm had locked into place where it was, the metal in the joins fusing together, and Giles cursed loudly and vilely at Moira's treachery.
"So, y'think ye can just pick me off, eh?" He said, beginning to run diagonally towards her, his own arm stiff at his side, the other holding his spear tightly. "As ye say! Shoot this!" he yelled, suddenly spinning in a rather strange fashion, until gouts of flame suddenly began to spread from his body and outwards, and yet outwards farther, bathing him and a large area around him in flames. Spinning the spear in one hand, and starting to mumble some old battle-chaunt under his breath, more and yet more fire spread out from him, obscuring his figure and beginning to take the shape of a massive cyclone. The heat emanating from it was terrific, and inside the whirling flames, something else was going on - the fire began to expand outwards, creating almost a curtain of fire. From somewhere unseen within the roiling flames, Giles called to Moira.
"I hope those aren't shot with blackpowerder, m'dear!"

The man began advancing on her, and Moira smiled to herself. He was still fast for being such a big guy. Still, she had the upper hand. She slung back the two-pronged conductor, the lightning cannon folding itself together, and the arms on her back slammed their huge, three-fingered hands into the ground, moving her back along with her legs. The machinery on her back almost seemed to act apart from her humanoid form, folding and reshaping itself, but she moved both with the same precision and skill, preparing to keep her distance from the man in the armor.
   The wall of fire grew closer, and Moira's sensors instantly changed spectrum into the higher ranges of radiation. She still had trouble seeing him in some ways, but she could lock on him very accurately anyway. This time, when she steadied herself, her weapon switched to a six-barrelled monstrum, clacking into place swiftly, feeder cables sliding into its side as if they were alive. She opened up, the barrels whirring around for half a second before it began spewing bullets of energy at him at a minigun-like rate.

The pool player glances up, raises one eyebrow at Risky, lowers it again, and goes back to his game.

He does, however, mutter some pithy epithet about Syphon's reaction to Ardaron, in passing... although under his breath, this time.

Aisha winced as she saw how the fight came to a close, so attentive with it that she didn't know whether anyone had responded to introducing herself.  There was a slight, almost unconscious sneer on her face at how the dragon's opponent had played, deceptive, but tough, at least.  As they came back in, she nodded her congratulations to Ardaron.  I should've bet someone else that time.

It was then that she had heard Gareeku's challenge to the jackal 'Cubi, and her ear quirked in that direction, followed by a curious look.  Now that would be something to see.  With a smirk, though concerned, Aisha turned her head back to the Circle, tilting her head at how the new combatants started.  "There's something you don't see every day," she muttered, regarding the mechanical woman.

Aisha noticed then that finally, one of the Circles was open for the next round.  Smirking, the huntress figured that she'd finally take the chance, after waiting for a while in almost hurtful suspense.  She stepped down from the bar in a sort of enthusiastic leap, her cape flaring as she stepped past the tables and in towards the grand arena.  After a pause, looking it over, she stepped in and threw her cape to the side, taking a deep breath to calm her adrenaline, her eyes closing partially as if in meditation while awaiting a challenge.

Stalker rummaged behind the bar for a second, then came up with a bundle of cloth. He stepped out from behind the bar carrying it and a huge tumbler of ice water and walked over to Syphon's table.

He handed the ice water politely to Ardaron. "Good fight." He turned to Syphon, and threw down a shirt and pants. "Lost and found. Either you or the trash," he said to the mostly naked man. "You don't owe me anything."

He headed back to the bar as a whirling cyclone of flame rose in the second circle. His face shifted, eyes watching the fight as a second set formed to watch where he was going.

No sooner had Gareeku finished speaking when he heard something. Glancing round, he saw that Aisha had decided to enter the circle that was not being used. With a grin, Gareeku gazed on for a second before turning back to Keaton.
"My apologies, but this is an opportunity I cannot pass up." he said apologetically, before turning and making his way to the circle where Aisha was. Looking down as himself, he realised that he was still wearing the same clothes which had been damaged in the previous fight. Removing the tattered remains of his blue top,, though stil wearing his sandals, fingerless gloves and blue pants, Gareeku entered the circle, this time with his katana fastened at his side.

"Finally couldn't resist, hmm?" the wolf said to the pantheress with a playful smirk, stratching slightly to ease up his muscles. "Looks like you want a weapons fight. I won't use any magic. It'll be purely about weapon skill."

Tock raised an eyebrow. As soon as one fight ended, another began. If he wasn't quick next time he may not get any turn at all. He smiled upon seeing another construct involved. And what a construct! And here I thought my sort didn't get angels, he thought bemusedly as Moira fired shot after shot at the blazing Giles. Then again, do angels get miniguns? I shall have to check with Silas.

Aisha quirked an ear at the voice opposite to her in the Circle, with a grin to the familiarity of it.  She glanced up to view Gareeku, her crimson eyes opening and looking as if to mirror the fire in her blood.  She straightened herself with a light stretch, her bracer gleaming in the light, and then nodded lightly to the wolf after listening to his terms, grinning with anticipation.

"Very well, I accept," she answered, laying a hand on her weapons belt...the ice-magic whip she had on her arsenal she decided to do away with for the time being, putting it where her cape was, leaving one long-range and one short-range evenly...her boomerang and her sword.  She decided that since the wolf had only his blade, to be fair she'd use hers only one at a time.

She stood with a ready posture opposite of the wolf, drawing her magic-resistant sword from its sheath, and raising it in front of her respectfully before placing herself in a defense posture.  "The first move can be yours if you wish," she smirked.

Hearing Aisha agree to the terms that he had suggested, Gareeku nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment, before unsheathing the katana at his side, holding it up in front of him in a respectful manner as Aisha did the same with her own sword. Seeing the pantheress shift into a defensive posture as she spoke, the wolf smirked.
"As you wish..." he replied, before making his move.

Without warning, the wolf dashed forward with impressive speed, closing in on Aisha with his eyes locked onto her. Just when it looked he would make an attack head on, Gareeku suddenly darted to the pantheress' side, his leg swinging in for a leg sweep, before bringing his blade up in an upwards vertical slash aimed at her rib area.

Not stopping there, Gareeku immediately began his next move; bringing a knee up and around, hoping to strike the pantheress in the gut, before bringing his blade in for an attempted strike at her chest.

As soon as Gareeku drew his sword and made his move, Aisha was as still as a statue, her gaze unwavering from his movements, keeping track of him and especially his weapon.  She was slowly starting to backstep from his almost-head-on move, when he dashed around to the side before she could move to counter.

Her reaction however was almost immediate.  The panther released her coiled muscles to jump away from the leg sweep, her eyes locked on his blade as he brought it up...she brought hers down to block it, gripping the handle tight with both hands as the metallic surfaces met with an almost-musical CLANG, sparks flying from the friction.  There was an almost slow-motion moment as she was suspended in the air, it seemed, before it was broken by the wolf's next move.

She brought her foot down on the ground just as his knee met with her gut, but short of having the wind knocked out of her for a moment, Aisha used that momentum to flip away from his next attack, barely ducking away from his swing, though feeling the breeze from it as she jumped around to his side.  The panthress took a moment to hold her stomach, taking a few deep breaths before forgetting the pain entirely and letting the energy of battle take hold again.

Aisha darted around his side again in a quick zig-zag pattern, keeping always behind him, so as to hopefully not appear obvious as to where she'd strike next.  She appeared next on his right side, skidding a little on the ground to brake...she then put a hand to the ground and used it to pivot in an attempted swirling kick toward his midsection, before finishing the move with her blade cutting upward in a horizontal slash...

As though to test the name, Keaton repeated the word Stygian had spoken, rummaging through her memory for any recollection of ever having heard of it. "Dyssea, huh?" she asked, scratching behind a flickering ear. "Considering that you compared it to other worlds, I'll assume that you've done a lot of traveling, so to speak?"

That was an interesting thought. Keaton herself hadn't done a lot of dimension-hopping. In fact, this was the only world she had visited outside of her home planet. Still, the connotations that Stygian's words presented made the jackal snicker under her breath. "Not very saintly, are you?"

Attracted to the battle by a particularly loud noise, Keaton turned her head to the side, following Stygian's movement to the center of the match. It seemed that one of Stygian's companions had entered a battle herself, piquing her interest: she hadn't communicated with them yet, being slightly insular in nature. She, too, wondered intently about the outcome of the battle, nearly fully distracted by the blows exchanged to notice Gareeku's approach.

"Hm?" her ears pricked, and she turned her gaze toward the wolf. "Huh? Oh, you wanna fight me?" she smirked, turning the palms of her hands outward as she cracked her knuckles. "Absolutely. I--"

Unfortunately, Gareeku was challenged to another battle by Aisha, another person who Keaton had yet to introduce herself to. "Eh, s'alright," Keaton said casually. "Come back when you're done, we'll fight then." With a slight nod, Keaton turned back to the counter, ordering another beer and passing the money over. Taking the mug, she downed another mouthful from it and looked to Stygian.

"Dang. I was looking forward to another match," Keaton said disappointedly, but shrugged off her misfortune. "Ah well. You think you're going to fight again soon?"

The battle between Ardaron and Syphon concluded with a bang, the dragon emerging as the victor in an unexpected turn of events. Keaton couldn't help but internally cheer for Ardaron's success—after all, the dragon had been rather benevolent towards her, and he had put up an excellent fight. It would've disappointed her greatly if he had lost. Now, however, she had another match to look forward to: the battle between Gareeku, the wolf who had requested for her attention, and Aisha, an unknown pantheress.

Never a dull moment here.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Ardaron took the hint, and shut up, turning away from facing Syphon and towards the two Circles and the rest of the bar's patrons.  He gave a nod back to Aisha, along with a somewhat proud smile.

He took the glass of water, putting a small, dark purple ceramic coin down on the bar.  It could either pay for the water, if Stalker wanted to charge for it; otherwise, it was a tip, for the good service and better entertainment.  He took a drink of the water, pouring it into his mouth and letting it cool his dry throat.

It was hard to decide which battle to watch.  One seemed to have two magic-based combatants, while the other seemed to contain a purely physical duel.  Ardaron's gaze flicked to the magic Circle as he saw the impressive tornado of fire, and the construct's blasts of energy.  He leaned back against the bar, watching more for the sake of enjoyment now, rather than trying to learn anything from the match.

Watching Aisha flip off to his side, Gareeku immediately assumed a defensive stance with his blade, his locked onto her as she began to advance. The wolf could start to feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins; the thrill of battle.

With his eyes trying to keep up with Aisha's movements, the wolf was then thrown offguard somewhat as he suddenly appeared in front of him, not having enough time to block or parry the pantheress' attack. As her foot connected with his midsection, Gareeku jerked forward slightly from the impact, grimacing slightly from the shot of pain resulting from the blow.

However, Gareeku quickly forced his composure back just in time to see Aisha bring up her blade in an attempted slash. Thinking quickly, the wolf brought up his own blade and pushed his opponent's away. To him, these movements seemed to go in slow motion, watching as Aisha's sword grinded along his own as he parried her attack. Not stopping there, Gareeku then spun on the spot, bringing up one leg as the other left the ground slightly, bringing his foot round and intending to strike the back of Aisha's head with a kick.

Stygian kicked back and eyed the wolf with skepsis. He would probably have had a handful with Keaton, if that sword was all he was using. Fortunately, his challenge was retracted, and he seemed to find a more suitable opponent.
   "No, not very..." he responded to Keaton's question. "Guess I was, once. But that proved to be a mistake. And besides, who ever heard of the assassin with a heart?" He laughed. Having another drink, he kept smiling, and looked bemused by the whole conversation.
   "I've collected a few billion frequent flier miles, yes," he said. His voice took on a bit of a bitter tone. "Most of it has been in vain, but I keep it up just in case that I strike luck some time..."

Aisha held her ground as her swipe was parried, her feet and claws digging into the ground while her grip quivered against the blow.  The rush was getting stronger, slowly, more exciting as the match continued.  As her blade was pushed away, she leaped back, though not all too successfully as his foot swung around.

Damn, he's quick, she thought, her mind rushing as she pivoted to catch the blow on her shoulder rather than her head...the pain shot through her nerves, but again it was but an inconvenience as she growled with slight frustration.  Using the force from the kick, she threw herself away to his side, quickly switching hands with her blade and catching herself on the ground, attempting also to catch his foot with hers and trip him with it.

The panther didn't try to stop there however as she took a bit of time to get herself up, swiping again with her sword...this time towards his own blade, hoping while he was caught off-guard to knock it from his hands...

"I don't think I've ever been saintly," Keaton remarked thoughtfully, mouth twisting into a slight smirk at the corner of her sable-outlined lips. She folded her arms behind her head, still managing to regain her balance thanks to a discreetly-concealed tentacle planted in the ground. "You didn't come across as the kinda guy who would be that way, but then again, I've only known you for a few hours, and the majority of it has been of you kicking my ass."

Not readily aware of Stygian's bemusement, but completely comprehending of the acrid tone in his voice, Keaton decided it would be best to tread lightly around this line of conversation, even avert it if she didn't want to get on this his bad side. "You've been traveling for a particular reason?" Keaton ventured, sipping lightly from her beer instead of taking one, mighty gulp.

When Ardaron returned to his seat and ordered some water, Keaton decided to greet him. "Hey!" she said, waving boisterously to him. "Congratulations on th' win!"

~Keaton the Black Jackal

As he finished his string of attacks, Gareeku was then caught by surprise as Aisha grabbed his foot with hers, tripping him as his feet were swept out from underneath him.
Shit...looks like she hasn't lost any of that speed of hers...not to mention that agility... the wolf thought to himself as he quickoly repositioned and landed on one of his hands.

It was then however, that the pantheress came in with a strike with her blade, attempting to knock his own out of his hands. However, as he landed on his feet, the wolf had moved his blade, exposing his shoulder.
It was then that Gareeku felt a deep stinging pain in his shoulder, causing him to breathe in sharply and wince. Looking, he found that there was now a cut from where Aisha had caught him with her blade, his fur being being stained red from the blood oozing out of the wound.

However, Gareeku had no time to think about this; there was a battle to be fought. Regaining his composure, the wolf the advanced, making a stabbing motion with his blade. However, he appeared to miss his target; his sword ended up less than an inch from the pantheress' side. As he did this, however, Gareeku lunged forward, thrusting up his knee in the hopes that the stabbing motion with the sword would provide a distraction as he attempted a powerful knee strike to his opponent's gut. Not stopping there, Gareeku then brought up his free hand, balling it into a fist as he attempted a powerful uppercut to Aisha's jaw, followed up an upwards diagonal sword slash to his opponent's torso.

Aisha grimaced briefly when she saw that her sword didn't take to its intended target, and hit Gareeku instead...she had quickly drawn away then, but the wolf was already on his feet, the wound only a mere distraction from the fight.  There was a quick grin on her face, not a cocky one for having hit him, but one of pride for fighting such an opponent whose resilience was to be admired.

Then, the concentration was back on the fight as Gareeku made his assault, Aisha's sword having been in a defense position while side-stepping around him.  She had been trying to keep track of both his body attacks and the katana now, as by know she knew he utilized both.  At the blade's stabbing motion, which almost put a hole in her shirt, Aisha put her own sword to the side to meet it, the points of metal clanging and being driven against one another...she pushed away on a diagonal angle, missing the knee kick and attempting to make a head-on strike, were it not for the next move...

She clenched her jaw tightly as the fist collided with it, the pain rocketing through her nerves...she let the energy take her, flipping her body up through the air as soon as it hit, hand gripping the handle of her sword tightly.  As she made a hard landing, almost falling to her knees, her eyes caught the sword coming up at her, and she parried it quickly, holding her blade against his with a determined look, blood trickling down her jaw.  Heh, merciless, like always.

With a hard grunt, Aisha pushed off and darted away to his side on one foot, attempting to make a pivoting kick against his knees with the other, while taking her sword handle with both hands and raising it over him, hoping it would distract him so that the hilt could hit the back of his head...

Ardaron, his gaze flicking between the battle between construct and flame master, caught Keaton's congratulations.  He waved back, and said, "Thanks!  I think I owed that particular match about as much to luck as to skill, though."  He said the last part with a slight tone of modesty, as though not wanting Keaton to think he was a better fighter than he really was.

He continued to watch Gareeku and Aisha's battle, the two of them delivering blows and dodging them like an elaborate dance.  Ardaron couldn't help but note how different this duel was from all the battles up to that point; all the other battles had involved magic from both sides, and this one was based on swordfighting alone.

Giles said something unmentionable at Moira's continued, and rather accurate, barrage, and did the only thing he could think of. As the energy bullets whined past his ears and dinged off his armor, each one making the salamander on the front flash brightly, he swung down sharply with his spear, almost in tempo with his movements. Fire raged from his gesture, and the hard stone beneath him bubbled with the heat - and with his other, melted-stiff arm, he clenched the fingers. A gout of fire rushed upwards, and the bubbled stone flowed with it, creating a pile of slag in front of him. Giles grinned - he hadn't really expected that to work.
From behind the stone, his movements began to take on a beat, a rhythm, his spear hitting the ground in time with the movements. The fire around him responded, and began to swirl around him, coalescing around the glowing tip of his weapon...

Two dragons flew over the grey mist, having come through the same portal that Ardaron had used.  One of them flew effortlessly, performing the occasional aerial maneuver to amuse himself, as though having to match pace with the other, slower dragon bored him.  Everything about him was built long and thin; his torso, neck, and tail combined gave him the look of a snake, his long, thin tail waving in the wind.  His skin was smooth, like a dolphin's, but a midnight blue shade, which faded into a periwinkle blue on his underside.  His head was swept back into an aerodynamic crest, which terminated in a dull point.  His snout resembled an eagle's beak, but filled with small, sharp teeth.  His slitted eyes were amber, and as alert as a hawk's, as well as cunning and intelligent.  His wings, built much like the rest of his body, were long, thin, and narrow; unlike those of Omni Dragon, they were bat-like wings, composed of what looked like liquid quicksilver.  Marring their surface were the only indication of this dragon's Fire Dragon heritage; stains of reds and oranges, which seemed to flow across the surface of the wings like fire (whether this was simply a trick of the light, however, was difficult to tell).  He wore nothing more than a pair of tight black shorts, with a strap over his tail.  He was a Flash Dragon, and his name was Ethriel.

Flying below and behind the first dragon was another, who was obviously struggling to stay aloft, as she looked enviously at her friend's ease of flight.  This dragon was the color of polished hematite, resembling a very dark steel color.  Her skin was iridescent, reflecting different colors as the light shone on it in different angles, but the most predominant colors reflected were a forest green and a light orange.  Her skin was smooth, with the faintest outlines of diamond-shaped scales etched onto her hide.  Her skin was jointed at her elbows, knees, wrists, ankles, and finger joints, as well as all along her neck, torso, and tail, allowing her movement, but also giving her the distinct appearance of a living, draconic suit of armor.  Her bat-like wings were likewise jointed, and matching the rest of her hide in color and texture.  Between her wings, two paper-thin, inch tall ridges of skin crisscrossed in diamond shapes, from the back of her neck all the way down her tail, with breaks to allow for the joints in the skin of her back, the ridges shortening and tapering off towards the tip of her tail.  Her forehead sported a twisted, unicorn-like horn that was iridescent to the point of not being able to tell its original color.  Her snout resembled a duck's bill, but much thicker, and lined with formidable teeth.  Her slitted eyes were forest green, and showed her shyness, but also an adventurous curiosity; they also had a certain femininity to them, such that even though the dragon didn't share the typical female build found in humans, you wouldn't mistake her for a boy.  She wore a green cloth tunic and dark blue leggings, and on each wrist she wore a very plain-looking, purple-tinted light silver bracelet.  She was a Mithril Dragon, and her name was Shaera.

"Okay, okay, how about this one," Ethriel said, having paused in their earlier conversation to think.  " 'Your aim is so terrible, you couldn't hit your own body if it weren't attached to you!' "  Shaera merely shrugged in midair, not exactly caring deeply about Ethriel's well thought-out battle taunts.  "Oh, come on!  That's one of my best!  An insult, plus it makes you have to stop and think about it," the Flash Dragon said rather proudly, trying to prod Shaera into talking to him.  He'd been talking to himself, more or less, for most of this time, and he was getting lonely.

His prodding wasn't working.  Shaera was much more focused on staying above the strange mist than on Ethriel's babbling, her wings making a slight metallic scraping sound with each beat.  She wasn't as light as most dragons, on account of her hard metallic skin, and was having to work to stay aloft.  Despite her focus, though, it was Ethriel who spotted what they were looking for first.

"Hey!  I think I see an island-ish looking thing!" he exclaimed, flying in a little loop-de-loop to backtrack to where Shaera was.  "How descriptive," Shaera said sarcastically, to which Ethriel responded, positively oozing sarcasm, "Oh my claws, it talks!"  This comeback turned out to be counterproductive for Ethriel, as it shut Shaera up again, and she didn't say anything more until they landed.

The two dragons touched down on the island in the mist, Ethriel standing on his amber-clawed, monkey-like feet, and Shaera on her silver-clawed wolf-like paws.  They headed to the door leading to the Circle, Ethriel leading the way.  The Flash Dragon looked up at the imposing building and said, "That looks like the place."  He was smiling deviously, a fact which made Shaera more than a little nervous.  Ethriel pushed the door open and walked in, heading to the bar with only a momentary glance at the Circles.  Ardaron was in the middle of taking a drink of water, unaware of the presence of his two friends, when Ethriel spoke.

"There's my little fighter!  Mommy and Daddy are here to see you!" Ethriel said completely unabashedly, the devious grin now replaced by a slightly more sincere-looking one.  It was all he could do to keep from laughing at himself as he introduced himself as the father of someone older than him.  Meanwhile, Shaera stood behind him, eyes wide and looking like a deer in the headlights, utterly confused.

Ardaron immediately started coughing on his mouthful of water, completely taken by surprise both by Ethriel's sudden appearance and his . . unexpected . . statement.  "Ah, don't worry yourself," Ethriel said to the sputtering Ardaron as he came up to the bar, Shaera following behind him, "I'm just seeing if off-worlders are as gullible as they say.  And embarrassing you, that's always a perk."  He looked around the bar to see how the various patrons had reacted to his act, grinning like a loon.

When Ardaron had stopped coughing enough to actually talk again, he said, "Yeah, it's good to see you too, Ethriel."  He spotted Shaera and added, "Hey, Shaera."  The female dragon was looking around, quite obviously nervous of all the people she didn't know, and somewhat shakily replied, "H-hey, Ardaron."

As the two of them took their seats at the bar, Ardaron politely introduced them to the bar's patrons.  "Shaera and Ethriel, these are Keaton, Stalker, Risky, Sebastian, Stephan, Syphon, and . . . well, I guess I don't quite know everyone here yet," the Omni Dragon said, pointing at each of the bar's patrons in turn, but blanking when he came to Cogidubnus and the mysterious pool player.  "Everyone, these are Shaera and Ethriel.  Don't mind Ethriel, he only acts like an idiot to throw people off guard.  At least, I'm /fairly/ certain he isn't really one."

Syphon picked up the clothing from the table and got to his feet. Gathering his cloak as well, he walked slowly into the men's room to change.

Something brightly colored in blues and black fluttered in through the front door at high speed, zipping back and forth. It paused for a second, showing as a little blue woman with striped back and blue hair and blurred wings fluttering on her back. Her pupilless black eyes widened as she saw the battles going on in the circles, and she blurred into motion.

Her tiny form arrowed out into the courtyard to describe a blurred figure eight around the active circles, her tiny nose pressed against the invisible barrier that protected those outside from the effects of a duel. After at least nine or ten circuits she stopped, wobbled midair, then zipped inside the bar again.

She flew past Risky, circled the furry pool player twice, then arrowed over to the new dragon arrivals to reach out and touch them, then flew upside-down past Cog to hover before Stygian and make random wiggling motions with her hands that looked like bat wings, then looped three times around Keaton before heading for the bar.

All of this took about five seconds, and you could hear her chattering in a high, excited voice: "Ohheylookthey'refightingoutthere! andinhereissocool!whatchadoin'? areyouplayingpool? whydoyouuseastickwhenpawsaresomuchfaster? ooooooloookdragons! yourscalesaresoosmooth! canItouchthem? heyawolf! woofwoof! batman! lookIcanmakebatwingstoo! wowyourfurissopretty! howdidyougetyourspots? howcanIgetyourspots? doallofyourkindhavespots?"

As she finished this stream of words she reached the bar, where Stalker slammed an oversized hand down flat on her. His hand wriggled as she continued to move underneath, and you could still hear her voice rattling on, only muffled.

Stalker sighed. "Wonderful. We have Flits. At least we have a healer."

Tock was astounded at the new arrivals. First dragons, and then what appeared to be a fae! Dragons were rare where he came from, seeing as giant magical lizards, while good at many things, were bad at keeping low profiles. As for faeries... He knew a bit about faeries. He'd had the faerie experience. He waved good naturedly to the dragons and walked over to introduce himself, remembering his drink at the last second.
"Good afternoon to the both of you. I am Tock, one of those fellows your associate here doesn't know," he smiled, slightly, and took another sip of his drink, "I assume you're here to compete? it would appear that both circles are occupied, but at next opportunity would you, good sir," he nodded in Ethriel's direction, "Be interested in a match?" He jumped slightly as Stalker's hand came down on what had seemed to be a fae, but what on earth is a Flit?

Moira couldn't target Giles as easily anymore, yet she still continued her barrage, letting the streams of energy rip and tear into the shield he had set up before him. The two power cores on her back worked in turns to provide cooling and energy for her torrent of fire, and she was charging a second weapon again, one that wasn't as direct as the lightning cannon or this burst cannon, but that packed more of an area punch. Trying to keep back and out of range, she kept firing until about a dozen seconds were left, when she stopped and a solid rod-like conductor within a sort of trap coil swung down beside her...

   Eyeing the two dragons very carefully, Stygian thought that Ardaron probably came from a world where certain magical rules applied all around. Or, at least, for its natives. He wasn't sure about the magical power or concentration, or the hazards of it, but at least it seemed interesting. As did these creatures. He decided that he could probably have a bit of fun with them.
   Slowly, he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, and then he moved slightly as he made white-feathered wings begin to grow from his back. He smiled at the two dragons with one of those sharp grins that he seemed so good at and made a bit of a nod toward them.
   "Pleased to meet you."

Amidst the roiling inferno of flame, Giles let out a laugh. "You can't stay away forever, my dear!" he said, suddenly hafting his spear. "And you can't run anymore!" he yelled, throwing his weapon into the air. The spear arced towards and passed Moria, the weapon trailing fire behind it, leaving a afterimage of flame in the air. It landed with a thunk behind her, the burning tip easily penetrating the stone.
Giles suddenly quieted when it landed, and concentrated on the fire around him, his movements becoming large and broad, and the fire around him responded. His rhythm again changed, almost a meditative tempo – his arm and his body rising and falling in a steady beat. The fire lurched, and the wall of fire suddenly rushed forward, a tunnel of flames heading straight for the spear behind Moira.

Risky watched as Stalker slammed his hand down on the winged woman, then sighed. "Great, time to hide the breakables." She turned back to the pool player, and smiled. "Mind if I join you?" she asked.

Stalker lifted his hand, and the tiny winged woman stood up, brushing at her outfit daintily. She smiled again, her eyes going wide, and she fluttered down the bar to hover in front of Tock.

"Oooo!" she chirped. "Pretty! How do you work? What's your name? Where do you come from? Does your face come off?" She pointed at his face, a look of childish wonder and amazement on her face.

Shit, the machine-woman thought, rearing back with a bitter look on her face. She slammed those arms from her back into the ground, spinning and then throwing herself as quickly as she could away to the side, hopefully far enough that the flames wouldn't warm her heat exchangers too much. She didn't have time to charge up a shield - she had not expected him to be able to reach her anyway, and now she cursed as she paid the price.
   "Right then..." she said to herself, and swore. "I'll just have to make sure he doesn't move!"
   As a part of the fire flashed over her, burning over her metallic skin, she locked the conductor into place, and then, with a rapping, sizzling electric sound that ripped the air apart, the thing fired. There was no visible projectile. Rather, its discharge reached its goal nearly instantaneously, a small perfectly round hole being smashed in the fire before an explosion tore up the ground not far from Giles, and sent a shockwave as if from an artillery shell at him.

The moment the Flit entered the room, Ethriel's alert eyes locked onto her; he missed nothing when it came to movement.  His form blurred slightly as he used his Agility, his senses speeding up until time seemed to slow down from his perspective.  He cranked it up until Flit seemed to be moving at a perfectly normal speed to him.  He grinned, as if to say, 'See?  I can do that too.'  He was able to do all of this before Flit had even made it to the Circles.  He watched the Flit's movements, tempted to follow her around just to see who was faster, but decided against it.  Still, he decided he liked the little creature, and as she flew around the room, he asked her, "D'you have a name?", speaking faster than average, but at a speed much closer to normal than the Flit's hyperactive voice.  When the Flit asked to touch him and Shaera, Ethriel held out an arm, indicating that he didn't mind at all.

Shaera, on the other hand, saw little more than a blurred figure except for when the Flit paused.  She watched the moving figure with all the interest of a cat watching a bird, paying little attention to what it was saying.  Interest turned into a slight sense of alarm, however, as the Flit zipped towards the bar patrons and began to fly erratically around the bar.  Shaera leaned back, trying to get out of the way as the Flit came up to touch her skin, and gave a low, barely audible growl to communicate that it might be in the small creature's best interest to stay away from her personal space.

Ardaron merely watched Flit with a slight smile at her cheerfulness and curiosity.  He then heard a different voice, and turned to see Tock, and his face showed that look that people have when they realize that they forgot something.  "I knew I was forgetting someone," he said, having heard Tock's name right before his own battle with Syphon.  In the confusion of the battle, it was no surprise that Ardaron had forgotten it.

Ethriel turned sharply to Tock as the construct addressed him; actually, from his perspective, he turned at normal speed, and it was Tock who was simply speaking incredibly slowly.  Ethriel's form blurred again as he slowed his senses and his movements back down to normal.  "I'd be glad to fight you, metal man.  If, that is, you think you can handle me."  He gave an arrogant smirk and adopted a matching arrogant pose, positively flaunting his blatant ego.

Ethriel nodded back to Stygian.  "Nice to meet you too.  . . Sebastian, right?" he said, thinking for a second before he remembered what Ardaron had said his name was.  Ethriel looked approvingly at the shade's wings.  "You can shapeshift, I take it?  Not bad," he added as he extended his own wings for comparison.  Shaera simply gave Stygian a nod to acknowledge his greeting, saying nothing.

The pool player glances up at Risky, grunts something incomprehensible, nods, and waves a hand, as if to indicate that the current game needs to be completed before he can play anyone else, would Risky mind waiting for a moment.

He leans forward, focuses on the cue, and fires, sinking, in sequence, six or seven balls, before the black ball drops into a pocket, and the white spins to a halt, dead center of the D.

He glances over at Risky, and raises one eyebrow. "You want to rack up, or shall I?"

Tock raised an eyebrow at the speed with which Ethrial moved under normal conditions. Before answering, he raised a hand in a universal guesture for "gimme a sec" and rummaged in his bag for a minute or two, pulling out various small gears which disappeared into Tock's wrists, his neck, anyplace with exposed gears. Of course, this is when Flit chose to buzz by. Taking a couple seconds to mentally sort out what the creature had just said, he smiled good naturedly and replied as he continued with the gears.
"Thank you, by clockwork, Tock, New York, yes but don't try to do so yourself," He clicked one last gear into place, reached around to give his key a couple twists, and continued speaking a little faster than the Flit had been, "Anyotherquestions? Andasforyourinquerygoodsir,Imostdefinatlyplantotry."

No sooner had Gareeku finished his assault, Aisha was on the move again. Seeing her swing in for a kick, the wolf threw out a foot of his own, cancelling out her first move with his own kick. However, the pantheress' distraction attempt worked, as Gareeku stumbled forward after Aisha's strike to the back of his head worked.

Quickly recomposing himself, the wolf whirled around, not knowing if Aisha was continuing her assault. However, if she was, Gareeku held his sword across his body in a defensive style, ready to fend off any future attacks.

While trying to execute her kick, she yelped in slight surprise as she was suddenly tripped by Gareeku and was starting to lose her balance, though at least when she fell that only brought the sword down a little less harder than she had intended...but it hit, which brought a sort of triumphant smirk to the panther's face.

She caught herself with a hand on the ground and instantly flipped back up again, starting to come up with another assault only to notice that the wolf had been ready, pausing with her sword held over her head before quickly bringing it down in front of her.  "Heh, scared you, did I?" she smirked, taking a humorous poke at his defensive position before walking backward a little bit and, surprisingly, taking out her boomerang.  He was at par with her on a close level, such so that it might have been a deadlock.  It was time for a new approach.

Aisha then hopped backwards a few feet through the ring, smirking in challenge...this time, she would see just how good he was at range, and her sword would be only for use as a shield.  "Catch me if you can," she said, flanking him from some feet off, before letting the thing fly...

Giles cursed violently at the earthquake-like shaking and stayed behind the wall of stone. The girl just kept running, just kept shooting. If this kept up, he was going to die, he knew. Growling from deep in his throat, his blue eyes began to smolder, and red points began to fleck the blue irises. "I am the LORD OF ASHES!" he suddenly yelled, the fire around him suddenly raging a superheated blue. "I have destroyed armies! I have brought kings and generals to their knees!" he screamed, the black iron armor softening in the inferno. He bent his arm and shattered the joint on his previously immobilized limb, freeing it, and suddenly brought himself to a standstill. The fire seemed to go of it's own volition, then began to fade.  It didn't matter - it wasn't hurting her anyway. But she could only run so far, after all, and there was certainly more than hot air that he had to throw at her.
He gripped the air in his hands, and deep somewhere beneath the earth you could hear something crack and break. He growled deep in his throat again, and his mouth gaped in a feral grin. He slowly raised each fist, the earth seeming to crack with each inch, and with a terrific roar the earth finally broke, rocks flying up from twin holes in the middle of the arena, followed by terrific gouts of liquid fire. The lava began to pool around the base of the hole and spread quickly, gouging holes in the stone where it flowed.
Giles laughed manically, the red spots in his eyes growing, and fire began to flow and swarm around his body.

Watching as Aisha backed away, Gareeku listened to what she said with a smirk of his own.
"Me? Scared? Please." he replied playfully. It was then, however, that the wolf saw the pantheress reach for her boomerang.
Shit...I don't have any long range attacks that aren't magic... Gareeku thought to himself with slight frustration.

When Aisha let the boomerang fly, Gareeku immediately made his move. However, instead of trying to dodge the incoming weapon, the wolf instead ran straight at it, towards Aisha's position. When the boomerang was at just the right distance, Gareeku jumped up into the air. As he flipped, he slashed out with his sword, the blade colliding with the boomerang in the hopes it would be knocked off of its course and away from him.

Landing back on his feet, Gareeku immediately resumed his run, closing in on Aisha as he brought his sword around in an effort to knock her's out of her hands. He knew that the boomerang would be returning, as boomerangs did, so he needed to be fast...

Aisha flinched slightly when Gareeku immediately parried her boomerang, causing the flying sawblade to be diverted and thrown to the side.  Clever... she thought, her mind racing while she tried to call the boomerang back to her hand and holding up her sword as a shield with the other.

The wolf was fast when he certainly wanted, and caught up to her as she started to zig-zag as a tactic to throw him off.  She was too distracted with trying to control the boomerang's path through the air, however, that her grip on the sword wasn't as tight.  With a CLANG as she tried to parry his blow, her blade flew from her fingers, the tip of his katana nicking her arm.  With a slight hiss, nothing more to acknowledge the pain, Aisha ducked away from him and swerved on the floor, attempting to trip him with her leg and buy some time before running up to catch the boomerang in her hand from behind him.

Whether it worked or not, she was now on the run, her sword lying just behind Gareeku.  She tossed the boomerang around again as a distraction while running to the side and hoping to grab it back...

Feeling a sense of inner satisfaction as he successfully knocked Aisha's blade out of her hands, Gareeku merely glanced at the nick the tip of his blade had caused before continuing. He knew Aisha was a strong warrior, and knew that a little cut like that wouldn't slow her down one bit. With this in mind, a sense of pride of fighting a talented individual welled up within him as he fought.

He would have no time to think about anything other than the battle, however, as out of the corner of his eye he saw the pantheress attempt to trip him. Not having time to react, the wolf was swept off of his feet, before quickly repositioning himself so that he landed in a one handed handstand before flipping back onto his feet.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Gareeku was on the move again. However, he then noticed that Aisha's boomerang was again flying straight at him. However, his flipping would be fast enough, as the wolf felt a stinging pain on the side of his face. Shrugging this off, Gareeku continued to chase Aisha, a line of blood now running down the side of his face where the boomerang had nicked him.

Aisha watched her boomerang's path for just a moment, with satisfaction as it served its purpose of distraction, before she simply left her attention away from it.  She had been dashing around Gareeku, her eyes kept partially on him and on her sword on the ground.  As soon as he had started his pursuit, she dove for her blade, grabbing the handle and rolling on the ground past the wolf and behind him.

She stood to face him with the sword raised, pausing only to lick the blood from her arm, relieved to just stick with close-range as she was winded from running.  She started to catch her breath, the blade held up horizontally over her chest in defense as he came for her, claws digging into the ground.

The boomerang meanwhile had reversed its course and was starting to return, practically diving for them from practically in the wolf's line of vision to his left.

Risky grabbed a cue stick from the rack and deftly began applying chalk to the tip. "You rack; I'll break," she said. "I'd like to get at least one turn in per game." She smiled wryly.

Flit clapped her hands as Tock changed parts and speed, like a four-year-old child watching a magician produce her birthday cake. "Oooooo! Tricks! I like tricks! More tricks! More! More!" she cried gleefully, whirling outwards in a spiral while giggling.

Stalker watched the winged creature flutter and sighed, then focused on the duel in the nearest circle. The man's abilities and talents where fire were concerned were impressive. "Most impressive indeed," he said out loud to no one in particular.

The pool player nods, makes a whatever-ish sort of shrug, and racks up in quick, precise movements, wiping the balls on the nap as each one goes into the triangle, to clear off any speck of chalk that might remain. He finishes up, balances the 8-ball on the top, and places the balls perfectly in place, the black still spinning in the middle.

"Pub rules? First down is yours, spots or stripes, foul is free ball, and sinking both on first is my choice?"

He flicks the triangle up, spinning it jauntily in one paw before slipping it into it's place under the table, and steps back, breezily confident. He bows slightly, waving Risky on with one hand, and stands, with his beer, awaiting her play... and smiling gently to himself.

Watching Aisha move past and behind him, Gareeku was about to whirl round and face her when he saw the boomering whizzing towards him from his left. Baring his teeth in a slight snarl, the wolf quickly swung his sword like a baseball bat would be swung. As the blade collided with the boomerang, sparks were sent out as the metals of the two weapons violently collided with each other, sending the boomerang whirling away where it slammed, and subsequently lodged itself, into the wall of the circle.

Whirling round to face Aisha, a playful smirk was now present on his face as he shifted into a stance, although he was panting slightly from the fight so far.
"Shall we continue?" he said playfully. For a few moments the two warriors stood still. There was no sound, save for the breathing the two warriors made as they stood still.

Suddenly, Gareeku moved; dashing foward, the wol brought down his sword in a vertical slash, hoping to force Aisha to concentrate on that attack as he swept his foot round for a leg sweep, before throwing an elbow forward in the hopes of it connecting with her gut, followed by a spinning roundhouse kick aimed at the pantheress' head.

Aisha watched for a moment as her boomerang was diverted, the sawblade lodging itself straight into the wall.  The energy from the magic of the artifact flashed briefly like lightning before staying still, and then she slowly turned her gaze back with a grin.  The warriors were for the remainder going to fight on an equal stand, which was just fine with her.  While catching her breath, she smirked back in reply to the wolf, her blade flashing in the lights as she brought it up.  "Let's," she said, that one word tinged with challenge.

As he charged, Aisha kept her eyes on him while the flexible muscles in her legs and back bunched up in preparation for whatever he had coming.  She backstepped, sweeping her sword upwards to meet his downward slash as the two metallic surfaces met in a shower of sparks.  With a grunt she started to push the sword away, only to feel her feet swept out from under her.  Dammit, her thoughts cursed...but instead of trying to stay upright after that, she caught herself on the ground as her side was almost flat against it.

She felt the wind from what would have been the blow to her gut straight over her, as well as the kick which narrowly missed her head and made her pulse race...there was a slow-motion moment as Gareeku's kick hung in the air, and at that point, Aisha swept an arm out to try and swipe his remaining leg out from under him, rolling away as he finished his chain of attacks...as the panthress got back to her feet, she rushed forward and made an upward swipe, once again hoping to use her sword to drive the wolf's own from his grip...

When the gouts of flame swallowed Giles up, and the floor split from underneath, the lava rushing out and blinding several of her sensors with its intensity, Moira regretted that she had taken this approach to the fight. She had almost run out of options right now; she didn't want to kill Giles. After all, it didn't seem like people could be resurrected here. A fight to the death...
   The machine-woman reared back a bit, the two arms on her back separating into four ones with a clacking sound, and kept her distance from the flames. She was somewhat out of options. Having charged her shields, she could hope to withstand possibly a minute of bombardment from all that. Then, she'd have nothing, not even layers of ablatives or polymers, to depend on. She had a weapon that she could use, but at this stage she would probably kill Giles and blast herself half asunder as well with it.
   The only solution she could think of was almost being melted by the lava. She sped to the side, beginning to charge up her system heavily, and made some leaps and hops on all of her legs, snapping up the crate and what she had left in it, and rolling to the side. From the crate she pulled a sort of cell, a cylindrical thing about the size of a large fist. She snapped it into a lock on her backside and immediately made an energy transfer that caused her body to strain. Then, she unlocked it, grabbed it with a back-mounted arm, and threw it away, its timer set to two seconds. It flew in a high arc, against Giles.
   Perhaps forty feet from him, it exploded, though not in an explosion as per the conventional meaning. Supercooled hydrogen and lithium swirled around a negative charge in the air that provided both the conductor and the charge for the reaction that was to take place. The humidity was sucked from the swirling air, drying it instantly and forming glass-like crystals that flew through the air at hurricane speeds. All the heat was drawn to compensate for this immense negative overload of freezing cold that appeared for a few seconds.

As Gareeku executed his assault, he looked down as Aisha went to the floor. It was then, however, that he realised he was left exposed as Aisha went to strike at his leg. "...shit..."

Having had his foot swept out from underneath him, the wolf rolled away as soon as he hit the ground. However, no sooner had he got back onto his feet, he saw the Aisha was making an assault of her own. Feeling his sword leave the grip of his hands as Aisha's tactics worked, Gareeku grimaced slightly. It seemed that, for the time being, he was limited to non weapons combat.

However, as soon as Aisha had knocked his katana from his possession, the wolf realised she had left herself exposed. Taking this opportunity, Gareeku immediately threw in a fist towards the pantheress' ribs, before bringing his other arm up in an uppercut aimed at Aisha's jaw. If the strike connected, the wolf would then aim an elbow strike to her gut with his left arm, followed by a hook punch with his right fist and a spinning axe kick with his right heel.

Risky stepped to the head of the pool table and smiled softly. She leaned down for a second to sight along the cue, then placed it between the fingers of her right hand and drew back. "On break, blue in the far right corner." With a deft flick of her wrist the cue ball slammed into the others with a loud crack!, and the solid blue ball went spinning into the far right corner.

Flit raised her head suddenly and arrowed over to the flaming circle, her eyes widening. "Pretty! Bright! Pretty!" She waved her little fingers at the flames as though she had control over them from outside the circle.

The as yet unnamed pool player smiles briefly, nods, and comments "Stripes it is. Play on."


He makes no further comment, deeming such unnecessary, and merely awaits the outcome of the match...

There was a light smirk on Aisha's face when her sword connected with his, the katana flying out over his head.  But it was in that split second, looking at his face, it was almost like she could read his mind on what he was going to do next...and the realization of her mistake was painful.  She jumped as his punch connected, sweat and blood flying away from her body as she let the momentum carry her through the air.  She had barely felt the uppercut take hold soon after, her jaw clenched from the pain as it hit...

By that time, however, the panthress had started to regain her composure, adrenaline coursing through her body like a rapid-flowing river and bringing her reflexes back into focus.  Only having a brief second, Aisha moved the broad side of her sword in front of herself to block his elbow hit, driving it into the ground and using it as a support while she brought an arm up to block his punch...though she could do nothing then to avoid his axe kick but to try catching it.

Relinquishing the grip on her sword, she took a hard blow and almost skidded around on the ground as she gripped his leg while it was in midair, the heel stopping only a few inches from her face.  Seizing that moment, her right leg swept back to drive the wolf's remaining one from under him.  Then, she let go of his ankle and spun in another kick to hopefully trip his hands were he to try flipping back up again...and if that worked, she swung an elbow out to hit his side, followed by clasping her fists together and coming up, swinging them around for a blow to his head...

Risky nodded, then lined up a second shot. "Orange near side pocket, one rail," she called, then let fly. The cue ball moved perfectly, tapping the orange ball into the rail just hard enough that it bounced and tipped into the pocket closest to her.

Smiling and confident, she moved past the other player. "Excuse me," she said sweetly, as she brushed past. He could catch a hint of her scent, ozone and sandalwood, as she lined up another shot. "Red far right corner," she called, then flicked her cue stick into the cue.

The red ball headed towards the corner but barely grazed the striped green. It came to a halt just a quarter inch short, and Risky sighed. "Not enough english. Your table," she said with a shrug.

Flit came fluttering back into the bar, giggling, then started doing barrel rolls that nearly grazed the ceiling above the main room.

As Gareeku began to bring his heel down in the axe kick, he grinned slightly as she grabbed his foot. His pride for fighting a warrior such as her was only strengthened as he thought of the agility and strength that she possessed. It was then, however, that he felt his other foot leave the ground at the pantheress swept it from underneath him.

Falling to the ground, the wolf then planted his hands on the earth to recover, only to then have them swept out from underneath him as Aisha struck at his arms, causing him to fall to the ground in a heap. However, by then Gareeku had recovered from the initial shock of the hits landed on him, and parried Aisha's elbow strike with a fist as he got back onto his feet, before twisting his waist to barely dodge the strike aimed at his head, the wolf being able to feel the slight rush of wind the attemped strike created on his face.

However, Gareeku then immediately seized the chance for a counter attack and so, grabbing one of Aisha's arm, he tossed his opponent about a meter away in a similar to that of a judo throw. Not stopping there, the wolf immediately rushed forward and struck out his right palm in a strike aimed at the pantheress' chest, followed by swinging his left fist in for a hit aimed at her ribs.

Continuing his assault, Gareeku then swung in his right leg aimed at the side of Aisha's knee, hoping to cause her to buckle slightly if the strike connected, before his other foot left the ground and came in towards the pantheress' jaw in the form of a spinning kick.

By now, Aisha was feeling the fatigue of the fight, wondering for a passing second if he was too, though either of them were plainly too stubborn to break from their assaults...the fight had turned from the challenged one, of weapons, to purely physical, yet there were no complaints from either side.  It would continue that way, so be it, even if in the back of her mind she knew this was Gareeku's area of strength.

Snarling with frustration as the final attack of her chain missed, she was only starting to get her wind back when the wolf swiftly grabbed her arm.  There was a slight surprised yelp as she was tossed through the air, though felid regained her composure and pivoted her body so that she could land on her feet...the maneuver was slightly painful however due to the bruise in her midsection from his last blow to it, and she was soon met with his oncoming assault upon touching the ground.  Her red eyes seemed to flash in the light then, saturated with resolve and focus as tight as ever.

As soon as her foot touched the floor of the arena, she watched his fists closely, leaping back on that foot away from his palm and raising her right arm to block his blow to her ribcage, merely causing her elbow to have been driven into her side with the force.  There was a wince, but that didn't stop her...she gathered that force in her bunched-up leg muscles to leap away from the kick aimed at her legs, only tripping slightly as the wind passed beneath her feet.

It was at that moment, in midair, she tried to make a risky counterattack of her own, pivoting and bringing her left foot up to try and catch him right on the side of the head...but then his right leg was coming up to hit her as well, both attacks coming in at once from opposite sides, and seemingly unavoidable.

Aisha didn't know if her kick hit, but she did feel his, and before the panthress knew it she had landed on the ground, hard.  With a groan, she tried to order herself back up slowly, looking to where the wolf was...

The pool player hefts his cue in his left paw, thoughtfully, gazing at the layout, noting the careful way none of his balls are accessible from where the cue ball has ended.

"Let's see. Yellow in the far left corner, blue in the left middle, red in the near right corner, and.. yes, purple in after the yellow. Off the Flit."

He drops the cue into his right hand and fires off a jump shot, just as Flit zooms over the table, before Risky can do more than mutter "... Wait, what?". The cue ball ricochets off Flit, bounces back down off the far end of the table, and spins into the indicated group, sending the balls spinning off - the yellow dropping into the corner first, the blue somewhat slower to roll, dropping into the empty middle pocket, the red rolling slowly into the corner, and the purple bouncing off the other pocket, back across the table, and slicing off the cue again to drop square into the middle pocket.

He straightens up, shrugs sort-of apologetically at Risky, and moves around to take his next shot. "Thirteen in over the three," he says, lining up at the empty pocket...

(edit: Ten/red was already sunk. Continuity error. Non-critical, but annoying. Fixed -> thirteen/orange.)

Risky's eyes were wide after the last shot, and she put her hands on her hips. "That was just mean!" she exclaimed. "...I liked it!" She smiled broadly, as her opponent took his next shot.

Flit was knocked about a foot off course and stopped, spiralling in for a landing on the bar. She staggered two steps, then sat down hard. "Whups!" she said, then stared at Stygian with crossed eyes. "Twins!" she said, and tried to point at both Stygians at once with the same finger.

As Gareeku brought his leg round for the final hit of his assault, he saw that Aisha was bringing up a leg of her own in a counter attack. Not having enough time parry the attack, the wolf quickly throw up his arms in front of him in an x-shaped fashion.

As her kick hit, the force from the blow knocked his arms back into him, knocking him back slightly, before flipping and landing on his feet. As soon as he did so, however, the fatigue from the fight caught up him. Dropping to one knee, Gareeku panted heavily, lifting his head up with some effort to look where Aisha was. He had felt his kick connect with something, but wasn't sure whether it been a block or a successful hit. Seeing the pantheress having hit the floor hard and slowly getting up, the wolf realised, with a slight smile of satisfaction through his panting, that the strike had connecting successfully.

During the pause as the warriors started to recover from the successive blows, Aisha watched Gareeku with satisfaction as he started to falter himself.  Struggling, she started to stand up, only to wince and fall over again while clutching her side with one arm and clenching a sore jaw, with blood trickling down her mouth.  Had the damage not come to hit her mind as hard as it did, Aisha probably would have had the will to get up.

Then she noticed something else...their swords, still strewn around the Circle, and either one or both of which were near the wolf.  She could have had the strength to retrieve hers, but certainly not the time before he could get up again...and with the fatigue catching up, panting hard, it was near impossible.  Going over the angles, the panthress inwardly cursed herself for being foolhardy around such a talented warrior.  Were they to continue, it would have either killed them, or have been a very painful deadlock.  But nonetheless, there was much pride in the fact that it was an honorable fight.

Instead of trying to get up, for her injuries kept that from happening too quickly, she stayed on her knees and bowed her head towards the wolf, a polite gesture of submission.  "Gareeku...I concede.  You've won."

The pool player hums thoughtfully to himself, watching Flit's somewhat erratic path back towards the bar. Satisfied it'd taken no permanent harm from the cue ball, he returns his gaze to the table, and, almost negligently, thwacks the white into the orange striped ball, which shoots away into the far left corner, spins around the rim of the pocket like a ping-pong ball in a draining bathtub, and pops out on the rim... rolls across the end of the table, and drops into the far right corner pocket, behind the three.

He pauses a moment to re-chalk his cue, and glances over at Risky, then smiles quietly, with just a hint of smugness, and states "Fourteen in the right middle pocket."

As Giles wrapped himself in blue fire, the flames forming strange and elaborate extensions to his armor, he shielded his eyes from the sudden bright flash and Moira's canister, and cursed at the odd crystals now descending towards him.
"I don't care what you throw at me, girl! It all burns the same!" he shouted, directing the flames into the whirling crystals. They were a vortex – everything he threw at them, they sucked and and asked for more, and continued their flight unabated. Giles narrowed his eyes at the object and frowned yet more deeply. It wanted more fire? It could have all it wanted. He threw yet more flames into it, another tornado of fire springing up, yet to no avail, all of it being sucked into the now-glowing shards. Giles paid it no heed, and simply threw more and more heat into it. It was not as if he could run out, after all.

As he stayed there on one knee, Gareeku winced as the pain from the blows he had received during the course of the battle started to make itself known. Up until now, the adrenaline in his blood had kept it at bay, but now that the adrenaline was started to die down, so did the resistance against the discomforts. Looking at Aisha, the wolf saw that she was in no better shape herself. He could not help but smirk slightly at the evidence of the effect that his strikes had made.

Panting hard as fatigue also started to make itself apparent, Gareeku listened to Aisha's word. Hearing that she was conceding to him, his eyes widened slightly. It was then that, Glancing around him, he saw why. Both of their swords were lying on the ground nearer to him than they were to the pantheress, the wolf realising that she would not have the time to grab her weapon if he went to retrieve his, or even both.

Forcing himself, with great effort, to stand back on two feet, Gareeku wobbled slightly as his fatigue seemed to try its hardest to prevent him from doing so. On his face, however, rather than a smile of satisfaction that he had won the fight, was a warm smile; a smile of pride for the pantheress only a few meters away from him. She was truely a brilliant warrior, and truely more than deserved the reputation that she had made for herself as an adventurer.

With slightly shaky legs, Gareeku slowly made his way over to Aisha, before helping her up onto her feet, providing himself as a leaning post for her if need be.
"Had circumstances been different, Aisha, I have a feeling you may very well have won that fight. You should be proud of yourself. Your skills are still as brilliant as they ever were." the wolf said as he helped her up, the warm and proud smile still on his face as he looked at her.

Aisha coughed and lifted her head as she awaited his response, observing as he tried to get up again with much difficulty.  She started moving herself, but as the fatigue grew, her nerves were screaming each time she tried.  The winded panther took her rest for the moment, scanning the wolf's face and waiting for the satisfactory look after his victory...and yet she was a little surprised that it held warmth instead.

As he came towards her, Aisha moved her right knee to prop herself up, yet gratefully accepting Gareeku's help while slowly moving back on shaky feet and aching limbs.  She listened to his words while leaning on him and regaining her balance.  In reply she couldn't help but smile back, her usual cocky smirk replaced with something of a sheepish demeanor, on a ragged face that winced with the pain.  "I'm glad that's so.  Yet still, today, I lost."

Straightening herself as much as she could, Aisha stuck out her arm to where the boomerang was still lodged in the Circle's wall, the relic dislodging and flying back into her grip on her quiet spoken command.  Then, she reached out for her sword, only to fall on her knees again, one hand gripping the handle and the other the wolf's hand, before getting up again and replacing both weapons on her belt.  She looked back at Gareeku with the same amount of pride in her eyes as he had for her.  "But it was a brilliant match, and I am honored to have had it with you," she admonished with utmost sincerity, before slumping with a shaky laugh.  "...And now I think we're ready for a break, si?"

Moira watched the negativity pull in all of Giles' flames, consuming them to satiate its enormous energy deficit. Still, Giles' power did not seem to let up, and while she had enough power left to fire a few rounds against him, she hadn't built up a large enough surplus yet to use any of her more powerful weapons. At least, not the ones that did not use solid ammunition, and neither of those was any good if either of them wanted to get out alive.
   She backed up, locking and putting safetys back on, and watched the last of the energy stream die down. Then, she stood down, and stretched her hands out a bit, showing that they were empty just for the sake of the gesture.
   "Allright. Fine. You win," she said, with a sort of bitter humour. "I've got nothin' that's good."

Tock chuckled as the Flit zoomed off, "Exitable little creature, isn't she? However," he continued, removing the gears he'd added, "An oddly perceptive one as well. This is but a trick, and a poor one at that. I can't keep it going for too long, and wouldn't insult you by using it." He raised an eyebrow as the noise from one of the fights ended, with the mechanical woman as the loser. A shame, that. If only she'd had longer to counteract the force he was able to bring to bear... "Well, my expiditious friend, it seems we shall have our chance to discover whether I can keep up quite soon. If you would give me a short amount of time to prepare?" He asked politely as he placed the gears back into his bag with a rattle and reached into it to remove a pair of clockwork hands and a wrench, "A few minutes to ensure I am at my best."

Listening to the pantheress speak, Gareeku smiled warmly once more as he looked at her. With some considerable effort, he then went to grab his sword, putting the blade back into its sheath at the side of his waist. Listening to Aisha's comment, the wolf laughed softly.
"Oh yes, I totally agree." he replied, before helping her walk back out of the circle to the bar. Slumping down on one of the bar stools, Gareeku winced slightly again as the pains from the fight made themselves known once again..

Giles was concentrating on keeping the crystal shards at bay when he heard Moira's exclamation. He quirked his face in confusion, not quite understanding the concept, and then backing up quickly to get out of the way of the falling shards. The flames instantly died down, and even the miniature volcano pouring lava into the arena seemed to suddenly dry. The place would feel like a furnace for quite some time, but the heat had stopped pouring in. Giles face settled from the quirk into a half-smile. He'd been pretty sure of his loss there for a moment, and he turned to run around the now-healing melted stone barrier and run towards Moira, trying to avoid the falling crystals.

With a limping gait, the last thing that the panthress gathered from the Circle was her cape, tying it back around her neck with a few winces as she tried to erase the pain of the blows she had taken from her mind.  The bracer she was wearing helped, but the light healing magic always worked slowly on internal wounds, of which she suspected there were many.  Grateful still for the wolf's help as they walked out, she also helped to support him once some of her strength returned.  Two wins in a row, he deserves a break.

Stepping out of the battle area and back into the main lounge, her eyes swept over the place briefly...there were a few newcomers, and those who still stuck around were scattered.  Aisha released a shaky sigh...at the moment, all she cared about was getting to the bar to rest.  She sat next to the wolf on another stool and slumped her upper body on the table, jaw clenched as she tried not to move too much.

A quick glance was spared back to the second Circle, and she noticed that the spectacular battle there was ending too, and most likely someone was waiting for the opportunity to spring up and take either of them.  The panthress had a quick smirk on her jaw.  "It'll take a crowbar to get me to move..." she laughed, glancing at her former opponent and thinking the same of him.

Stalker nodded to both Aisha and Gareeku, setting fresh drinks in front of them. "Good fight. You're both very skilled."  He watched as Flit got up and walked down the bar in front of him.

She squinted her eyes to get their focus back, then smiled sunnily at Garreku and Aisha. "Heal!" she said, throwing both of her arms forward, palms-out.

The two fighters were both suffused with healing energy in a warm, comfortable rush. Flit grinned, said "Better," then fluttered up above the bar to sit on a ledge, little feet kicking.

Risky watched her partner sink shot after shot with a bemused look on her face. "Good thing we didn't bet anything on this," she remarked casually, puffing on her cigarette.

The machine-woman seemed to make a little exasperated shrug, and folded back her arms and other back-mounted mechanized parts, the mass of them deceptively tucking into a much smaller, more compact form behind the compressing generators, locked into her spine. She eyed Giles as he came loping for her, wondering what the man might be thinking.

   "Beaten, if not soundly. Though she still made a good call, for once..." Stygian said, leaning back with a smile and an eye toward the second circle, pulling on his drink. "I think she's going to be a soar loser, especially for quitting that early. She behaves too much like a human like that."

Glancing to see Aisha sitting down next to him, Gareeku smiled at her, laughing slightly at her comment.
"Hehe, yeah same here I think. You certainly gave me quite the beating." he replied with a soft laugh, before looking over to see that the other battle had finished. Hearing Stalker speak, the wolf smiled.
"Thank you very much. It was a great fight to be in." he replied, before noticing the presence of Flit. Blinking at her, the wolf then saw as she seemed to cast some sort of spell.

Once Flit had cast it, Gareeku could feel himself quickly heal back to 100% fitness, a look of pleasant surprise of his face.
"Thank you very much." he said with gratitude, smiling warmly at Flit.

Wiping the last of the sweat from her brow, Aisha gratefully accepted the drink given by Stalker with a quiet nod of thanks, her lip quirking in an agreeable smile with Gareeku's statement as she took a sip from it.  The liquid felt cool and refreshing to her bloodied and warm body.  "More than great," she added after swallowing.  "And hopefully we see quite a few more great ones," she added with a light laugh, until she saw the little creature smiling in front of them.

Her head tilted, but before she had the time to inquire, the panthress felt a rush of warmth, so fast that she had squinted her eyes for a second.  The feeling was a familiar one though; the tingling on the inside of her nerves were the internal injuries sealing, the bruises disappearing as if they weren't even there.  She sat up slowly, the healing process complete, and she also cast a smile at Flit.  "Indeed, thank you."

Aisha took another sip of her drink, while stretching her spine a little while sitting down.  "More surprises from this place," the panthress commented, watching the little fairy-like creature fly up.

Running around the wall of slag, it took Giles a moment to make the circuit to his spear, and wrenching that from the half-melted stone run towards and stand in front of Moira. The crimson spots in his eyes were slowly fading, the crystal blue again becoming the dominant shade. He stood quiet for a moment, and moved an armored fist up to his chin, cracking his neck. The pops punctuated the odd silence.
He offered his hand. "There have been armies that have given me less trouble." he said, a grin splitting his face. "You fought dirty, and fought smart. Most people simply assume I'm just full of hot air." His eyes twinkled. "Well, I am, but usually a lot more than they counted on."
He slapped her on the back and began walked back to the bar. "C'mon! I'll buy ye a beer."

The pool player smiles down the length of the table at Risky, and comments "It seems a bit silly to bet a drink on the game, but you're welcome to do so, if you wish."

He pauses, and sends the green ball 'round the houses', missing all the other balls on the table and dropping cleanly into the right middle pocket, the cue ball following it smoothly around the table and back to the end it started at. "Maybe on the next frame, though. Brown into the three."

He twists sinuously to one side to avoid a waft of smoke, and sends the fifteen rolling smoothly down into the red three, just nudging it, and leaving the cue ball over between the black and the cushion.

"I believe it's your go." He steps back, and has another mouthful of his beer, urbanely waving Risky over to the table.

The machine-woman did little but quirk a nearly nonexistent eyebrow at Giles' demeanor. Just a moment ago he had been all flames and rage, and now he had shifted to friendly mirth? She recognized that kind of personality. And she liked it. Still, she was a bit sour for not putting up much of a fight. She was used to being the one who overwhelmed her opponents with fire, not the other way around.
   With a shake of the head and a closing and hefting of the crate she had been carrying, she turned back and walked slightly leaned forward against the bar, intending to take him up on that beer. And hopefully a few more after that. Just like Stygian, she was not exactly one who could normally get drunk. But like him she too could pull some stops and mimic the functions of a natural system well enough to feel at least some of the sensation. She would just have to compensate for the rest by drinking harder...

Looking at the setup she had, Risky shook her head. "I'll buy you a drink anytime, especially since they're free in here." She indicated the setup. "Good thing you're taking it easy on me." She grinned, then sidled past the other player. Shifting her cue to her left hand she bent backwards over the table. "Air, rail, double back, brown near corner," she called.

Flicking her wrist at that odd angle, the cue ball bounced up, barely grazing the black eight-ball. It angled into the far rail at a steep angle, crossed the length of the table, angled wider, and kissed the brown ball into the near pocket before slowing next to the red three.

Risky straightened and frowned as the red three rolled, falling into the far pocket. "Blasted trick wrist," She rubbed her left wrist gently. "Had it broken on Melpomene, along with my heart. Yours again."

Stalker served out another round of drinks, quietly humming to himself, eyeing the courtyard. So far there had only been some skirmishes, but this would get serious soon. He cleared his throat. "Circles are open, folks. Any takers?"

Clicking the last piece into place, Tock stood up and closed his bag. His hands had both been replaced; the left was now a thing with delicately wrought fingers, like designs on the guard of a saber. The resemblance was only enhanced by the yard long blade in place of a ring finger. The right hand was a spindly thing made up mostly of springs, the area between the fingers webbed and a stone with a hole bored in the middle by the elements was set in the middle of his palm. He'd unbuttoned his collar to make room for a large, interestingly designed piece much like some sort of steam powered telescope; a heat ray that snapped on to his "collarbone", to the left of his neck. Finally, he'd clamped a metal lid over the top of his glass of fuelcohol, the novelty umbrella still poking around the edge.
"Seeing as the good dragon would appear to be engrossed in his own conversations, I believe I'll volunteer for a spar. Any takers who wouldn't be offended if I kept my drink? If I left it all the fizz would run out, and I get so few chances to have one of these."

Cog shook his head as Giles entered the bar and called out to the man. "Kill anyone? I hope you at least left dental records this time." he took a swing of his drink, anticipating at least being kicked out of the establishment for unnecessary roughness.
Giles merely shrugged and ordered up two beers. Cog raised his eyebrows, and gave a slight nod to Moira, who had just entered. "Congratulations are in order, madam. That makes two who've fought him and lived."

As the machine entered, she cocked an eyebrow at Cog and read his tone and language. She might have wanted to behave like a human, but she had no compunction against using her digital skills for analysis and intelligence against people.
   "And let me guess... The other one was you?" she asked calmly, and took the beer offered to her, sitting down next to them both and drinking down a bit, scanning the man up and down.

Cog grinned. "Perhaps. Another time and another place." He nodded to Giles. "It wasn't an entirely fair fight, in any case, but he still managed to almost kill me. With him, that's usually counted as a victory."
Giles merely inclined his head and grinned. He found the pipe that he had left on the table, and with a flick of his thumb he lit it again and began to smoke. "She wasn't so bad herself. First blow there would have done it, but I got lucky and it only glanced off me. The salamander probably helped." He coughed, and rattled the loose armor on his forearm. "And it's gonna be a bitch to get this fixed." He took a swig of his beer from in between puffs on the pipe and leaned close to Moira. "Haven't had that much fun in decades. If you ever find anyone who can kick yer ass, have 'em look me up. Hells, I'll even take a rematch anytime, sweets." He leaned back in his chair. "I know what ta look out for now, anyways."

There was no need to consider anything about Cog's reply, so Moira just swigged her beer and set the near-empty glass down, smiling with a newformed mouth. She laughed a bit at Giles' words, and slapped him on the back heartily, metal clanging against metal a bit.
   "Gladly. But before that, I think I'd rather wait and do some other stuff," she said and chuckled, before drinking down the last mouthful of beer and slamming her glass down. Then she had another.
   "If you're looking for someone like that..." she then said, smiling suggestively at Giles, before her eyes went to Stygian who was still sitting leaned back on his chair, his wings folded neatly and his posture lazy. The machine chuckled, and chugged. "Well, maybe you shouldn't. We could have fun in other ways."

"Aye, well, where there's battle there's always ale and food on hand, fer those who can find it." Giles said, chuckling. "To be honest, I could use a break for a moment. An' speakin' a food..."
He called out to the barkeeper. "If ye got somethin' heavier than ale, I'll take two. Preferably with some barbecue sauce and salt." He said, taking yet another long drag from his pipe. He wasn't a man for restraint after combat, apparently.

With a twist of his lips that was almost a smile, Stalker nodded. "Food and drink," he said, retrieving a huge platter of barbecue ribs from the kitchen window with one hand. With his other two hands he set down two gallon-sized heavy metal tankards in front of Giles. "Eat up; there's more where that came from," he said as he refreshed everyone at the bar's drinks, setting a fresh one to place for Tock.

The front doors of the bar suddenly banged open, a huge black hand curling in from either side. They were followed a few seconds later by a rounded snout with lips that twitched slightly.

The doors creaked in their frame as the entire head pushed through, followed by a glossyy black body that resembled a metallic cross between an insect and a skeleton. It stood, and the sleek, eyeless head that swept back and up into a huge crest nearly touched the ceiling. Two arms the size of a muscular human's spread even as the larger two at the shoulders folded inwards. A huge tail slithered in behind the creature, the eight-foot spike on the tip coming around to be held level with the waist.

The upper lip curled slightly in something resembling a disdainful sneer, then the huge creature walked to the corner of the bar that was closer to the courtyard. The sound of the massive footsteps were partly overshadowed by the clicking screeches of the talons on each foot as they gouged the floor. The tail followed after like a rippling snake, the barb on the end nearly slashing Risky's face as she leaned away from it, frowning.

The four riblike organic tubing sections on the creature's back pulsed at the tips as it inspected the circles through some odd means, then turned to face the room again. A feeling similar to having one's mind coated with cold swept across the room, as the huge creature backed and folded itself into the corner like some demonic gargoyle. The arms folded in wards, and the front of the head slid backwards under the armored crest.

Stalker shook his head an sighed. This little contest had just gotten entire levels of uglier.

Tock was a little disheartened by not having any takers challenge-wise, so he simply went outside to wait in one of the circles. On his way out he nodded to the new creature in what he hoped was taken as a friendly manner.

Content to be feeling at full health again, Aisha appreciatively took the refill of her drink and paused between sips, not feeling a motivation after recovering so fast to become even a little drunk.  The panthress spun a little on her stool and gazed about the participants and patrons, watching the other two combatants having come in a little bit after she and Gareeku. 

The two of them were both marvels in themselves, like many of the others.  She raised her glass when they returned, a silent congratulatory greeting to both, before suddenly the doors parted violently to admit another newcomer.  Its head and body seemed to almost completely block the light of the sun from the outside, and its whole color suggested that's what it was made to do.  Its appearance she quirked a surprised eyebrow at...she might have compared it to one of the Insectis race from her homeland were it not for differences.

As the creature passed, even the darkness trailing its demeanor seemed to have a presence.  Her emerald ring took on a slight glow, and the bounty hunter's eyes narrowed at the feeling it gave off with just a glance, her back leaning cautiously on the bar.  "The heck is that?"  She said beneath her breath once it set to rest in a corner, giving the feeling of just something waiting to happen.  Interesting.

 "The Queen," Risky said out loud, her face a mask of hatred. She watched the creature settling into the corner, then turned to the other player. "I've seen at least three universes where her kind was the dominant lifeform on every world. They're like a plague."

The Flit flew down from the rafters, then fluttered over to the creature. She circled it curiously, firing question after question at it in her high-pitched, rapid-fire way....then suddenly stopped.

She actually started to fall as her wings went still, then with an impressive burst of speed she made a beeline for the bar, ducking down behind it. "Bad bug bad bug bad bug bad bug..." she muttered over and over from behind the bar.

The larger circle began to flicker, pale gosts of light flashing around the rim. Stalker glanced out and muttered "What now?"

Upon its entry, Stygian's eyes slowly went to the strange and grotesque xenomorph, widening as they glanced along its huge, glossy black form. He took in its shape, its look and its demeanour, fanning his nostrils just the slightest bit to catch an almost unreadable whiff of near-traceless, slick and chemical scent. The whole thing seemed to be covered in the thinnest layer of watery secretion, hiding its scent. It had no eyes, but was clearly capable of sensing them through some other perceptory means, eliminating one of nature's clearest vulnerabilities. Its leg structure was optimal, its respiratory system one could only speculate at, its carapace seemed like an integration of both endo- and exoskeleton in some highly structured way, and...
   It looked absolutely marvellous.
   Stygian swiveled a bit on his chair and turned his head straight at the thing, shivering a bit as he felt an almost familiar touch on his mind, one which met his true sense beyond his dull and redundant vision and nearly made it tingle.
   "Can you believe this thing?" he said, the comment directed toward keaton. He wondered at the creature, having seen something like it before in some horror movie, but never witnessed anything of the like on such a scale or so close before. Questions blurred through his mind, taking his mind away from the excitement of the circle outside. What the Hell was this thing? How had it evolved? What was it doing here? Could it be communicated with?
   Could it be drunken under the table?

Sipping his drink as he listened to the others talk, Gareeku then looked up as the bar doors opened. Seeing the huge sinister creature enter the bar, the wolf's eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly as he observed the almost evil aura the large creature gave off. As the creature walked in, he couldn't take his eyes off of the large killing machien in front of him. It was an amazing sight, yes it also downright frightening, if he was going to be honest, but amazing nonetheless.

Composing himself somewhat, Gareeku turned to Stalker.
"Who, or what, the fuck is that thing?" the wolf whispered to him. He didn't know who this 'Queen' was, but he had a very very bad feeling about the near future...

Tock raised an eyebrow at the lights appearing in one of the circles. Do they normally do that? Hmm...
The construct considered his options, and eventually reached what he would be willing to claim was a logical decision.
Well, I was getting bored anyway. With another sip of his drink and a smile, he entered the ring.

Reaching below the counter to pat the Flit comfortingly, Stalker answered Garreeku in a conversational tone. "It's a Xenomorph queen. They're one of the more vicious, dangerous lifeforms in the multiverse." He gestured to where a small, silvery scoremark ran down the domed black skull. "Se the scar? That's one I've seen before. This is a young one, daughter of the Queen Mother of Agruul 4."

He raised his voice to the creature. "Lay one damn egg outside the circle and I'll personally kick your ass." A wave of dark hatred flowed from it, a seething sea of obsidian emotion. Stalker nodded his head, and it stopped.

Syphon finally emerged from the bathroom and limped his way to the flashing circle. He glared at Tock, and made an odd gesture with both hands.

In a brief surge of light he disappeared, and the lights stopped chasing themselves around the edge.

An odd looking rat walked in and sat at the bar, looking tward the circles. He muttered to himself "So this is the "new place to be!"? Nothing more than streetfights." He spun around to order a beer.

Buh?

Mismatched brown eyes--one christened with almost hawk-like clarity, the other marred with intolerance to color--fluttered open, a hand dipped in sable stripes reaching up to wipe wearily at the corners of her eyes. Glasses tilted lopsidedly atop Keaton's muzzle as the jackal rose where she sat, groggily examining the room with her already aerodynamic hair askew. Same Circle, and she was still seated beside Stygian, but what just happened?

One glance at the emptied bottles of beer, filled with the residue of cloudy foam glued to its interior, surrounding her confirmed Keaton's suspicions. She had drunk herself into sleep, unfortunately missing some of the battles. Quickly straightening herself, her valiant efforts to restore proper order to her disarranged hair and glasses was momentarily interrupted with the sharp stinging of an almighty mother of a headache and the vestiges of inebriation.

"Oh crap!" she muttered, removing her glasses and rubbing at her eyes again, "Crap crap crap. I'm sorry. Did I... oh crap. I fell asleep." Keaton's ears remained plastered to her head as she craned her body around, keeping her movements from being too jerky. There was no way she could fight in the condition she was in, unless someone had some intergalactic medication or something equally magical.

The first thing Keaton noticed after turning her body around was the Queen, in all of 'her' monstrous, grotesque glory. Yelping instinctually, Keaton withdrew, barking a curse under her breath. "What the HELL?!" she exclaimed, ignoring the incessant throbbing of her headache. Well, wasn't this a wonderful thing to wake up to. "What the ^&*( is THAT?"

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Listening to Stalker's explanation of the Xenomorph Queen before them, Gareeku's eyes narrowed, keeping his gaze locked on the killing machine nearby.
"Charmed, I'm sure..." the wolf muttered. He would definitely be keeping an eye on the "Queen". For now, though, Gareeku ordered another drink from the bar, this time requesting bottle of energising drink.

 Sliding a bottle of beer down to the new arrival, Stalker handed Gareeku a large bottle of Moonglow. The label proclaimed it as "Pure light energy in liquid form!"

"She'll be playing for hosts. Not something I'd wish on most creatures," Stalker said. "Just don't challenge her to a game of chess. They're hell for logic games." He blinked, then grinned. "But they suck at "Rock, Paper, Scissors".

Seeing Keaton's reaction, he slid down a huge glass mug full of something that was vile green and bubbling. "This'll help. Just don't sniff it first."

Quirking his eyebrow at the jackalmorph slightly, Stygian made just a bit of a smirk and almost a chuckle.
   "Some sort of alien, it seems. Though not the friendly or edible type, I would guess. Still interesting though." From that comment, one could probably deduce that he had more of an investigative view of odd lifeforms, rather than a paranoid one. "I'm wondering how we are to talk to that thing. Also, I think I heard that Stalker guy mention something about eggs. That would undoubtably be something equally interesting as the rest of that... thing's physiology." There was more curiosity in his eyes than revulsion or fear. A lot more.
   Then he heard Stalker's next comment about the thing, and his eyes turned over to the 'man', his smile off but his face attentive and one eyebrow quirked.
   "Hosts? They're parasitic?" he asked. "You mentioned queens and hives. Are these an organized species?"

Bemused with Syphon's disappearance, Tock came back inside. He was mildly put out that despite his attempts he had still yet to compete in one of these duels, and was almost out of fuelcohol.
"Another one, if you please," the construct said, sitting down and placing a few coins on the counter. The newcomer seemed to have caused quite a stir and Tock, full of potent intoxicants and naivete, began mentally working out the probability that he'd be able to beat it.

Ian looked around sizeing up the competitors. "Might as well take in the evening entertainment. It would be ashame just to come here for a beer." Ian stood up and walked over to Tock. "What's your name and would you like to fight? I'll wadger a ten spot you can't whup me." Ian waited for the atomoton to speak.....if it could

"Alien?" Keaton repeated the word somewhat incredulously, although the concept of intergalactic travel and creatures hailing from other universes wasn't a foreign idea to her. Then again, she had never used the word 'alien' before crudely, surprisingly, despite her foul mouth and insensitive tongue.

She couldn't help but be slightly impressed with Stygian's unabashed interest with the creature, though--her first instinct when being encountered with a monster like that would probably be to bash its brains out until it was just a colorful stain on her mace. Keaton would've asked him to elaborate more if it weren't for the interference of her headache, and the timely presentation of a sickening, green sludge that apparently compensated as some form of medicine. Staring at it for a moment, revolted, after her hesitation Keaton hefted the mug and, pinching her nose shut with her free hand, gulped it down.

It tasted horrible. Like someone had scooped up an entire mugful of mud into it and liquified it with every vile substance known to man (and several other species). Fighting the instinct to choke, Keaton finished up the concoction, then slammed the mug back on the ground and struggled to regain control of her spasming gag reflex. Its effects were immediate, however--her headache had dulled down to a fading pulsation in the back of her head. Unpleasant experience or not, it had worked.

"Wow," Keaton muttered, stifling a hiccup as she thanked Stalker, "It worked. Thanks..."

Keaton made a mental note to find something slightly more edible to steal for any other similar occasions as she turned back to Stygian. "You seem to be pretty interested in that alien."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

Tock smiled broadly, "Wonderful! My name is Tock. And yourself?" he made as if to take another sip of his drink, but stopped with the mug halfway to his mouth. Right. He was out. And he would need more of this stuff for the fight...
"If I may add to the bet?" Tock's smile turned to a smirk, "Twenty that I can beat you and enjoy a relaxing drink at the same time."

"You're welcome," Stalker said to Keaton, as he noted Tock's empty mug. He mixed up another concoction as he answered Stygian. "Depends on what you mean by "organized". Under a queen they're organized like ants, but each hive is completely seperate."

He added a tiny pink umbrella to the drink and watched it dissolve, then nodded and slid it over to Tock. "If there's more than one queen on a planet, they fight to the death. If they're evenly matched, the war between them sometimes takes upwards of six or seven hundred years."

He glanced again at the dark, statue-like figure in the corner. "They convert entire planets to hives if possible. They're the fifth deadliest race I've ever run across."

Risky chalked her cue a bit more, then just stopped. "I'll concede. I can't concentrate with one of those around." She glanced angrily at the xenomorph, then racked her cue. "Thanks for the game. I'll buy your next round."

Flit looked back over the bar carefully, saw the creature hadn't moved, and broke into a cheerful smile. "Silly buggy," she said as she hopped back onto the bar and started humming.

As he took another drink, Stygian's gaze once again fixed upon the giant, black, glossy thing and studied it closely. He took the glass from his mouth as he slid off his chair and moved, slowly but more deliberately than cautiously, over to the bar and closer toward the xenomorph.
   "Intriguing! Fifth, you say?" he said to Stalker, a slight smile on his face and his eyes not turning from the beast. "I would love to hear about the other four some time."
   Slowly, methodically, the man approached the hideous thing, his neck arcing forward against it and his look almost teasing it to respond and stare back at him, though it had no eyes to stare. He kept his drink up, at about shoulderheight, clinking the ice in it a bit as he came closer to the Queen, stopping at about two metres from her or so.
   "How does one... communicate with them?" he asked lowly, tilting his head to the side and looking at the alien's face from a slightly different angle. "They don't seem capable of forming... speech..." he remarked, studying the thing's lipless and sharp-toothed mouth. Almost in an imitation of the thing's own expression, he showed his teeth just slightly as he kept moving his head to catch the look of it, running his tongue over his own teeth and pinching it by his slightly too large canine teeth.

Tock frowned. The last umbrella hadn't done that. He fished it out of the prior mug and added it to the new one, also transferring the drink cap he'd been using.
"So I don't spill any," he explained, getting up from his seat. He still had all his combat parts equipped; radar hand, saber hand and collerbone-mounted lazer, "After you."

The pool player smiles at Risky, and nods. "As you will. If you'd care for another game later, though..."

He finishes his beer, wanders over to the bar to slide the empty towards Stalker, and goes back to his game, pausing only briefly to mutter "Nae King. Nae Quin. Nae laird. Nae master. We willnae be fooled again!" at the behemoth in the corner - albeit from far enough away to be out of reach.

 Something touches both Stygian and the mysterious pool players' minds, a vile thing that is equal parts corpses floating in dark waters and razored shards of black ice.

"You will feed the hive." the voice slithers inside the furry player's mind.

"Give yourself to me, and know immortality in the hive," it says to Stygian.

Stalker looks at the creature in the corner, frowning. "Careful what she sells you. It has a hell of a price," he says, getting another beer for the player.

Stygian's eyes widened before they narrowed, and a smile slowly spread across his lips. He looked over his glasses, peering amusedly at the creature. The thing spoke. It was intelligent. And it was not so alien, after all...

   Slowly, something almost like the slithering touch of the Queen's 'voice' faced it, a snaking and writhing thing that seemed very close to it, yet counterpointed it, meeting hers. It was less cold than hers, less icy and hard and slimy, and instead more... viscous, warm, and venomous.
   "You know. You understand. That is good." Stygian's grin deepened. "Though I think that you would be surprised. Immortality I seek no more. No..." he seethed, smiling pleasedly at the thing. "But I am very welcoming to power. A pleasure to meet you, Queen..."
   The man lifted the glass to his lips again, and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again after taking his sip, they were pitch black, only a small, dimly glowing iris in each one and nearly no pupils there at all.

Quote from: TheGreyRonin on April 12, 2007, 10:34:52 PM
"You will feed the hive." the voice slithers inside the furry player's mind.

The pool player raises one eyebrow. "To who?"

Ian stepped into the circle and streached his leather coat creaked as he did so. "So you wish to be freed from so much of your money? Far be it of ME to deny you." Ian said sauceily yet in a jokeing tone. He pulled his guns from the fabric holsters on the inside of his coat around pocket height. He swung his gleaming stainless steel guns he loveingly named Akroma and Phage to his belt quickly loading hes rubber bullets. the only diffrence of his guns was the color end cap to their stocks. Akroma was a blueish white while Phage was a greenish black. "Whenever you're ready." Ian said cooly to Tock.

Tock strode over to join Ian in the circle, taking another sip of his drink. "Now then... Seeing as I am the one who has been challenged, I determine the rules? We fight to either the knockout or the forefeight, whichever come first," the constuct bowed with a flourish of his sword-hand, the one holding the drink, as the arena grew to about the size of the average gymnasium, "And the best of luck, good sir!" With that he charged towared Ian, the heat ray on his shoulder glowing as it powered up and the haze of a spell in progress enveloping the webbed radar hand.

 The Queen's mental presence snarls in the pool player's mind, then withdraws from both. The shift in her interest is perceptible, however; her massive head actually turns slightly towards the duel beginning in the circle.

Risky taps her empty glass on the bar for a refill, then turns it upside down on the Flit, who starts doing mime impressions. "Thanks," she says as she takes her fresh drink from Stalker, then turns and eyes Stygian and the Queen. She shudders, then downs half of her drink.

"Feeling better?" she asks Keaton. "He's not much on personailty, but I can vouch for his hangover cures." She draws a mint-green cigarette from a pocket and lights it off her fingertip, puffing out a small cloud of smoke.

Stalker takes the glass off of the Flit, who has turned an amazing shade of purple and falls over on the bar, giggling and wheezing. "You do know I'm standing right here."

The pool player grins, and goes back to his game.


(OOC: yay, holiday. See you all in a week...)

Ian ran circleing Tock in a clockwise(haha) manner. He took pot shots at the glowing things, one each, knowing that they were dangerous; but he didn't expect them to hit. "Mind telling me about that metal THING everyone is so interested in?" Ian said to tock. he had just entered and knew nothing of previous happenings.

"You refer to the Queen?" Tock replied conversationally, wincing slightly as the bullet narrowly missed his heat ray, "Some manner of extraterrestrial nobility, from what I hear. The barkeep seems to dislike her." He held out his webbed hand, palm outward, and pushed. A green-tinged haze spread outward toward the gunslinger; it was a simple spell that transfers kinetic force over a great distance. If Ian was in the path of it, it would hit more like a shove from a giant hand than a punch.

Ian just entered it's range as it was cast and it hit his left arm and torso sending him spinning around in a pirouette like fashion. He stadied himself and said to Tock, "Ok,  just asking". Ian started to carefully aim a shot for Tocks midsecion.

Tock twisted out of the way, but he most certainly wasn't fast enough to dodge a bullet. No, He thought to himself as the missile grazed his side, This shall be more a matter of relying on poor aim and predictability on his part. "Anytime," the cursed clock replied as he brought himself in close to start using his saber hand. His strikes weren't unlike those of a fencer, fast and precise.

Ian seeing the shift in the range of combat holstered his guns and took out his knife. "How do i beat something that can't be hurt in the sensational sense? You really did it this time tech boy." Ian thought to himself as he spun a kick to Tocks mid section near where the rubber projectile had hit.

The kick sent Tock staggering back. He threw himself back into the fray by firing off the same spell again, this time behind him at a 20 degree angle with the ground. It launched him toward Ian, bringing his sword back into play again. I cannot let him get me at long range until I'm certain that I'll have the chance to bring my ray into play. The weapon was still charging, humming menacingly.

Ian was caught by surprise and rolled out of the way, but he managed to toss a flash bang granade infront of Tock. He flipped down his sunglasses from his forehead. " LET THERE BE LIGHT!" he shouted. he was notroious for this tactic on the streets and that phrase permenently blinded many foe in the back allies he was used to. but those had places to climb and places to hide.

Tock staggered backward, flailing. He was not truly a robot, just a haunted clock, and his eyes did work much like that of a human. Clever. Now I HAVE to either get him to back away or do so myself, or he'll pummel me as I recover. Well, if I must do so it shall be on my terms.
"And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day."
That green haze enveloped his hand again as he lazily traced an arcane sigil in the air. It traveled up his arm, to his shoulder...
"And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place," it traveled down his torso, growing more pronounced and faster by the second.
"and let the dry land appear..." Tock raised his foot, the haze culminating on the sole of his shoe...
"and it was so!" With that, he brought the foot down, forcing several thousand neutons of kinetic force into the ground in a single stomp. The ground for seven feet around cracked and rumbled, knocking Tock from his feet (although he still managed to not drop his drink). With any luck, my foe followed me to the ground... He thought, as part of his porcelain face cracked against the floor.

Watching the fight in the Circle, Stalker was amazed at the level of skill being displayed. "That was a nice move, using his weapon for propulsion," he said to no one in particular.

He glanced at the Queen, felt a small response, then turned his attention back in time to see Tock shatter the surface of the circle. His eyes widened; he hadn't expected that much power to come from the automaton.

Risky leaned back against the bar to watch the fight, a drink in her left hand, cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers of her right. "Rat's got some spunk to him too. He'd make a damn good recruit."

The force sent a roll through the ground wich broke under Ian snapping him sharply ten feet in the air. he landed on his rump with an audible thud. "F***!" Ian cursed getting back up "My ass! OWWWWWWW!" with one hand on his rump  he put his knife away and grabbed his gun with the other lucky for Tock it was his off hand. he fired a flurry of shots in his direction. one maybe two looked like they were headed for Tock.

Tock rolled out of the way, one of the bullets hitting the ground near his leg. Hm. Shards of stone from the impact. That shall require repairs. He got to his feet and used his spell to move himself again, this time further away so he could finally use that heat ray he'd spent so long charging. It blazed out in a sweeping arc toward Ian. The ray worked not unlike a magnifying lens, and dealt a similar amount of damage. Against a living target it would be painful, but do little in the way of real damage. Primeraly it was used as a tazer, to blast the foe with heat when they did something you disliked and control the fight.

Ian tucked and rolled as the beam swept over him. "You bruised my tail bone you tin can now let's see what I can do to YOU!" Ian charged right for Tock. Haveing put his gun away he got out his knife and final flash bang grenade. "SURPRISE!" He threw the flash bang grenade close to Tocks feet. he was way too close to avoid the blinding effects but if Tock didn't move outside the "margin of error" he could do what he had to and was willing to take that chance.

I don't believe I'll allow myself to be blinded again, thank you. The clock thought, looking squinting his eyes shut and looking upward, distancing himself yet further from Ian with his little magical multitool again. Time to bring out the big guns. Opening one eye a crack, Tock looked back at Ian after the flashbang had obliterated his hearing and twisted the cap on the drink still clutched in his saber hand, so that the paper umbrella was wedged between the edge of the cup and of the cap. He then hurled the drink in Ian's general direction and focused his heat ray on the umbrella. The little, flammable umbrella, with one end leading into a drink made of jet fuel.
Almost as an afterthought, he hit the deck. Anything standing when that went off wouldn't remain so for long.

Ian lunged at where he though Tock would be but ended up with a face full of dirt and jet fuel (if you know your myth busters you'd know it takes more than a flame to burn unvaporized jet fuel). Frusterated Ian lay there regaining his vision and composeing his next plan. the jet fuel however had gotten in his eyes. "GAH....F*** it BURNS i give!" Ian hated to say it but he knew he couldnt fight much longer with jet fuel in his eyes with out risking blindness.

Tock nodded once and half-limped over; he'd damaged his leg over the course of the fighting, either from Ian's shot that sent stone splinters into it or from overexerting himself when he stomped. He reached down to help Ian up.
"Well played, my good man. I never saw those flashbangs coming."

"Ha Ha very punny." Ian smirked as he got up trying to rub most of the fuel out of his eyes with his forearm. From what little Ian could see the fuel had eaten some of the plastic pices of his sunglasses. "Well thats another pair down." He tucked them into a back pocket till he could find a trash can. "Thought for sure your curiosity would make you look down."

 At the bar Stalker mixed up a fresh drink for Tock, and poured a beer for Lucas. "Decent fight." he said. "Some interesting use of strategy."

Tock thought for a second, then laughed heartily, "I didn't even mean to make that joke. You can buy a new pair with the money you just won. After all," The clock's laughter wound down to a chuckle, "I may have won the fight, winning your initial wager, but you got me to spill my drink. I still owe you ten dollers! And thank you, good sir," he added in responce to Stalker's compliment, "And perhaps a higher alcohol to fuel ratio in this one?"

Mostly blind Ian felt his way to the restroom to flush out his eyes. He really should have checked for those gender marker things. "EIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEK" "GET OUT OF HERE YOU PERVERT" "I'll get him out!" There was an audible series of thuds beatings and poundings.
Then he exited the restroom with a band of girls behind him waveing. "sorry for the misunderstanding Micky!" "I LOVED Night on Bald Mountain!" "When are ya gonna ditch Minnie?!"

OOC:hello?

 Stifling a snicker, Stalker turned to Risky. "It seems we have rabid fangirls..."

Her eyes narrowing, Risky stubbed out her cigarette on the bar. "Right." Heading over to the bathroom, she pointed excitedly at the ladies' room and squealed, "OMG! Look who just went in!"

She herds the girls inside, and a second later a blinding flash comes from around the door. Risky walks out alone, brushing ash off of her uniform.

Stalker winces. "A tad harsh?" Risky shrugs, resumes her place at the bar. "Screw 'em if they can't take a nuke."

The pool player snickers to himself, and mutters something about checking his pocket for his bottle of SPF-15000+ sunscreen...

Ian noticed Risky was eyeing him unpleasntly. "What i had to do something! I mean what would you have done?!"

 Risky shrugs. "Fangirls are like cockroaches. Except for that whole "can't survive a nuclear explosion" thing."

She looks at Stalker. "I hope the bathrooms are shielded, or I'm not going to be the only person glowing in the dark here."

The pool player pauses, raises one eyebrow.

He then lifts his cue, walks around to his coat, and reaches into the left inside pocket. He removes something from there, and turns back to the table - at which point it becomes clear what it was he extracted, as he unfolds the sunglasses and places them over his eyes, before returning to his game.

"I'm covered."

Ian has a seat at the bar and starts getting "Comfortably Numb" as it were. "Gimmie the strongest crud in a glass ya got. My ass feels like,pardon the pun, S***."