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Acies ab Vesania

Tavern of Legend: Season 2

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Damien Laughed for the first time being seen with him. "So you wanna spar" He said. The blades cuts and and edges and razors had a few purposes. Since the blade could not have a normal sheathe, he carried it on his back in a leather strap he could set it into. The blade was made for countering an attack and using it against them. Of course Damien had not yet fully grasped the fighting style with the sword. It was one of the 6 things he has left from before. He sheathed the weaponry. And headed towards the Tavern exit. "Don't wanna disturb the peace" he said. As he pushed open the door and stared out he waited for the man to follow. He liked this man. That wasn't very common for him to say. He waited for the other guy to step outside

 

Damien knew he would have at least more experiance. But if this guy was a lumber jack. He would have enough strength to strike his blade out of his very own hands.
(So I haven't actually done combat before, is there a certain rule or such)

 

[] I'm new too; I've just joined yesterday. I've been looking around, but I can't find any forums that specify any rules. I assume it'll be the norm. No godmodding, everyone has weaknesses. All of that. I did find a forum on the rules of powers, though. http://www.valucre.com/index.php?/page/world.html/_/resources/general/mild-powers-r71 []

 

He answered the question with only a nod, then watched as he put away all the weapons. He stood by, until DH began walking, then did he follow with his right hand in his trench coat pocket. He was actually rather glad that he agreed to teach him a few things for he figured knowing how to fight is important. He had heard in his village that everyone outside the Cold South was horribly vicious and barbaric-like. So far, the people have been fairly nice, though. At least, the people he has come to meet.

 

He had stepped out the door, after the male, a tad slower for a moment as he was adjusting his coat, undoing the front buttons, so the jacket wasn't as constricting for moving around. Since, it was much more hotter outside here, than he's used to, it did come to mind if he should take off his sweater, at least, but chose to do that later.

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[] I'm new too; I've just joined yesterday. I've been looking around, but I can't find any forums that specify any rules. I assume it'll be the norm. No godmodding, everyone has weaknesses. All of that. I did find a forum on the rules of powers, though. http://www.valucre.com/index.php?/page/world.html/_/resources/general/mild-powers-r71 []

 

He answered the question with only a nod, then watched as he put away all the weapons. He stood by, until DH began walking, then did he follow with his right hand in his trench coat pocket. He was actually rather glad that he agreed to teach him a few things for he figured knowing how to fight is important. He had heard in his village that everyone outside the Cold South was horribly vicious and barbaric-like. So far, the people have been fairly nice, though. At least, the people he has come to meet.

 

He had stepped out the door, after the male, a tad slower for a moment as he was adjusting his coat, undoing the front buttons, so the jacket wasn't as constricting for moving around. Since, it was much more hotter outside here, than he's used to, it did come to mind if he should take off his sweater, at least, but chose to do that later.

 

"Ladies First" Damien Said Smirking. He held the black as if it was a dagger. The blade towards him.In his other has it seemed to have nothing. He stood and waited for him to mount an attack

 

"Come On Lumber Jack"

 

He knew that he would be screwed if he hit him.

 

This was going to be entertaining

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"Ladies First" Damien Said Smirking. He held the black as if it was a dagger. The blade towards him.In his other has it seemed to have nothing. He stood and waited for him to mount an attack
 
"Come On Lumber Jack"
 
He knew that he would be screwed if he hit him.
 
This was going to be entertaining



The muscled male rolled his eyes, as he removed his trench coat for a moment, to set it to the side. He slid off his sweater and tossed it as far as he could, since it's too hot to have so much on while fighting. After, the sweater was gone, he picked up his trench coat to place it back on his upper body loosely.

In clipping his sword took only a moment, for it was very easy and necessary to be quick in case of any type of danger. He rolled his eyes at the remark and began his assault on the other. His sword held in his left hand, was pointing at an angle downward. Holding it tight in his hand, he ran at the male. His sword, now, was across his body as he moved swiftly aiming for the male's side.

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Damiens face quickly changed from what was a smiling gesture to some kind of demonic smirk. He ran towards him, no regard for himself. He was going for the arm in which he held the Blade. He felt as if he was running faster than normal . . . He wasn't. The Male seemed to be faster than he predicted. 

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Damiens face quickly changed from what was a smiling gesture to some kind of demonic smirk. He ran towards him, no regard for himself. He was going for the arm in which he held the Blade. He felt as if he was running faster than normal . . . He wasn't. The Male seemed to be faster than he predicted.



He was a tad taken aback at the male's new expression and speed at running towards him. He slowed down, watching the other's sword, not too sure how he should dodge. The best way he could get out of the way would be too dodge the attack. The first thing that came to mind in this fast paced scenario was to duck. Which, he did, but a small scar was left on his arm for he ducked a hair too late. As he dropped down, the sword cut him a tad. Alarik continued to hold his blade tight in his hand, as he quickly stood, attempting to plunge his sword into the male's shoulder.

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He was a tad taken aback at the male's new expression and speed at running towards him. He slowed down, watching the other's sword, not too sure how he should dodge. The best way he could get out of the way would be too dodge the attack. The first thing that came to mind in this fast paced scenario was to duck. Which, he did, but a small scar was left on his arm for he ducked a hair too late. As he dropped down, the sword cut him a tad. Alarik continued to hold his blade tight in his hand, as he quickly stood, attempting to plunge his sword into the male's shoulder.

 As his blade pierced into his right shoulder (The one holding his blade) He whipped out his flintlock before he could hit bone. It as already so deep. He could feel the cold metal inside his arm. It didn't seem to phase him as it seemed more exciting and entertaining, The gunclicked ready to take the shot. He aimed it at his chest. A less fatal area from afar, But at this close it could do some serious damage. The flintlock had Markings all over it. it seemed to be cut into by a small knife of a person with less experience as it was not very neat or nice looking. The markings were some kind of magic he had learned. It wasn't a secret about the magic that reinforced the gun, But it was a secret of what it changed. He still pointed the gun at him. The blade still slightly going deeper into his shoulder.

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An old, worn wagon slowly trotted along the beaten path leading to the gods only knew where. An old donkey pulled the cart along with an even older man barely leading it from his driver's seat, the reigns barely hanging in his listless hands. The sun was beaming down in thick rays of sadistic heat, but little Gray, who rode in the back of the wagon, simply kicked his legs in a playful manner while protected from the scorching heat by his overly large hat whose brim extended farther than his shoulders. With every bump the wagon would hit, the hat threatened to swallow the little one's head whole, but by some miracle never did. His familiar, Carbuncle, currently had shaped himself into an ethereal snake of blue flame which wrapped itself loosely around Gray's neck as if it were a scarf and had remained there for a majority of the ride, pretending to be asleep. The two seemed oddly calm in the face of an unknown adventure and Gray even seemed to be struggling to withhold his excitement of exploring a new place. He had to remain composed and calm, for Granny had always said a man must remain steady lest others learn too much about his heart. He had always assumed this had simply been her way of containing his abundant energy, for she was far too old to be chasing a hyperactive child through a swamp. Nonetheless, he stood by her words and a soft smile curled across his face at the thought of the woman who had sheltered him all those years.

 

The ride hadn't been very pleasant, for the few days of travel had seen many a travesties between the scorched earth and death ridden lands. It was honestly a miracle that the wagon itself was still intact for it seemed to be only held together by the minimal amount of rusty nails which had managed to stand the test of time. He wasn't even sure where he was going. He had simply hopped onto the wagon without a question or care. Gray wondered if the old man had even noticed his existence. During the few days he had been with them, they had only stopped once but neither a word was spoken or a glance in his direction given. Perhaps it was for the best, for nothing says romance in life but two wayward travelers silently treading the same path with a sense of quiet understanding between them. However, it seemed his part of this shared journey was at a close, for just ahead was a tiny shack which seemed to appear out of nowhere. Granted he wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, but at this point was leaving a trail of small flickering flames that he produced repeatedly with the snapping of his fingers.

 

As the wagon approached the simple looking shack, Gray decided it was finally his time to depart this peculiar adventure in favor of another. With a single hop his feet were on the ground and he walked none the wiser to the events that would transpire immediately behind him, entirely fixated upon the shack itself. For as he hopped off the wagon, the simple shifting of weight was almost too much of a surprise for the wagon itself, and so began to surrender to its old age. First a wheel simply fell from the back, as if giving up entirely and was soon followed by various nails breaking and weathered boards tumbling from their former stations. The entire edifice fell to its side within an instant, bringing driver and all down, save the donkey itself as the straps holding him had simply dissolved to dust as it continued walking ignoring the rest of the carnage.

 

Gray remained blissfully ignorant to the destruction behind him as he became fixated on his new quest of exploring this odd, little shack. As she pushed the door open, his entire face lit up with a sparkling smile of shock and awe at the sheer size hidden within. The strange tavern was a lively sort, as made evident by the brawl happening several feet away from him. He was far too enthralled by the sheer height of this place and its many colorful patrons to pay them much mind, at least for now. Carbuncle slithered off of his shoulders and hopped upon the bar, transforming in a swirl of dancing, blue smoke into a long eared cat who prowled across the bar alongside its master with head held high, with the elegance and arrogance of a queen. The pair found a cozy little spot in the corner of the bar to rest and recover from their long journey, while Gray watched wide eyed at every event and detail within the space with a child's unquenchable curiosity.

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After a bit of thoughtful meditation, Catherine begins her way out of the room she was so safely left in during the Blight of the Zombie Horde or whatever it's called, and begins her way towards the Tavern main seating area but before she has a chance to get very far she encounters a young woman named Young Attractive Barmaid...

Immediately Catherine tugs her cowl over her head but the Young Attractive Barmaid simply smiles at her as she does so, commenting about her hair before attempting to guide Catherine toward the main area. Young Attractive Barmaid leads Catherine Black in through the kitchen, stopping a moment to greet the Chef in the flesh. While Catherine was eyeballing the remainder of a cut up haddock left out on the table Young Attractive Barmaid prompts Chef Berwater with a simple question, asking of Levhea Morytol. Ms. Morytol she called her. While they discussed the matter of the Madam, Catherine shamelessly takes a nearby hunk of moldy bread in plain sight, staring at the barmaid as she stared back then slowly Catherine begins to stuff the entire hunk into her mouth, crumbs piling down her face and into the depths of her cloak. She looks over towards Berwater at this point and begins to tune in, oblivious of the topic.
 

[spoiler]Chef Ghallen Berwater had an easy grin plastered across his face after witnessing Catherine's unusual yet understandable behavior.

[CGB]: "For someone so quiet, you seem to be very hungry."

Catherine simply doesn't react to the comment, behaving as though she didn't hear it. She focuses in on the fish and tries not to move as best she can. Catherine is very good at pretending to be a statue it seems.

[CGB]: "Young miss, there is something else here you can take if you'd like." He motions his hand towards the haddock resting on the island counter top. It was already cold and slightly layered in a thin film of slime from sitting out. It didn't seem like the fact the fish had been out for a while bothered Catherine much however; she simply looked up at Ghallen. Ghallen comments that the bread was merely trash he had neglected to discard before She and the barmaid entered the kitchen.

[CGB]: "You can eat all the trash and gabage you want but I could cook you something fresh, these scarps taste a lot better than the trash does."

Meanwhile another employee comes in with additional orders for the chef. The barmaid and Catherine both back out of his way to let him work his magic.

[CGB]: "As you can see, I am the chef. My name is Ghallen Barwater."

BlackCat hesitates a moment as she tries to think of her response. "It's nice to meet you chef Ghallen Berwater. My name is Catherine Black."

[CGB]: "If you'd like something, don't be afraid to open your mouth. Now, is there anything you need?" He asks.

The purpose for being brought here was untold to Black so she simply stares at Young Attractive Barmaid expectantly.The barmaid asks Ghallen where the owner is.

[CGB]: "She should be in her private room as usual."

The barmaid nods and begins explaining to Catherine that she had fallen asleep and now that she is awake, she should speak with Ms. Morytol. Levhea Morytol knew of Catherine's staying in the bar, discovering her very soon after the start of the Zombie Blight and simply allowed it under one condition.

-The barmaid gives Catherine the directions she will need to get there from the kitchen.-

The Black Cat nods understandingly. She faintly recalls a conversation with Vaddock moments before she fell asleep, likely the source of his impression in her mind. Regardless of anything else she now knew how long she was here in the Tavern and has been made aware of the Zombie Blight. She had been asleep for the entirety of the event it seems it seems.

Black Cat did not feel bad or shameful for sleeping during the encounter with the zombies. She was thankful to have been able to avoid such a terrible situation with no effort at all and even more so to be alive now having been saved by another.

She did feel bad for the people that died protecting the tavern and had she been awake she would have felt inclined to do the same, being as she took advantage of this establishment for her shelter and safety

The person who attempted to save her must have been in a panic at the time, unable to take the time to use the way gates to simply get her safely evacuated unlike those who undoubtedly helped themselves to a portal and fled to a safer part of the universe. Catherine did not have that thought on her mind however; instead was internally focused she would have to discover the person who rescued her soon but for now it would remain an idle topic for she had other matters to attend to.

Her stomach was empty for one and she smelled more rancid than a forgotten foot fungus. It was an incredibly subtle odor, hardly noticeable but she could see the expressions the barmaid's face would make from the corner of her cowl; jerking and contorting as she caught the occasional wafting odor. It was almost amusing to the Sable Feline to witness but she admittedly did not like her own scent and the feeling of her own filth on her skin. The feeling she got from being this filthy was bothersome and she could not get it out of her mind... at least until she set her eyes on the fish once more.

The glistening cold haddock was surprisingly free of flies it seemed. Nothing had touched it since she entered the kitchen and it remained the eye of her affections... figuratively. She stared at it whilst the barmaid simply made her way off towards the seating area to serve the newly prepared dish Chef Berwater had just completed.

Ghallen turned his attention from the plate he just finished to the woman still standing idly in his work space and producing a rather unsavory scent.

[CGB]: "You go ahead and take the rest of my lunch Ms. Black." He immediately goes back to work, still talking as he does.

Catherine does not waste a moment before going over and taking the fish into her hands. She admittedly does not look to enthusiastic though. It could simply be her hunger preventing her from appearing as excited as she was.

"Please, just call me Catherine." Or maybe it was something else entirely.

She was trying to be polite but she made a note from this point on not to give out her full name. If in the future it got her into any trouble she would simply have to deal with it. She sets the fish back onto the island counter and removes the leather straps from her hands and takes the fish into her grasp. With her sharp teeth she sinks into the slimy flesh and eats the nearly rotten fish very quickly, finishing it in a few seconds. There's a bit of fish stuck to her face by the time she is done. She savors the leftovers, licking the fish off of her own face and off of her fingers. Just as she pulls the last finger out of her mouth she glances up to Ghallen whom was busy working once more, a slight grin on his weathered face.

"Thank you, Ghallen Berwater." And makes her way out of the kitchen, blushing slightly in a tinge of embarrasment.

It only takes her a moment to get her bearings on her way to see the owner, Levhea Morytol. Catherine simply followed the lingering odor of the barmaid out of the kitchen. She passes Vaddock on her way to what she thought was Ms. Morytol's office but before she wandered away Catherine dug into her pocket, finding the parchment from earlier stuffed away inside.

She looks at it a moment longer and discovers it is an old flier for a position here at the Tavern for a new table attendant. It was probably something she would need to talk to Ms. Morytol about but being as Catherine was a mix of confused and curious she walks over to Vaddock from behind the bar and when he isn't busy chatting or serving patrons taps his shoulder, presenting it to him and asking and asking bluntly.

"Are you hiring?"[/spoiler]
Revising
[spoiler]
Mow~ Mow~ Mow~ :3 :3 :3
[/spoiler]

 

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Edited by HiddenKitty123

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As his blade pierced into his right shoulder (The one holding his blade) He whipped out his flintlock before he could hit bone. It as already so deep. He could feel the cold metal inside his arm. It didn't seem to phase him as it seemed more exciting and entertaining, The gunclicked ready to take the shot. He aimed it at his chest. A less fatal area from afar, But at this close it could do some serious damage. The flintlock had Markings all over it. it seemed to be cut into by a small knife of a person with less experience as it was not very neat or nice looking. The markings were some kind of magic he had learned. It wasn't a secret about the magic that reinforced the gun, But it was a secret of what it changed. He still pointed the gun at him. The blade still slightly going deeper into his shoulder.


He gritted his teeth, pushing the rusty blade through. He had to use some strength to do so, but he didn't struggle, since physical strength is the only thing he did have.

A glint of oak caught his eye, moving his gaze down to the brown and grey that plastered the gun. Eyes widened as he saw it pointed at his chest. Realization passed through him, when he remembered, he's only teaching him... Right...? Did this turn out into a real fight!?

Alarik moved his eyes around from the sword, which was, at least, three inches that pierced the skin; the gun, which was now held to his chest; and the male, who was standing before him. Crap... The brunette let go of his sword, not bothering to pull it out, weary of the bleeding, unsure if it was safe to pull it out. He stumbled on his feet, tripping as he fell onto his back. He was afraid. Horrified. He wasn't use to fighting another human, or causing harm to another human, or humanoid species of sorts.

He fell with a short yell, landing on the grass in his back. Definitely better than falling in pavement, but still hurt. His voice was weak, sounding like a kid who admitted to their wrong acts to take full responsibility. "I-I didn't mean to... Don't shoot me..." He mumbled, slowly gathering himself to his feet to stand. Was that a real gun? Was he going to be shot? He was almost shaking from the armed weapon.


[] Call him a wuss or whatever. Remember, It's his first time fighting another person. :P []

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He gritted his teeth, pushing the rusty blade through. He had to use some strength to do so, but he didn't struggle, since physical strength is the only thing he did have.

A glint of oak caught his eye, moving his gaze down to the brown and grey that plastered the gun. Eyes widened as he saw it pointed at his chest. Realization passed through him, when he remembered, he's only teaching him... Right...? Did this turn out into a real fight!?

Alarik moved his eyes around from the sword, which was, at least, three inches that pierced the skin; the gun, which was now held to his chest; and the male, who was standing before him. Crap... The brunette let go of his sword, not bothering to pull it out, weary of the bleeding, unsure if it was safe to pull it out. He stumbled on his feet, tripping as he fell onto his back. He was afraid. Horrified. He wasn't use to fighting another human, or causing harm to another human, or humanoid species of sorts.

He fell with a short yell, landing on the grass in his back. Definitely better than falling in pavement, but still hurt. His voice was weak, sounding like a kid who admitted to their wrong acts to take full responsibility. "I-I didn't mean to... Don't shoot me..." He mumbled, slowly gathering himself to his feet to stand. Was that a real gun? Was he going to be shot? He was almost shaking from the armed weapon.


[] Call him a wuss or whatever. Remember, It's his first time fighting another person. :P []

"Boom" Damien said as he holstered the gun after he had already fallen. He put his hand on the blade of the sword that was pierced into his shoulder. It was close to, but had not hit the bone. It had steered outward only graving it.

 

His hand squeezed the blade but was not cut (As he was using his only little non weapon fighting style, Though you wouldn't know since it wasn't actually able to be seen as it was covered)

 

"Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight . . . Seven . . .ZERO" He ripped out the blade and let go having it move a few feet before hitting grass.

His eyes squinted a bit but not to much. When it came to weapons, He was able to stand the pain on a high level. Magic was what really did him in.

 

Blood was spewing every where. He Took off his shirt and clothing to apply pressure on to the gash.

 

"Well . . . What are you bloody waiting for" He said Bloody in a tone making it seem as if it were meant to be a joke.

 

The blood wasn't so mush gushing now due to the pressure but was still leaving.

He guessed that meant he lost . . . Or won. If this was a real fight and he had fallen . . . He could have went in for the kill . . . 

He then turned to see him and actually look. He could see the fear in his eyes. Was he really knew to fighting? Did he actually think I was gonna kill him.

 

Damien had wondered if it was not because of the gun but because of the marks on the gun? He doubted any one would know what it meant. He didn't even know what it Meant.

 

Damien had already sheathed his sword and was walking towards him.

 

"Please don't freak out" He muttered. He was hoping he wouldn't make a scene.

 

This wasn't the first time a person had freaked out after something like this. 

He wondered if this was what he was like when he was trained.

 

As soon as the warmth of the blood dripped onto his lower torso he snapped back.

 

"Are you okay" He asked, Ignoring the cut, Which for some reason was now starting to feel like it was burning.

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"Boom" Damien said as he holstered the gun after he had already fallen. He put his hand on the blade of the sword that was pierced into his shoulder. It was close to, but had not hit the bone. It had steered outward only graving it.
 
His hand squeezed the blade but was not cut (As he was using his only little non weapon fighting style, Though you wouldn't know since it wasn't actually able to be seen as it was covered)
 
"Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight . . . Seven . . .ZERO" He ripped out the blade and let go having it move a few feet before hitting grass.
His eyes squinted a bit but not to much. When it came to weapons, He was able to stand the pain on a high level. Magic was what really did him in.
 
Blood was spewing every where. He Took off his shirt and clothing to apply pressure on to the gash.
 
"Well . . . What are you bloody waiting for" He said Bloody in a tone making it seem as if it were meant to be a joke.
 
The blood wasn't so mush gushing now due to the pressure but was still leaving.
He guessed that meant he lost . . . Or won. If this was a real fight and he had fallen . . . He could have went in for the kill . . . 
He then turned to see him and actually look. He could see the fear in his eyes. Was he really knew to fighting? Did he actually think I was gonna kill him.
 
Damien had wondered if it was not because of the gun but because of the marks on the gun? He doubted any one would know what it meant. He didn't even know what it Meant.
 
Damien had already sheathed his sword and was walking towards him.
 
"Please don't freak out" He muttered. He was hoping he wouldn't make a scene.
 
This wasn't the first time a person had freaked out after something like this. 
He wondered if this was what he was like when he was trained.
 
As soon as the warmth of the blood dripped onto his lower torso he snapped back.
 
"Are you okay" He asked, Ignoring the cut, Which for some reason was now starting to feel like it was burning.


He watched as the crimson substance poured from the wound. He didn't really know what to do, being he's never been in such a situation, so he stood there. Many of the things he did, was foreign to Alarik. A few questions were such things as, why is he counting, why did he suddenly skip from 7 to 0, why is he covering the wound with his shirt, what does 'bloody' mean in this situation. He reverted out of his mind to the other when he heard a question.

It took a minute of silence, until he replied, "Um... Nuttin' just standin' waiting for' yo'. Makin' sure you're OK." His voice was still low, and beginning to return to his gleeful self. He heard the male tell him to not freak out and he just smiled with a short, "I won't." He walked towards his sword to pick it up. Taking a glance at the blood that stained it, he glanced at the other with a quick nod. "Yeah, just fine. Can not say the same for' you, though."

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He watched as the crimson substance poured from the wound. He didn't really know what to do, being he's never been in such a situation, so he stood there. Many of the things he did, was foreign to Alarik. A few questions were such things as, why is he counting, why did he suddenly skip from 7 to 0, why is he covering the wound with his shirt, what does 'bloody' mean in this situation. He reverted out of his mind to the other when he heard a question.

It took a minute of silence, until he replied, "Um... Nuttin' just standin' waiting for' yo'. Makin' sure you're OK." His voice was still low, and beginning to return to his gleeful self. He heard the male tell him to not freak out and he just smiled with a short, "I won't." He walked towards his sword to pick it up. Taking a glance at the blood that stained it, he glanced at the other with a quick nod. "Yeah, just fine. Can not say the same for' you, though."

 

Damien looked at the shirt hes was pressing to cover the blood. Now turning from what was a white-ish color to a crimson red in little bits all over. "This . . . It's not a first. I am able to withstand pain when it comes to weapons. Magic is when i'm kinda screwed" He gave a sigh, "I need to find a healer or something so I can actually use my right arm for . . ." He looks at the cut now noticing that it was hard moving his arm in general due to the way it was cut. "Well for anything" The blood has slowed so now it was going at a slower pace. 

 

"So . . . Know a guy" He said. He let go of the cloth. It was covered in blood. wouldn't do much now. He headed over towards The other males blade and retrieved it. "I would expect a person of your build to duel wield or at least use a great sword." He handed him the blade

 

"I need you to get a torch" He said looking at his arm.

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Gray was forced awake by the pawing of an agitated Carbuncle who now resembled a ferret swimming through the air around him. He must have fallen asleep while resting in the corner of the tavern, but with a loud yawn and a lot of over exaggerated stretching he pushed himself onto his feet and waddled across the bar as Carbuncle shifted in a small flock of butterflies and followed in his wake. Gray wasn't quite sure how long he had been out, maybe minutes or even hours. It didn't seem as if many of the patrons had moved from their comfortable spots where they sat drinking cheap liquor and conversing loudly with one another. He glanced at the bar and began to wonder if he could convince the barkeep to let him try a glass, just to see what all the fuss involving alcohol was about. He licked his lips, imagining it to be like liquid candy that gave you the best sugar rush ever, hence the odd behavior which generally followed its consumption. His daydreaming was swiftly put to an end as Carbuncle's butterflies began dancing circles around him, the constant flicker of pale blue light that emanated from his familiar pulled him back to reality. "Maybe before I go..." He spoke in a languid, slightly slurred manner as he still fought against the sleep he had just been dragged from, chuckling a bit as he continued on as if he already had a mischievous plan to get a taste of the bar's finest.

 

He stepped out of the tavern and breathed in the somewhat fresh, if a little smokey, air. It was then that Gray's gaze fell upon the recently ended fight between two gentlemen, if gentlemen they be. There was blood, sweat, and the smell of chaos in the air and that was just up his alley. He gently tipped his hat so that it slightly covered his eyes, attempting to make himself look mysterious and questionable, just as many characters he had read about in his books. He spotted a discarded wooden pipe on the ground and so picked it up, leaned himself against the seemingly fragile wall of the shack and began puffing away at the unlit thing. In order to make this look less foolish, he began using his magic to produce smoke from his mouth, allowing him to blow grand billowy clouds into the air. However, once or twice this resulted in him coughing up a few flames, but in his mind it was cool nonetheless.

 

"Do you need any help, sirs?" Gray said in a raspy voice, trying to cover up his ten year old, less intimidating one as he eyed the two men. Carbuncle slithered around his right arm, taking the form of a small, serpentine dragon in an attempt to make its master's visage more impressive.

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Damien looked at the shirt hes was pressing to cover the blood. Now turning from what was a white-ish color to a crimson red in little bits all over. "This . . . It's not a first. I am able to withstand pain when it comes to weapons. Magic is when i'm kinda screwed" He gave a sigh, "I need to find a healer or something so I can actually use my right arm for . . ." He looks at the cut now noticing that it was hard moving his arm in general due to the way it was cut. "Well for anything" The blood has slowed so now it was going at a slower pace. 
 
"So . . . Know a guy" He said. He let go of the cloth. It was covered in blood. wouldn't do much now. He headed over towards The other males blade and retrieved it. "I would expect a person of your build to duel wield or at least use a great sword." He handed him the blade
 
"I need you to get a torch" He said looking at his arm.


He stood slowly with a sigh. Alright, den. Good thing my ma... Mash... Mag..." He had trouble pronouncing the word and quickly settled with, "I'm unable to use mashic." He said, knowing he probably butchered the word, but didn't really care too much about it.

He didn't understand what he meant by duel weild, but did agree that a larger, htheier sword would be more ideal. Though, it'd be more difficult to hide under his clothing. That probably didn't matter here, though. Alarik decided to go look for something later.

When told to get a torch, he assumed he meant a burning stick. Taking the sword back, he walked over to a tree and grabbed a low hanging branch. With a couple swings of his blade, the branch broke away from the tree and he went over to one of the torches near the tavern to light his stick on fire. He sauntered back to the other. "What this for?" He asked.

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He stood slowly with a sigh. Alright, den. Good thing my ma... Mash... Mag..." He had trouble pronouncing the word and quickly settled with, "I'm unable to use mashic." He said, knowing he probably butchered the word, but didn't really care too much about it.

He didn't understand what he meant by duel weild, but did agree that a larger, htheier sword would be more ideal. Though, it'd be more difficult to hide under his clothing. That probably didn't matter here, though. Alarik decided to go look for something later.

When told to get a torch, he assumed he meant a burning stick. Taking the sword back, he walked over to a tree and grabbed a low hanging branch. With a couple swings of his blade, the branch broke away from the tree and he went over to one of the torches near the tavern to light his stick on fire. He sauntered back to the other. "What this for?" He asked.

 

Damien took the branch with his left hand and held it near the wound.

 

"Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight  . . . ZERO"

He put the burning end of it and sealed the wound.

Screams of pain filled the air (Burning is known to be the worst pain of all)

 

"T-thanks" He said in a low quiet voice. But instead it came out as "denks"

 

He fell to the ground dropping the stick. The wound was healed but he was still hurt.

 

That was followed but an unnecacary amount of derogatory words.

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