Fight:A Good Old Brawl

Hanging Corpse Tavern

Nazarus begins to walk in to the bar but as he walks in he sees the young woman he had fought a few nights ago. Nazarus becoming angered by someone who attacked him because of him feeding and then has the aldacity to come in his home city where most of his kind do it. Nazarus quietly exits the bar to not bring any attention to himself. As the enraged vampire gets far enough away he begins to conjure a spell that will hopefully end that dragon's day. Nazarus begins to meditate in the steeets of Vailkrin as a black ball with purple aura that's to form. Nazarus focuses on channeling the energy as the wind itself starts to become sucked in. The ball continues to grow till it is the size of 50 men. Nazarus launches the ball towards the hanging corpse it moves very slowly but has immense force pulling the trees animals and humanoids in. As the death knight laughs to see how heroic this dragon truly is. Will she sacrifice herself for the greater good or run away like a coward to let several innocents die.

Slit notices Nazarus walk in and back out of the bar, as the large ball moves closer to the tavern Slit feels its power and the void that is being created by it. The Elder Elf reaches into his quiver and pulls out an rather odd arrow that has a orange pouch attached to it. He flicks a small big of magic from his finger tip and sets a small piece of thread attached to the arrow on fire and the he lifts his bow and takes careful aim towards the ball comming towards him. As he breathes out he lets the arrow loose and the hissing of the arrow can be heard until it enters the ball. If all goes as planned the powder in the pouch will explode and cause the ball to implode on itself. After his shot the old elf hides behind the counter and grabs the shelf and pulls it down onto himself to provide cover from the anticipated explosion that is most likely going to happen any second now.

Nazarus notices the arrow going inside of the ball but thinks nothing of it. Nazarus begins to make his way out of the city before any guards show up. Even if the dragon had sacrificed herself he'd see the others die as a sacrifice to Vakarash. Nazarus quickly looks back one last time as he sees his ball of gravity start to implode itself however the ball is right on top of the tavern when it does causing it to tear apart before it's stopped however to Nazarus' surprise the ball bursts out everything it sucked in and flings it out with great force.

Rayala hears the door open and close, jarring her out of her thoughts - and interrupting her friend from playing. She would hear no more footsteps and thinks how odd it is that someone would open the door, peer in, then leave again. As she is in the process of shrugging, and assuming that whoever it was, was probably looking for someone they did not find upon looking into the tavern, she feels the great disturbance in the wind and the trees as each cries out for help. She shivers, unsure of herself, of the threat, of what she could possibly do, and holds her head in her hands, concentrating, thinking, pleading with her body to do what it has not been able to do. She feels the change course through her before it comes. She gets up, body searing in agony as broken bones and ragged flesh contort and begin to shine, with magic and with the appearance of scales. She moves, blindly stumbling through tables and chairs, to get outside, where the source of the problem is, where everything is dangerous and dark. She means to just -see- what is happening, to just protect the safe place she has come to inhabit so frequently, with its beautiful tapestries. She cannot see the threat, however, not with the damage done to her eyes, so even as the bandages around her flesh binding her wounds from her previous battle would break, she still would not be able to see. The transformation itself, with the magic of her race pouring through her body, would heal her in whatever state she is in, to the best of its ability, lest the transformation do more damage to her. This results in her wounds closing, setting exactly as it is. Before she takes her scaled, great form, one may see, if they are close enough, the dragons eyes and the skin upon her left cheek contort into nothing but scar tissue, corded over with vague implications of what they were before. The wound on her chest, thankfully already begun to heal, internally, would knit closed, forming a long, roping scar that stretches across the front of Rayalas torso. Her arm, and the as-yet-unknown damage from being pierced through, heals as is, as well. In a flash, she is outside, though, and suddenly she is golden and huge, massive really, beating her wings rapidly and breathing a fearsome growl. As she beats them, the wind would stir, would tornado, really, around her, but she forces it away from the tavern. She hears the hiss of an arrow pierce the air, hit its mark and senses the budding explosion. She herself is pulled closer, but tries to pull the void away as she takes to the air. Of course, she has no idea where she is flying, the massive creature would crash into more things than she would miss, desperate to get whatever it is she is fighting -away- from the innocents.

Raphaline had not been quite prepared for an attack, and look it was the sonofa- who had hurt Ray too. She snarls, gutteral and deep in her throat as she eyes the vampire with such a disgust and desire to see him torn asunder. But it seems, Ray had ever desire to do it first. With the transformation, Raph moves out of the way to give the dragon more room to move. She had studied the creatures in Rynvale and knew well enough the behemoth size in which they could get when changing forms. The violinist was no weapons expert, but she had her magic, raw and buried deep within the fabric of her being--all it would take is a little singing. If her friend was not able to make a move to deflect this ball of gravity, she knew well enough she could encourage the elements themselves to assist. So she begins to hum, low at first, a stirring for her magic to come to life; And it did. It was like a raw, shock of lightening coursing through her body. She waits for the right moment to unleash it.

Merrien apparently walked in to have a drink at the wrong time. A normally desolate sorry Steadmen locale most days, today it appeared to be the site of a duel of some sort. Merrien's eyes blink rapidly across the room, no familiar faces not that that was anything new and all brawl. The half-elven lass skirts into a corner, near enough to the door to make a quick escape, but far enough into the tavern that a good view of the action might be gained. "This is gonna be good..." the girl remarks to herself from her corner.

Christian wasn't stirred from his slumber by the commotion downstairs; he wasn't brought to life from the sensation of dark forces manifesting, culminating into dense concentration; he was, however, awakened by shingles of the tavern's roof ripping from its proper place: y'know, the roof. Nazarus' orb even threatened to pull the Kensei in, before it exploded, using what it had gathered as shrapnel to barrage any unfortunate enough to be caught in its way; hands immediately were brought to shield his delicate, beautiful face he didn't care about the rest of his body, and luckily enough, none had chosen to launch in his direction, leaving Christian at a loss for words. Silently, he made his way down the steps and through the door the hell was going on? There was a dragon. Was it Rayala? The energies which emanated from her seemed vaguely familiar; and there it was again: the looming presence he'd felt at the time of her attack. "Hell no hell. No," was the first thing out of his mouth. He was furious attack his lady-friend, fine, his tavern? The person must be, beyond a questionable doubt, mentally handicapped to find reason behind those actions. Blink, and you'd miss it: Christian's form practically fading from reality, slipping between ethereal and corporeal, all as a means of closing the gap Nazarus had made from the tavern, which resulted in unimaginable pain spiking throughout his body, but he didn't care. In a breath, he'd finally solidify behind the vampire, fists clenched. "Are you dumb?" he'd ask, as simply as that.

Slit begins to push all the clutter that had built up on top the shelf that he pulled down on himself as a shield. He then slowly raising up on his knees he uses his bow as a crutch to lift his body. He wondered to himself, that looked like the Sheriff of Larket, but why would he be here and attack the tavern? Slit slowly scratched his head and began to comb his long white hair with his fingers. After he felt that he had fixed his hair he looked around and began to walk outside the tavern. No one needs to know that he was here when all this broke out, he tip toes outside and slides trough the buildings wishing no one spots him.

Nazarus is walking away towards the city of Larket when suddenly he feels a presence behind him as he hears what sounds like someone questioning his actions. As the vampire is still enraged at the fact his ball was destroyed, that the dragon who ambushed him the other night is still alive, and the fact some prick has the nerve to come after him. Nazarus does not turn around instead he draws his spear as his body starts to flow with dark menacing anger filled aura. The spear he holds the metal can not be seen as the aura has enveloped it entirely. Nazarus' eyes turn a glowing red, his fangs extending fully out, his muscles tightening, the ground beneath him starts to break apart, the air around him so vile it feels poisonous. Nazarus only says one word "DIE!" as he turns around unleashing his unholy strike attempting to puncture Christian in the chest with all his force.

Rayala is in the air as the debris is scattered, when the void finally explodes out what it had taken in. The pulse ripples through her, causing her to writhe, twist in the air. She doesn't know if she's being directly attacked or not, all she knows is that suddenly, the air around her is not longer being sucked in but rather expelled. Tired, she starts to drop, hoping she's done something right, gotten the danger away from people, from the tavern. Something mid-air strikes her, a brick, perhaps, or a shingle, or a branch: whatever it is, it is blunt and forceful. She turns away from it, into the path of another piece of debris. Her scales deflect it and her instincts take over as she tries to find a place to land. She doesn't need evasion tactics, not when the air is her -home-, not when it holds her body securely, not when she can dive and dip; except, she is so -tired-, her body so weary from all the fighting over the course of the day that, depleted, she has trouble sustaining herself. As she lowers, the fragments in the air would annoy her more than anything else. Her front right leg crashes into the top of a tree and it aches something terrible, and her head is confused. She lets off a roar of frustration before deciding to circle, exactly where she is. She sends off a message, below, cutting clear through the wind though not precisely in words. Rather, the message would consist of images: landing safely the predominant one, expressing the dragon's desire to be in -human- form, and safe, somewhere, and not in pain and circling in the air and worried about crushing a tree or a friend. She starts her decline, hoping her message be caught by someone. She descends and loses her balance in her wings, comes crashing down, jostling her once-again-sore body, her claws in particular. The wind, ever her friend, attempts to guide the dragon's body atop Nazarus, having heard the attack on Riss and deciding that it quite -likes- Riss, and the tavern, and doesn't -want- the nice-man-who-once-had-an-affinity-for-air-and-was-also-once-a-vampire to be hurt at all. Ray, of course, complies. She has no real idea where she's headed. She'll leave that to chance.

Raphaline clearly could not stay in the tavern, not while her friend was heading outside. Her biggest fear at the moment was that the dragon would hurt herself even more, even if she did just heal most of her wounds. She follows, catches the message that she had sent on the wind and keeps a close eye on her. She would not dissuade the dragon from falling on top of the vampire, no that was too ironic of a gesture to keep from happening. Instead, she keep to the side lines, muscles taunt and adrenalized for the moment when she would need to dash to her friend's side. For now, she allows the man, whoever he was, to take care of the nuisnace that is that vampire.

Merrien does not seem to know where to put herself so that she is out of harm's way, but still within viewing distance of the debacle unfolding before her eyes. Everyone pouring out into the street, a dragon circling in the skies, and a very peeved off batch of individuals on the ground level make all of this a shambles. Merrien tucks herself against a building and, following the example of her fellow bard, begins to sing a light chorus, her intentions being a sort of calming spell for the lot of them. While Merrien did enjoy a good pub brawl, it appeared as if someone could get hurt.

Christian wasn't daft; he also wouldn't be taken by surprise by a frontal, overly exaggerated frontal attack, signified by the twitching of muscles and battle-cry alike; hell, it'd practically seem like Nazarus' actions were moving-- more slowly? And there it was: that nagging, once ever-present voice of guidance within him, the voice he'd done his best to suppress, to rid from his soul, but it wasn't gone, just sleeping. Christian's fury had awakened it. The Kensei's movements were precise, as if having taken into account every detail of his environment upon a moments notice, which resulted in his abdomen contorting right, flailing his body just before the spear's tip made contact; that said, Nazarus' attack would be allotted enough time to reach the pinnacle of its power before any action was taken, which, if not realized in time, momentum would be the Death Knight's downfall. During his spin, left arm flailed from his side, as if drawing a sword from a waist-bound hilt; why, though? There wasn't a sword in sight, yet on a more...spiritual level, it was always there, always waiting to strike down those it deemed fit. From the aether, from the deepest confines of Christian's soul, a hulking broadsword -- hell, more of a cleaver, really -- was ushered into existence, its blade following the course the Kensei's hand had swung: directly toward the back of Nazarus' neck, wishing for immediate decapitation, wishing to rejoice, to bathe in the blood of such a pitiful adversary: it had seen much, much worse. Despite Indignation's initial attack, a secondary was added by sheer happenstance: the aura which surrounded the blade, holy in nature, ever-grinding and slicing akin to a chainsaw, jumped from the blade itself in a visible line which followed the blade's arc: should Nazarus simply move forward as an attempt to escape the blade's reach, this would serve as a means to behead the vampire, possibly more effective than the sword itself.

Nazarus in his blind rage to the annoying man who deserved nothing but death would know his weakness this day. As the vampire's thrust moved forward he notices as he thrust his spear that it had not met it's mark. Out of the corner of his eye he seen a huge sword being pulled out from Christian which confused him on how he could conceal something so large. As the kensei swung his heavy sword towards the death knight's back he would leap to the ground spear still in hand his fist clinched up and the tip of his feet landing perfectly. As the vampire sees the sword and the light trailing it passing him over he springs himself back up but only to notice something heavy flying in the air behind him. Yes fortune may have his luck this day for today he may finally defeat the pitiful dragon. Nazarus turns and throws his spear as hard as his body would let him the dark energy still within it embracing the spear. Nazarus quickly turns back around hoping Christian is disrupted by the chance of his friend being killed. Nazarus quickly draws from the cold energy around him and forces his hands to hold an ice sphere as he lunges it at Christian's face to blind him. As he comes fangs drawn out leaping onto Christian attempting to drain his blood.

Hanan sure just witnessed a lot of things happening at once from her horse a good distance from the Hanging Corpse, lips loose around a cigarette that dangled precariously from her lips.

Rayala continues to fall at great speed. She attempts to slow herself down, as she has not heard any response to her message, but succeeds only a little. Eyes useless to her, she focuses her attention on those below. She feels the wind stir beneath her, knows there to be a battle, and..a sword? She smells energy, or something close to it. Her body trembles as it feels the magic penetrating around her. She also hears the humming of her friend, clearly still attuned to the frequency of Raphaline's music - and recognizes the accompaniment of another. She focuses on Raphaline, and spares a glance for Riss - and is surprised to find the air whispering in her ear: he's okay, he's below. She swerves a little, remaining senses screaming signals at her that overload her, make her just want to sleep. She gathers herself together, still falling in the direction of Nazarus and would feel Raphaline's tension through her singing, painful and sharp and…something about…a spear? She curses, tendrils of air wrap her, shoot downwards in the direction of the spear in the hopes to shatter it before it can pierce her belly - just in case the point laced with magic -should- be able to pierce her scales, which she is incoherent enough to believe - and twists. It would graze her scales nonetheless, sending sparks along as she falls to the earth beside the fighting men. Her right foreleg, useless as an arm in her human form at the moment and even more useless as a landing pad, crumples beneath her. She swings her long tail as she folds her wings in, rolls onto her back. The tail's trajectory: the feet of Nazarus (and, unfortunately, of Christian as well), hoping to dislodge him, make him fall upon his own weapon, or someone elses. She sends a whisper on the wind to Christian, "incoming" she insists on the breeze, hoping it is both loud enough for him to hear as more than an annoying buzz and soft enough to be missed by Nazarus.

Raphaline is absolutely furious now. And it was obvious in the way her voice would sound, almost as if her singing were turning into shouting. It infuriated her how little this vampire cared for life, being it an actually living thing, or the life that someone had. Obviously the tavern was important to the man who was trying his damndest to try and rid them all of this parasite, and she could not blame Riss if he did kill Nazarus. Such disregard for others was a painfully, annoying arrogance worth stomping out. None the less, she continues to hold her notes true, as a way to for the dragon to bend it into a form of echo location. If Riss had the idiot under control, she would do what she could to assist her friend.

Christian felt the wind beneath his sword, the failure which accompanied the lack of fresh blood's slow coagulation upon the ground; it brought disappointment, but most of all: even more rage, hatred for a man so insensitive and arrogant that he'd tread on Vailkrin's ground without expecting repercussions. Nazarus' thrown spear was disregarded, practically in its entirety: Rayala had adopted her true, Saurian form, and scales were no laughing matter; unless the spear had lined up perfectly, to pierce between plating, she'd be just fine -- it likely wouldn't even leave a scratch. Christian's resolve remained clear, unclouded by worry: in situations like these, he didn't have time to worry, didn't have the audacity to shift his eyes away from an adversary -- but what swordsman would? Nazarus, apparently. It'd surely take some time to allocate a target for that spear, time to aim, time to throw, and the Kensei would take advantage of it, giving Indignation another swing, yet this time toward the vampire's abdomen, an attack which, if successful, would cleave him in two. Should it not be, should he (likely) dodge, and continue with his assault, the dragon tattoo upon Christian's right arm would writhe, seek freedom from its physical prison, and ultimately, roar forth to meet the vampire's cold-infused grasp; simultaneously, Indignation would be released, fading back into the ethereal. Amos, beyond its function as an arm-cannon, had an insatiable hunger for magic, the open maw of its gauntlet feasting upon all it'd encounter: in this case, Nazarus' attempt to blind which, when met, would no more than apply a layer of ice to the fingers beneath that gauntlet. The lunge after was unexpected, catching Christian slightly off-guard, yet enhanced reaction-time would pick up the slack: Amos, which shielded the entirety of the Kensei's right arm, would thrust forth, spewing the magic it had consumed directly at a mid-air Nazarus; yet the its essence had changed, no longer sinister, or chilling -- it was a concentrated blast of light which, when powered by Nazarus' magics, required no time to build. Nostalgic, really, after the vampire's initial attack upon Rayala in which he'd encountered the weapon. Rayala, at this time, would come crashing from the sky, alluded to by an ominous dragon-shaped shadow which grew in size as she accelerated -- this, beyond anything, would put a damper on any continued assault, forcing Christian to run away, from the sight of impact, shouting profanities about winged-beasts all the while.


Nazarus notices the sword coming down on him as he attempts to take his hands and catches the blade but was too much to keep from tumbling on him. Nazarus falls to his knees as he manages to push the blade to the side as it comes down upon his arm slashing down from his shoulder to his stomach. The vampire uses the blood in his body to keep himself healed as the blade came in and as the vampire healed his body and blood gushing he traps the sword inside himself. Nazarus noticing his magic was ineffective as he is surprised to see Christian's arm changing into a cannon. Nazarus confused as to what being this annoying man is exactly. As the cannon fired off towards me it reminded him of that night in the tree when he seen the same light come after him, Letting the vampire know this was the fool who prevented him from finishing off Rayala only a few nights before. The vampire enraged grabs the ball and starts focusing a dark ball of energy to counter act it. The orbs interacting which each other causes lighting, wind, and the ground shaking as the collision continues. Nazarus notices the blinding light starts to become a different color as the orbs begin to emerge as one turning into a silver color. Through the deathknights effort he is able to hold the orb in his hands as the vampire notices the dragon almost landing. Nazarus decides to run back from the scene as he pulls the sword out of his body and fires the orb towards the Kensei as he makes his escape.


Rayala crashes to the ground, which would cause a mild earthquake. The elements brought forth into the battle from the clash of magic would not faze the dragon -- she would barely notice them. After her body absorbs the shock, she would lie there, wondering if she would do more harm than good by moving at this point. "Raph?" she calls, gently, before inquiring, again through imagery (picturing the woman's face, the tavern, the safety of her friends). The message would be sent to her friend, before she decides to turn back, shuddering, into her human form. Slowly, wings disappearing first into her body, scales fading, limbs and body shrinking -- even after it would be finished, the girl would not move from the ground. Feeling rather useless, she reaches up with her left arm to feel her face before curling onto her left side. Should Raphaline be close enough, she'd inquire, "Is everyone okay? Was Riss inside? What...what -happened-", for the girl knows neither who had joined the battle, nor who had begun it. With those thoughts in mind, her body shivers a little, and the ultimately exhausted girl passes out.

Christian wasn't expecting a vampire to be capable of grasping light, the element of holiness, in its rawest form; much less, was he expecting the nullification and transmutation of the energies into something entirely different. While Rayala's body did quite the job of blocking the initial blast, the aftermath pulsed outward as pure, kinetic force, knocking Christian back an indiscernible distance, to the ground. There, he'd just lay for a bit, unsure how to rationalize the situation. A victory? No, not quite. He'd just feel frustration, and not much else.


Raphaline makes for the dragon with the kind of swiftness that is granted to her elven heritage. She cares little for the dust and rubble that might still shattering about her from the earthquake, what were a few cuts and bruises? Her concern was for Rayala and reaching her side in time. As she drops to the woman's side, she answers her, "Every one is alright. You did good." She gently slides the other woman's arm over her shoulder, and the other underneath the curve of her knees. She was about to say everything would be alright when she felt the stone weight of a form giving up finally. The half elf could only shake her head, as she lifted the woman up, careful to keep her out of the way of the last bits of rubble and destruction from striking her. To Riss, she proposes her concerns, "We need to take her somewhere safe where she can recover." Hadn't the dragon already been through enough in the last couple of days? She could only shake her head in disappointment, there were no words to describe this kind of situation.


Christian said to Raphaline, "Just take her to one of the Corpse's rooms. I'm content where I am.

Raphaline said to Christian, "You may be content, but I am pretty sure she would not be content with your arrangement."

Christian said to Raphaline, "Then I'll trust your judgment on where to take her. I'll check on her when I feel like moving."