Fight:Ymheshphilun Destroys Gualon Grogshop While Fighting Djarun

This battle was intense. Ym and Djarun fought to a standstill, and in the end nobody won. It's finished now, by the way.

The RP

Cerinii sighed softly, new metallic hand rotating idly. She leaned back in her chair, glancing around. "So... Nein escort, yet?" The preklek shook his head, "No, ma'am." She sighed softly, receiving a rare steak upon a wooden plate. "Hm, dinner.." She murmured, leaning forward to cut a slice and eat it delicately. The platoon of Preklek guards surrounded her table, and some about the grogshop. Keeping eyes upon Cerinii and her whereabouts. She was well-guarded in the grogshop, it would seem. The cane she had been carrying recently was resting against the table.

Ymhesphilun entered hesitantly, his true form masked by a powerful and versatile illusion given to him by the avian Reece. He appeared to be an elven lady, modestly clothed and slightly taller than average. "She" looked around at her surroundings, before locking for a moment on the preklek, and then the one in their midst who wasn't a reptillian. "Hmm," she said under her breath, and sat down at a table not far from the entrance.

Cerinii glanced up at the 'elf', smirking slightly. She was an illusionist also. It was art learned many years ago, and one she uses from time to time. She continued to eat her meal, taking a sip of her orange juice - rushed all the way from Kelay Tavern. How lavish. The Preklek commander tensed at the sight, the platoon tensing and growing tight in formation. Obviously protective of this here charge. Her feathers rustled softly, as she continued to eat. She murmured quietly, "It's been ein while since I have had steak. But, I must say, the chicken in Kelay is most excellent. You should try it, Herr Commander."

Ymhesphilun couldn't help but glance over at the preklek--mostly because he had one tied up somewhere, slowly being driven insane by tormenting visions. But that's another story. The one in the middle, the avian--she was interesting. Perhaps worth further investigation, once she wasn't guarded by so many warriors.

Cerinii didn't enjoy eyes upon her when she tried to enjoy a simple meal. This elf was not an elf. Avians are very strong against Illusions, a fact that should be known by an illusionist. She sighed softly, looking up to the 'elf'. "What do you want? You keep looking this way und doing nothing else." The guards wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

Ymhesphilun finally turned "her" eyes fully on Cerinii--her face was flat and emotionless, and her eyes didn't blink. "I was simply curious about your... ah, guards." "She stood, stepping a few steps quietly closer. "They're quite... different."

Djarun 's entrance to the Gualon Grogshop may easily go unnoticed, save for those inclined to curiosity as the door quietly creaks open and permits him to cross the threshold. Should one happen to turn and glance his way they would find little of interest upon the features of this rather ordinary 'human' and the ragged garb in which he was attired. He was quite tall for one of his race, standing at a respectable height of six feet and three inches, and he held his size well. Long locks of black hair hang down over much of his face, obscuring it from view for the moment as the 'human' took several meandering steps into the Grogshop. Overall Djarun is grubby, and unkempt. His hair is greasy, forming mats intermitendly throughout it's mass, his clothing is ragged and covered in grime, and his bare feet are nearly the color of the ground itself from all his traveling. In summation it is quite likely for Djarun to be mistaken for little more than a wandering bum as he saunters up to the bar and plops down upon one of it's high stools.

Cerinii waved her fork in the air, "A-a-ah!" She grinned, "Step back, 'Frau'." She smiled, "I know what you are, even if the platoon here doesn't. So, keep your distance." She gestured with her fork for him to step back. The commander glanced to Djarun, the platoon remained tense. He leaned forward and whispered gently in her ear. She sighed softly, "Perhaps it would." She smiled softly, "We'll leave shortly, then."

Triyul is here. Somewhere in the midst of that Preklek platoon, adorned in that same uniform helmet and armor that typically made non-Preklek kind think him just a normal old grunt. Which was working to his advantage, so far. And still was, obviously. He felt content to wait the situation through, wait and see.

Ymhesphilun caused his image to lift one eyebrow, then drop it. "Then you should know that I am Fear. Your guards would only slow me down, should I decide to attack." "She" smiled then, the elven grin not at all comforting. "So. What exactly do you have in common with the preklek?" Djarun's entrance was noted and discarded as inconsequential.

Djarun bought 1 whisky.

Djarun produces several dull colored coins from a little leather pouch secured to his waist, and places them on the counter as he breaks into a fit of sickly sounding coughing. The 'human' felt out of place amongst the other patrons which filled the establishment, though his outward appearance remained that of feigned indifference. Still, Djarun's painfully plain brown eyes do flit this way and that under the cover of his matted hair to assess and place the other individuals about him. "Whiskey." he murmurs quietly to the attending barman, and then coughs loudly again, his body convulsing as it tried to cleanse itself.

Cerinii grinned at the 'elf', "That is for me to know, that is mein business." She smiled, "If that was your business then you would know, und you do not - so it is not your business." She chuckled, "Fear? Oh, hardly. You are ein bug, who scares some ja. But your anatomy interests me, but not to such an extraordinary point where I wish to study you." She took the last slice of her steak before setting her fork down, leaning back in her chair. "I am finished. Perhaps it is time to leave."

Triyul said to Cerinii, "Stay."

Triyul notes that was his post. Deal with it.

Cerinii said to Triyul, "Why?"

Triyul growls. She always...asked questions! Gah! Stupid women. "Well. I'm...hungry."

Ymhesphilun simply stared at the avian, eyes not wavering at all, or blinking. In fact, it was one of those creepy stares that people do. "You have not seen what I can do, thus you do not fear me. But the time may come when you find yourself alone, or asleep, or in pain... and then I will find you. And then... you will scream. As if your very soul was being burned." She turned away then, and returned to her seat.

Djarun had been eavesdropping fervently on the various conversations at hand whilst keeping his eyes facing resolutely toward the wall before him. It was something of a habit rather than a conscious decision, though for what it might be worth the habit had kept him breathing on an occasion or two where he otherwise might not have survived. A short glass containing a good measure of whiskey is set before him and Djarun removes it from the counter gently, bringing it up to his lips. It was perhaps in ill fortune that he caught the last words spoken by an elven woman not far away, for as they reach his ears Djarun scoffs a little more audibly than he had meant to before taking a stiff gulp from his whiskey glass.

Cerinii chuckled softly, "Know this, bug, I have removed what you put in Neema's brain." She smirked ever so slightly, "You do not frighten me. I am difficult to frighten." She chuckled, "I have seen what you can do, I have been vividly told such by Frau Neema. What is it you hope to gain, hm? Why do what you do?" She chuckled, "If I were ein giant centipede I'd be stalking prey in the earth or in the woods, not making meinself public enemy number one." She paused, sighing softly. She really was getting a bit bored of the bland grogshop. How long did she have to stay here for?

Ymhesphilun snarled, and stood again, whirling. "Neema saw nothing of my power--only the barest fraction. If she knew the full extent of my abilites and told you--you'd flee the moment I walked through the door." She turned then to the quote human unquote. "You doubt me as well. Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

Djarun doesn't look to the elven woman right away, rather he simply continues to sip from the whiskey glass in his hand for a moment until it is completely drained. "Why do you address me, woman? I do not know you, nor do I think you warrant my attention." Yet even as his words are being spoken Djarun lowers his now empty glass back to the counter with a little 'tink' of glass on wood. In the 'human's' experience such people were rare to rescind a challenge once issued. Slowly Djarun's right hand reaches across his waist and the digits upon it twitch just slightly before wrapping securely about the hilt of a rather ordinary sword which is belted to his left hip through means of leather straps. Throughout this whole business the swordsman keeps his gaze resolutely placed upon an empty patch of wall, just past the bar.

Cerinii snarled loudly, "Und even your barest fraction is useless, as you failed to keep her prisoner und have her return to you!" She growls lowly, "Now, enough. Accept the fact that I do not fear, at least I do not hunt you like the others. I have better things to do with mein time than hunt you. But know this, bug, you confuse me. You claim to be ancient, but you do not show the knowledge necessary to be ancient." She shook her head, lifting her cane. "Now, I say, good day to you, Herr Bug." With that, she emitted a 'hmph' and left the grogshop. If Triyul needed her, he knew where to find her.

Cerinii exits south.

Ymhesphilun once more raised an eyebrow. "-Even- my barest fraction?" she muttered, and then once more turned to Djarun. "All that would be required is a touch. May I?" She took a few more steps toward him. "It will not hurt." At first, he added to himself.

Djarun was no fool, and through the tidbits of conversation he had overheard the 'human's' brain was already beginning to piece the nature of this creature together. The 'human' had known a great deal of elves in his time, and none had acted with such a lack of grace. Though elven in appearance the woman who approached him now was almost clumsy in her form, and on top of that Djarun had picked out several key words. Centipede, bug, public enemy, hunted..... it was no such a stretch for the 'human' to connect the dots and make an assumption, though whether a correct assumption or not there was not way for him to tell... yet. Still, Djarun was left with very little time to ponder this further for at that very moment he could hear little footsteps drawing closer, accompanied by a sinister proclamation from the 'elf'. The ringing of steel against steel permeates the Grogshop as in one fluid motion Djarun twists himself to face the advancing woman and rises from his chair, pulling free his plain looking weapon from it's housing in the process. In a second, or perhaps even less, Djarun is on his feet facing the elf, his sword bared and ready to be implemented if necessary. "Come no closer, beast. Tell me what you are, what you -really- are. It is quite apparent even to these clouded eyes that one of the tree-folk you are not." With a quick twisting of the neck Djarun sends a cascade of black hair flipping over his shoulder to let his face become visible in the dim light. His face is dirty, just as the rest of him, and on his chin lies a thick beard of an equivalent color which has been left to grow unchecked for at least several weeks. Though underneath it all are a set of features which once might have been called handsome.

Ymhesphilun stopped advancing. "Why tell you what I am, when to show you would be so much more... fun?" She vanished, replaced with what was possibly the most horrific being that stalked the land of Hollow. Dead black was the humongous centipede, but I don't mean black. I mean black-hole, oh-my-gosh-this-thing-is-Doom-Incarnate black. It was big, but not like a skyscraper or dragon was big. It was big like the moon is big, filling your vision though it may not be that large. It was many-legged. It was alien. It was truly something no one should behold. It's claws snapped ominously, it's mouthparts gnashed with terrible intention, it's antennae vibrated. It rumbled forward again, the shadows almost swirling around it as it pulsed it's legs in awful, nauseating waves. A powerful voice echoed through the tavern, not heard, but felt. ~Come.~ It was surprisingly smooth for such a horrendous beast.

Djarun 's pupils dilate, then constrict, and then take to a state of mydriasis, expanding to the very edge of his brown iris' and remaining there as his mind attempts to cope with the overwhelming artificial darkness which emanates from the beast before him. A single word reverberates almost painfully through his skull as the centipede 'speaks' and for a moment Djarun feels compelled to obey. He takes a single unconscious step forward, his sword arm going limp and allowing the blade which it held to slump downward. Warning signals blared through the swordsman's head, telling him to run, telling him to fight, telling him to obey, all conflicting messages. The overwhelming amount of stimulus overloaded his human thought-stream, and perhaps this was Djarun's one saving grace. As the man which held dominion over the beast lost power and lost will, the beast within gained strength and gained freedom. A solemn moment ticks past, leaving Djarun's world spinning until suddenly his control cracked. The immutable darkness which swirled about Ymheshphilun is ripped apart, though the act is witnessed by Djarun alone as it takes place inside his own mind, and it is replaced by an aura of vibrant red-orange hues. The normal brown of the 'human's eyes vanishes, to be replaced by an amber glow which casts his face in menacing shadows. Suddenly Djarun stops, halfway through a second step forward and his foot returns to the earth. His sword once more rises to the ready, and his muscles all contract simultaneously causing a great shiver to run the 'human's' body. "No." comes Djarun's reply to the centipede's command, his own voice rising to a near shout and taking on a bestial tone.

Ymhesphilun observed the changes in his opponent's eyes and demeanor, saw the differing reactions with the passage of time, and decided that now was a good time to stop any resistance before it could be made--an example of physical prowess before he got to the mental aspect. And with that, Ym unleashed a sound more terrifying than any other. A sound that shattered windows and eardrums alike, polyphonic and cruel. It was high and low and midrange all at once, harmonic and musical, yet utterly agonizing. The highs were a piercing wail, the lows were chest-pounding machinegun thumps, and the midrange carried such incredible vibrato that it seemed almost like a solid impact. Few had been able to resist for long, and some had collapsed unconscious upon it's aural assault.

Djarun had just broken free of the centipede's commandeering spell, the overwhelming urge to obey or surrender, yet it came at a price. The usual air of calm surrounding Djarun had dissipated to be replaced with something wholly.... animalistic. His eyes had become piercing orbs of violent red, marred only by monstrously large pupils still in the throes of mydriasis which could not be controlled. His breathing had become heavy, forcing his chest to rise and fall at a great pace, though it was not labored. His muscles were all tense, causing tendons and sinew to bulge and twitch, just waiting for the signal from his brain to rip something apart. However nothing could have prepared him for the nightmarish wail which Ymheshphilun unleashed upon him. It was an auditory assault on his very being, both physically and mentally as Djarun's panicked brain rallied in vain to block out the sound. Without being fully cognizant of the fact Djarun falls, first to his knees, then face down upon the wooden floor of the Gualon Grogshop. The blade in his hand falls with a clatter to the ground beside him, cast aside without thought as Djarun's hands fly to cover his ears out of pure instinct. It was utterly horrible, a feeling as though his skull might be torn asunder and his brains would leak onto the ground. As his hands reach those oh-so delicate receptors of sound they become stained in red from the small trickle of blood which seeped out of his skull. The 'human's' heart beat faster, harder, to the point where one might expect it to explode within his chest, and in that moment all conscious thought ceased. The prone form of Djarun writhes in sheer agony, and improperly pronounced words beg for the sound to stop. That was all it took, that was the last straw on in the bundle to bring the swordsman's inner control crashing down around him and unleash something wholly other than human...

Ymhesphilun ceased the noise as Djarun collapsed, rearing up to put his head about eleven feet off the ground. He fired thick strands of webbing from his top five pairs of legs which weaved themselves together and became an adhesive net, spreading out and hopefully pinning his prey to the floor. He advanced with frightening speed, knocking the sword out of reach. He spat a stream of black, burning liquid at the ground in front of the "human", which began to light the wooden floor on fire and spread. ~Surrender,~ came the single word from He Who Lurks Below.

Djarun is in no position to even contemplate defending himself from the ensnaring net of webbing which comes down from above and pins him to the ground, let alone manage it in actuality. Therefor it is with ease that Ymheshphilun pins his opponent to the ground to keep him from moving further. Djarun barely even fights against it, straining his tired muscles against the mesh of web with little success. Blood began to pool on the ground around him from where it trickled out of his brutalized ears, and his sword was now skittering halfway across the room; well out of reach. Still, it mattered little, for Djarun was no longer even in the realms of reality. All he saw was fire, all he felt was pain, all the thought was rage, pure and unrivaled rage. It filled him up within, consumed him, threatened to rupture his fragile little frame and spew outward into the world, using his body as a vessel. Such was a state of being that prevented Djarun from even feeling the heat of Ymheshphilun's flames as they licked his fingers and singed the mats of his greasy hair. Once more a word reverberated through his skull, one single infuriating word: Surrender. Yet surrender was one thing which Djarun could not do, would not do, he would rather -die- before surrendering to anyone, let alone some monstrous insect. Suddenly the vicious sound which Ymheshphilun had been emitting is replaced with one even louder, one more fierce, one more unilaterally violent who's sole intent was to convey sheer rage and defiance. It was a roar, of purely bestial proportions which might make even the bravest of grown men cower in fear. The sound quickly rippled throughout the Gualon Grogshop and out into the surrounding area, causing bottles to rattle against one another and Djarun's now empty whiskey glass which had been left upon the counter to vibrate across it's surface before falling to the floor and shattering. The 'human' swordsman's body begins to grow unnaturally, distorting and being ripped apart before suddenly a blinding white light bursts from his flesh and blocks -everything- it touches from view. The roar only intensifies in the moments following, serving to block out the sound of splintering wood and snapping bones. A transformation which took only moments seems to stretch on for an eternity as Djarun's new found girth spreads throughout the Grogshop, likely forcing the centipede up against a wall as a sound with the concussive force equal to a massive explosion rips outward and rivals even the roaring Djarun in it's magnitude. A suddenly as they came both noises cease, along with the blinding light which had followed, and in all of the confusion a quite different landscape comes into being. The Grogshop has been deconstructed at it's very seams, leaving great clouds of swirling dust to cast ominous shadows over the landscape of decimated furniture and splintered wood. The roof has fallen in, allowing shafts of dusk light to filter through the dust and illuminate the destruction which has just occurred. The Grogshop's door, and in fact the entire wall which it had rested in is gone, obliterated into nothingness and within all the carnage remains a single massive form. The unassuming swordsman seems to have revealed his true self, the vessel of rage and greed incarnate which was a red Dragon in it's early stages of adulthood. Two massive eyes rest within a scaled face, their burning red glow accentuating the pure expression of animalistic anger held within Djarun's snarling expression. Rows of razor sharp teeth dripping with saliva just ready to tear into anyone or anything which might challenge him. A long spiked tail protrudes through the Grogshop's back wall, flicking this way and that. Massive leathery wings lay folded atop Djarun's hulking torso, smoke rolls in intermittent bursts from his flared nostrils, and claws which are easily the length of sabers dig into what little remains of the Grogshop's floorboards.

Ymhesphilun had seen dragons before, and this one was rather large. (Understatement of the RP, methinks.) The centipede was taken aback by the transformation, but only for a moment--the rest of the time was spent in contemplation of the new circumstances. Perhaps he was now at a disadvantage, though perhaps not--his relatively smaller size allowed for different tactics. Ym moved out of the now ruined tavern, out to the road, behind the dragon--and then he rammed his claws and teeth into the ground, and burrowed below the surface. Within moments, he was gone, out of sight.

Djarun 's eyes track the centipede through the near darkness as it skitters out of the tavern and into the street. Without a second thought Djarun give chase, his massive tail destroying what little was left of the Grogshop's walls and his claws tearing deep gashes into the soil in the process. Djarun's fearsome teeth nearly catch the centipede as his maw races toward Ymheshphilun from above, yet alas it was not fast enough. Before Djarun can catch his prey the centipede is gone, burrowing deep underground with great speed. Another roar surges outward from the towering Dragon, likely alerting all inhabitants within a several mile radius as to his presence and causing a great deal of panic amid the streets of Gualon. Several terrified citizens who were walking the street flee as the almost otherworldly sight of a giant centipede fleeing the now destroyed Grogshop, chased by an even more massive Dragon meets their gaze. "Come back here worm!" Djarun shouts amid the roar, though it is not produced in an auditory sense, rather it is bombarded throughout the area mentally with great force. Yet without waiting for a response or waiting for the centipede to show itself the Dragon places the tip of his snout to the hole which Ymheshphilun had escaped through. An intense plume of fire is forced downward into the earth, a solid stream of burning death which fills throughout any tunnels the Centipede might have made, chasing after it through the earth.

Ymhesphilun locked onto the mental cry, tracking it's neural signature with his mind, trying to make a connection. in the meantime, fire was something the centipede was highly resistant to, and every curve the flame went around would inevitably weaken it. The attack's damage would be negligible, and it actually hastened Ym's next tactic. As the flame rushed through the tunnels, it weakened the webbing that Ym had in place. As Ym laid more, and pulled on it, the network began to tremble--and finally the strain was too much. With a roar that came from Hollow itself, the ground exploded and shifted underneath the tavern and the dragon. A huge earthquake was triggered soon after, causing a huge disturbance in the air as well. Flight to escape would be hard, and if the dragon stayed on the ground for much longer he'd probably trip and fall--hard. The centipede was craftier than some would think, it appeared.

Djarun can feel the ground tremble below him, feel the earth begin to give way. It appears that the tunnels which Ymhesphilun was using to maneuver were less than temporary; an already established network of passageways that extended a great deal further and deeper than Djarun might have guessed. Suddenly the ground collapses, the stress put on it too much to bare as a cataclysmic amount of force is unleashed within the very flesh of the land. Such a huge disturbance the pair was making, it was a small wonder that the very gods of hollow did not take notice. Everywhere around people were running and screaming, fleeing the scene as all hell was brought to existence around them. As the ground gives way Djarun tries desperately to take flight, yet the downdraft caused by such a displacement of earth pulls him back toward the ground despite his most valiant efforts to escape it. Rather than flight, the result is a sort of jump which leaves him traveling mere feet above the sinkhole which was now developing. The remains of Gualon Grogshop are swept into the earth, devoured by the land, and Djarun forces his wings downward desperately hoping to gain any lift that was possible. It was not much, and in fact he was being pulled from the sky by something similar to a vacuum effect. Within mere moments the Dragon hits ground again, his front claws digging into the solid earth ahead as the dirt below his hindquarters falls into oblivion. Djarun roars and snarls and spits fire high into the sky as his tail whips about in nothing and his front legs pull desperately and their firm hold over the ground outside the sinkhole's area. Slowly the Dragon begins to pull himself up and out of the hole, his back feet flailing and tearing great chunks of earth away from the sinkhole's side. After a moments battle and extreme exertion, Djarun once more finds stable footing, pulling himself out of the hole and back onto flat earth. He turns about, facing the hole and searching for any hint of movement that might signal Ymheshphilun's whereabouts.

Mahri stood off some alley looking at the shop and holding a note in her hand. It is almost forgotten while she stares at the rubble. Movement on the otherside has her stepping back further into the shadows, out of sight of the aliens surveying the same ruins. Something about the one Prek caught her attention. Unlike the others, he was unarmed and unarmoured. It is he that she stares at, dismissing the others as peons and this the leader of the band.

Triyul turns out, is staring at a giant hole in the earth where once a grogshop had stood. If Cerinii was hurt...well...this is the part where most people would be like 'I couldn't live with myself' but yeah no. This was Triyul. No friends, only enemies. And aquaintences. And such. Anywho, as it were, he found himself surveying the wreckage - ears prickling quietly, or the holes in his head where ears would be on just about anyone else that wasn't Preklek. The reptilian creature heard several noises in the city - most were settling for the night. Yet smell. He had an obession with it, smells, and at the moment - Lycan. Female. Freshly off a menstration cycle, or recently injured. He pondered if it could be her. It. The one. Mahri. Dismissed, eyes fixed on that hole. Only a moment had gone by since his arrival and already it was turning out to be more interesting than anticipated.

Mahri crumples the note in her hand. He'd thought she smelled good? She thought the compliment of aliens reeked. She was missing three hours of her life and, she was fairly certain he was the cause. The bank was where she'd last seen the Prek, after that, she had no memory until she found herself standing outside the Governor's Estate. Deciding hiding in shadows was not going to get her anywhere, the lycan steps out where a stray bit of candle light illuminates the pale female. She only seemed paler because of the dark hair and clothing, but it was enough to make her stand out to anyone who might take the time to look.

Triyul heard his Prek's feet shifting with wary, guarded steps first before he raised his eyes to look across that large hole - it was her. She'd killed him. Yet the memory did naught but stir vague feelings of anger and dislike. One of the perks of not having his soul, it seemed - the unarmored creature allowed an odd smirk to play over his features, almost a pose of victory with arms crossed as they were - and contented himself with merely looking at her with that intense gaze he'd always had, a thing that never disappeared.

Tristram appears from the north.

Triyul heard his Prek's feet shifting with wary, guarded steps first before he raised his eyes to look across that large hole - it was her. She'd killed him. Yet the memory did naught but stir vague feelings of anger and dislike. One of the perks of not having his soul, it seemed - the unarmored creature allowed an odd smirk to play over his features, almost a pose of victory with arms crossed as they were - and contented himself with merely looking at her with that intense gaze he'd always had, a thing that never disappeared.

Mahri 's mouth curves into a taunting smile when Triyul notices her. One or two steps back and she melts into the shadows once more. While hidden yet from sight, the lycan searches foot and hand holds with which to climb up to the roof top. Once there, the lycan belly-crawls to the edge in order to peer down. A bird's eye view as it were, of the wreckage below. Up here, only stars twinkled and she didn't see any of the usual urchins lingering. Whatever had destroyed the shop must have been enough to send them into hiding.

Triyul watched her disappear - listened quietly, smelled as winds shifted - they shifted her scent away. She'd have her stealth. For now. He contented himself again with studying the hole, but ears were eagerly searching for the girl. Words were softly spoken - harsh regardless, to one who stood behind him on guard. "What do you make of it Kelial?" Superman's father responded just as quiet, leaving the arc to join the general's side. "Looks like...there was a fight." Humor? From a Preklek? They aren't mindless drones, you know. Most of them at least. Some. Well, a few.

Ymheshphilun was, as mentioned before, a horrible pitch-black color. This made him nearly invisible in the night, and as such the relatively smaller centipede (ooc: How much smaller, by the way?) could move in stealth. Once more sneaking around behind the dragon, the huge Scolopendra bit down hard on the leg of the dragon, his mighty mulching mandibles munching with massive musculature. If he managed to get beneath the scales (which was highly likely, since his mouth could open in all directions at once, sorta like the Kraken) he'd spit a stream of numbing, paralyzing venom into the bloodstream, and then pull away. With a creature the size of the massive dragon, it would take a little while for the venom to work--but once it did, Ym would have practically won.

Triyul hears a scuffle - it's just so dark. Oh. A dragon. And a centipede. Well then. Oh, look at the time - he should really get going before this all gets blamed on him. Which he does. "Kelial. Set back for home. Swords away." The male grunted, nodded, and all seven of the armored creatures departed with Triyul back toward the Arena. Cue Mahri.

Tristram was called by a bevvy of street urchins who were all talking a mile a minute about some commotion in the pub. With purposeful steps, the politician strode toward the (now demolished?) pub and bellowed, "What the heck is the meaning of this?"

Mahri crawls back on the roof top and waits for the march of many feet--exiting the scene of a fight still raging--to cover the sound of her own hitting the ground. She'll track the Preklek right back to the Arena, keeping to shadows and other forms of cover.

Mahri pauses long enough to look back and silently wish Tristram luck.

Triyul pauses. Blast it all. He turns, eyes Tristram, and grins. "There is a giant hole where your pub used to be. I didn't do it." This was said just as another urchin delivered a note to his hands - he read it briskly, and turned a glare 'pon Tristram. "They are still going at it." Cold words, angry, "Smells the air -brother- and you'll understand." He was...with her? She smelled so...organic, yet found himself retracing steps back toward the edge of that large hole to peak into it - witness the fight. His entourage was doing the same, if but more wary.

Mahri is glad for the cover of dark..really since all those reeking Preklek things were once again marching back. Of course, the garbage can she crouched behind probably helped.

Triyul walks over to Kelial, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Go kill both of them." Politics, scratch my back - I'll scratch yours. The Preklek shot him an odd look just a moment before Triyul pushes him in. Yes. He was a bastard. The rest eyed him, angry, discontented, but knew their place. Made for one reason. War. Preklek grunts were rather well...disciplined.

Triyul :: Kelial lands in the hole. And is dead. There was no one in there. Oh. Poo.

Djarun 's eyes continue to search over the rim of the hole which Ymheshphilun had created only minutes prior, biding his time and waiting for the centipede to show itself. His pupils were still in the grip of mydriasis from the first moment he'd seen the monstrous centipede for what it truly was, and as such the darkness held few secrets for the Dragon. With his pupils extended to the very edge of capacity, and such large pupils they were, light filtered into his vision at a much higher capacity. Now that the moon had slowly worked it's way up and over the horizon Djarun could see even the smallest details within that gaping pit. Even still Ymheshphilun was dastardly and fast, worming his way about the wreckage like a ghost, his black exoskeleton soaking up the light rather than reflecting it. The only trace of this stalking predator that Djarun could hope to make out was the displacement of light which he caused from moving over more reflective surfaces, and unfortunately It was not until the last moment that this occurred. Giving up on his visual search of the pit Djarun begins to turn 'round, just in time to spot the long winding form of Ymheshphilun as it surged toward his hindquarters. A roar of enraged surprise is belted out into the night, enforcing his presence on surrounding landscape. It was too late though, the centipede had moved up swiftly and bitten down hard around the ankle of his back right leg, though for the moment at least his scales were sufficiently fending off the far weaker 'jaws' of his Scolopendra foe. Quickly as one of his size would be able Djarun twists around, pulling the centipede with him as his leg switches position and his massive jaws descend from above. A great blast of fire illuminates the night as it spews outward over Ymheshphilun, the great Dragon's serpentine neck extending violently fast with gnashing jaws set to grip the centipede round his head and clamp down hard with every ounce of might he possessed. Exoskeleton or no, it was unlikely that the centipede could survive such an attack, and at the very least such force would hopefully force it to release.

Triyul on the other hand, frowns. That was a waste. And, in case you haven't noticed, Triyul was environmentally friendly - all of his Preklek were bioenhanced with machines that used a renewable energy source, and their armors were seventy-three percent post consumer recycled product. Anywho, the male found himself watching the fight with interest. Curiousity, a yearning for his old body perhaps - but curiousity more-so. Night held few secrets for him as well, and he could smell her again now. Closer. Refuge? Trash from most cities was disgusting. Trash from Gualon was...something that could make a maggot vomit.

Tristram said to Triyul, "You don't order things around in my city. You are walking a very thin line. Very thin."

Ymheshphilun released his grip almost as soon as the leg was twisted away and pulled--prying at the scales wouldn't work. The flame blew past, blinding him to the jaws of the dragon until almost too late. Rearing back again, twisting to the side with insectoid speed, even still Ym was unable to dodge the attack entirely, losing a few legs on one side. As Ym fell away, the spray of thick black ooze which burst forth for a second or so from the wound probably fell on Djarun, and--if luck was at all with the centipede--his eye. That would prove to be more than an irritation as it would soon congeal and harden, sticking to the dragon and smelling horrible, probably making it more difficult to track Ym as well. As he twisted, he took a swipe or two at the dragon with his main crusher claws--much stronger than his mandibles, and probably enough to pierce. He backed off after this attack, darting away once more into the safety of the shadows.

Mahri did stink. It's true. And she isn't sticking around to see what happens next. Thank Gods for stealth.

Tristram shouted to Djarun, "Oi, Red! You and your insect friend here take it out to the swamp!" He doubted they would listen, but he was more concerned with the patrol of Preks accompanying Triyul. "This is not your city to patrol. You go through. You don't mess around inside. That was the deal. You break the deal, I'll seal up that portal if it kills me."

Triyul said to Tristram, "Understood...and understood." A thin line. That line crossed - the last thing he needed, "My apologies...Tristram." Oh my. He just...did he just...? He...did..that happened. "Good luck with...them."

Triyul departs. Again. Cue Mahri, again.

Triyul exits south.

Mahri exits south.

Djarun feels his jaws clench around what was most assuredly the centipede, though he had missed the original target of assault and severed several of the arthropod's legs. However, from his successful attack came an equally painful experience as some acrid black liquid splashed along one side of his face. Roaring out from pain, but more from rage, Djarun raises a back foot up to his face and scratches at it, much like a cat would as he attempted to remove whatever the substance was. Yet it was in doing so that he left his less armored underbelly open to attack. Ymheshphilun lands two successful strikes in quick succession, leaving the Dragon's blood to spray against the dirt and rocks below as the centipede slid back off into the darkness once more. Now with insult added to injury Djarun grew ferocious, and it was in all of this confusion that Tristram's ultimatum was issued and ignored. It wasn't so much for the fact that Djarun chose to do so, yet for the fact that Djarun had but one thing on his mind; eradication of the insect whom had challenged and attacked him. Nay, this would not be settled until Djarun wrapped his gnashing maw about the putrid insect and tore it asunder. Bleeding now, Djarun would certainly be easy to find for any with a good sense of smell, and on the opposite spectrum that putrid filth which had found it's way onto his muzzle would make it nearly impossible to hunt through scent. Yet Djarun had been successful in scraping most of it from his eye before it could harden; not all, but most, and blurry as the vision from his right eye may be, he could still see. It also appeared that Ymheshphilun had made a fatal mistake in assuming that the darkness was his sanctum, for Djarun's eyesight was near impeccable with such a bright moon and the state of acute mydriasis that had been induced upon him. The shadows would offer no such safety and the now infuriated Saurian made chase, rocketing after the centipede with all the fury of hell itself. He spit fire after Ymhesphilun, causing reflections to bounce from the centipede's exoskeleton and the fully mobile Dragon was more than a match for the insect in speed as he leaped headlong into the sky, gliding on leathery wings until he was directly above his prey before dropping down from above. His two front paws, claws bared, were set to crush down on the centipede's elongated torso and hold him in place whilst he blasted a constant stream of fire down onto the insect's form. Ymheshphilun may be resistant to fire, yet a prolonged burst could melt stone and steal alike and without a quick escape it was unlikely he would survive.

Ymheshphilun was quite thankful he had compound eyes and antennae, for otherwise he would have been much less aware of the infuriated dragon that was rushing towards him, and then coming down from above. It seemed that even burrowing would be of little use here--but! Here was an unexpected thing to do--Ym smashed his way into another building, dodging out of the way and narrowly escaping that intense blast of flame, as well as probably frightening some poor Gualonians half to death. He blasted through the building, shot out the back door, and barreled into another, curling up inside and ripping up the floorboards, trying to get below before Djarun could find him. He was going to use every advantage he had over the dragon, and the inability to be tracked was one he planned to use in full.

Tristram sent some orphans after the two fighting creatures, mostly because he had more important things to tend to than squabbling bar goers. He would track them down later and shake them down for damages.

Tristram shouted, "Keep in mind you're paying for each thing you touch!"

Tristram exits south.

Djarun tears the roof away from those poor citizen's home with a fearsome swipe of his claws before they would even know what was happening, and barely caught the sight of movement from Ymheshphilun bursting out the back door as he did so. Yet once he knew the bug had left the building Djarun cared about it no more and left it be, with a frightened family huddling together inside as if it might be their last moments together. The building which Ymheshphilun entered next appeared to be a storage shed or something similar, not nearly so large as the last, and Djarun made towards it with the fury and power of a barreling freight train. Rather than using his claws to rip it apart the massive Dragon simply shoulders into it, splintering the wooden structure as if it were nothing more than a pile of leaves. Within the wreckage Ymheshphilun can be seen digging into the ground with a fervor, and Djarun was not ready to let him go so easily, not after what had happened last time Ymheshphilun had left his field of vision. With a roar Djarun's gnashing teeth descend upon the scurrying creature, clasping down on him before he could make a final escape and hopefully doing some sort of damage. Yet the true pain would come when another blast of fire came coursing through his maw and hopefully began to cook the arthropod from within.

Ymheshphilun was definitely caught when Djarun literally brought the house down. As the jaws descended and clamped down around his midsection, the pressure building with each passing moment, Ym knew he hadn't a moment's time to spare. He curled in on the dragon's head, using every bit of his weight to try and drop Djarun to the ground, using all his available legs to tear at the vulnerable eyes of the red. Surely this panic-like maneuver would cause his foe to release, and should that be accomplished Ym would pull out--but he wouldn't stop there. He would attempt to crawl on top of Djarun, pushing him further into the ground, biting and clawing with all his might. It was basic "the best defense is a good offense" and Ym was playing it as hard and fast as possible.

Djarun was quite suddenly set upon by Ymhesphilun in a manner which should have been expected, yet it his fervent fury to simply pin the fleeing arthropod, the Dragon had failed to think out the consequences of a counter attack. Such a folly he would not make again, that is if he even got another chance. As it stood Djarun was at risk of losing not just his eyes, but his life, for it was almost certain that Ymheshphilun would slay him the moment he was down and defenseless. The centipede's weight upon his serpentine neck was stifling, and even though his feet remain firmly placed and his shoulders remain high, Djarun's hed plummets toward the earth until Ymheshphilun would be resting against the ground once more, taking some of the weight away from his stressed vertebrae. As the centipede constricts tighter Djarun finds it hard to breath, and the stream of fire he had been buffeting over Ymheshphilun's exoskeleton wanes down until finally being cut off entirely. For a moment there is merely struggle, as Djarun uses all the force of his massive jaws to keep hold of the centipede, trying to crush his midsection and keep him from escaping at the same time. Yet the loss of oxygen flowing into his brain was becoming almost too much to handle. Still, the stubborn Dragon refuses to release his grip, and in a sudden act of desperation Djarun strikes out on the offense once more. He was bleeding now, keeping his eyes clamped shut tightly hoping to avoid damage as Ymheshphilun tears gouge after gouge through the scales upon his skull and muzzle, yet his determination proves more prudent than pain and through it all he rallies. Arching his back and pulling hard away from the ground Djarun lifts his front right foot high at then uses it to swipe at the massive creature now ensnared about his face, much like a dog fighting to be free of a muzzle. His razor sharp claws slash at Ymheshphilun's long coiled form and are likely to pierce the thick shell in at least several places. Then comes his true agenda as that same clawed foot will catch hold of the Arthropod and push it hard against the ground. Whether the slamming would do damage is hard to say, yet the control of such a move is more effective in the tail end of Ymheshphilun pinned against the earth before his powerful jaw muscles would begin pulling the Centipede's upper half in an opposite direction. Like an alligator Djarun's maw twists and rips with the singular hope of splitting his foe entirely in half. However for all of his power and ferocity, the lack of defense had left him open to a great sacrifice: his right eye. The optic organ is suddenly pierced by one of his opponent's claws and begins bleeding profusely, causing Djarun a massive amount of pain. However that pain merely translates into more fury as the Dragon desperately tries to end this battle before incurring further damage.

Ymheshphilun had been meaning to escape the jaws, but didn't quite make it out. The classic centipede tactic had worked, at least for a time--until came the claws. The huge paw of the dragon did indeed penetrate his body in a couple of places, and once more he leaked a slightly caustic, rapidly congealing slime. Then, as his lower half slams into the ground, Ym realized that he'd have only one shot at defending against being torn in two. Taking his antennae--which were presumably near the dragon's head--pushing them towards the Dragon's skull, Ym searched for some sort of opening--the ruined eye, or an ear--and tried to drive them deep into the orofice. Besides hurting an already inflamed area like crazy, Ym's antennae broadcast along the neural frequency he'd picked up earlier. The command to stop attacking immediately would flow through Djarun's entire being, bypassing his conscious and going straight for his muscles. It would be like being possessed for Djarun, probably. Besides this mental probing, Ym used his body like one huge muscle, trying to curl up into a ball with every bit of his physical strength. Even if he couldn't achieve this, he'd have bought himself some time.

Djarun was nearly certain of his victory now as he began to feel Ymheshphilun's hide tearing beneath his vicious assault, using his impressive size and strength to his advantage over a smaller opponent. It was his confidence however that almost always seemed to work against him, for the Dragon paid no heed to the probing antennae of his arthropod enemy as it searched for an opening, any opening. Djarun's ears were placed a bit further back on his head, and would be just out of reach, yet his eye.... that ruptured and bleeding eye which was now primarily useless.... that would make an excellent target. At the very moment when he would have brought Ymheshphilun's body to it's breaking limit and torn the centipede apart Djarun's body, mind, and perhaps even soul if such things existed, were all violated simultaneously. With a control which was entirely not his own Djarun's muscles freeze in place, stopped dead and clenched tightly into the position they had occupied during the moment of instruction. The Dragon's mind roars in anger, in violation, in a belief shaking state of helplessness, yet his body utterly refuses to respond. However the position he had been froze in was likely to be any more comfortable for the centipede, it's body stretched to the very limit of capacity and about to be split. His claw still pins Ymheshphilun to the ground, his teeth still hold the centipede securely, and the stress it was being put under would hopefully be enough to convince it that retreat was the best possible option. Still, the beast within was only growing more angry, more vicious, and that anger was burgeoning to a state of full blown cataclysm.

Ymheshphilun pushed deeper, being sure not to underestimate his foe's mental strength. The farther in he got, the more control he gained, and slowly--ever so slowly--Ym ordered the claw holding his body to release, hopefully causing the dragon to lift the massive paw and give Ym more room to maneuver. He tried to force the jaws open, too, though he stayed in his elevated position. Should his mental powers be brought fully to bear, if he touched Djarun's brain, he'd almost certainly have access to Djarun's thoughts and memories, and be able to project his own ideas into the consciousness of the dragon. ~OBEY,~ would thunder that single word, much louder and closer than anything Ym had "said" before. Relaxation was the order, sleep. Djarun may have been physically tired by this point--Ym would work to maximize this.

Djarun 's body slowly began to follow the commands of his arthropod foe, his clawed foot lifting just enough away from Ymheshphilun's back end to allow maneuverability as his jaws slowly unclenched, though not entirely to free the centipede all together. Yet the more his body obeyed, the more wild his mind became, like a blazing inferno of pent up mental energy just waiting to explode.

Ymheshphilun then projected a much, much different voice, directly to the mind of Djarun. ~I see you. Your mind is full of anger and hatred for me. Calm yourself. We can end this fight without further bloodshed. Calm. Caaalllmmmm.~ Music would begin playing in Djarun's head--sweet, serene music, and shifting colors would begin to swirl. Ym obviously didn't want to get eaten or torn apart, and focusing on relaxing his opponent's mind seemed best.

Djarun 's body loosens even further, his jaws relaxing to the point where escape for the centipede was almost possible, yet not quite. Once again at his physical form's failure to obey commands, the Dragon's mind surges with instinctual rage and murderous thoughts. However he was powerless to act upon them, powerless to finish the act which he had been so close to completing: the eradication of Ymheshphilun. Then came the disorientation... Ymheshphilun's commands only served to increase Djarun's agitation, make him fight harder, yet the soothing music... so melodic and alluring. The swirling colors, so relaxing as the moved intrinsically through concentric circles, separating and swirling and then coalescing once more into a menagerie of calming shades. It was almost too much too bare. Djarun barely even knew where he was... barely even remembered what was happening. He was enraged... murderous... yet for some reason he could not recall the reason for it, not like it lessened the force of his emotions, yet the became misplaced. Turning inward on his own mind and building to a crescendo of muddled rage and accusations producing sorrow and ill formed notions.

Ymheshphilun used the extra amount of mobility to drive deeper into his foe, reaching closer, closer for that all-important section of the brain which stored memories and emotions. When he made contact, the first thing that hit him was the impossible rage--a surge of primal emotion that nearly blotted out everything else. Tinkering with the Red's brain chemistry would fix that, but for the moment Ym had been stalled by a sheer wall of hatred. (ooc: that is about what would happen, right?) Ym was forced to turn elsewhere in his search--still the colors whirled and the music played--and Ym tried to adjust some of DJ's brain's settings, producing more melatonin, a rush of endorphins, dopamine--an organic cocktail that was a very good sleep-inducer.

Djarun was no sorcerer, nor was he a magician, nor in fact did the Dragon possess any knowledge of such. The arcane was an art which he had never understood nor cared to learn, never bothered to even think of in any respect save defense from it during the times of war, yet... magic was the lifeblood of all Saurian kind. It flowed through their veins, pumped through their hearts, upheld their souls and their spirits were the very embodiment of it from the time of their creation first creation. It was more a part of them than they were of this world itself, and it passed with them from generation to generation. Djarun's body had become numb, like a hollow shell, and his mind had become lost as if it did little more than chase itself in circles. Yet within the depths of Djarun's very being something had been building... that rage which consumed him, that burning desire to inflict pain, that blazing fire within his spirit had been growing. Pushing outward and enveloping him to the brinks of his entirety. From the outside looking in it burned bright indeed, yet it had been contained... sealed off from reality... held captive within a prison of flesh, bone, and scales. Warning: contents under pressure, extremely volatile, do not puncture. Djarun should have come with a warning label is seems. For a moment as Ymheshphilun digs deep within him all goes quiet, and the sudden void should be a warning sign in itself, yet too late, the seal had been broken and there was no turning back from this point forward. Within Djarun's mind suddenly builds a roaring, a roaring which transfers into Ymheshphilun as well and is unlike any earthly sound or sensation, unlike anything one might experience in the realms of hollow until the day of it's final destruction when the sky turns black and the ground splits open to spew the inner life force of the planet miles into space. Space.... void.... like the sensation which Ymheshphilun had been feeling... the calm before the storm. Then, reality is torn asunder as from deep down, hidden in and behind and underneath everything which made this Dragon what and who he was, came the backlash wave of some wholly awesome force. It obliterates any sense of conscious thought and silences the very notion of consciousness entirely, for it is more than existence, it is the unexplained, it simply -is-. From Djarun's physical Saurian form a light begins to build, illuminating both he, Ymheshphilun, and the surrounding destruction which they had both wrought upon the landscape of Gualon. In the distance the rhythmic thumping of many booted feet colliding against stone streets can be heard growing louder as well, signaling the approach of the Gualon legions dispatched to deal with this new threat to the cities safety. Yet inside the minds of both Djarun and the centipede whom had intruded perhaps too far, all Armageddon was breaking loose. The soldiers of Gualon draw ever closer, attracted to this spot by both the trail of destruction and the glow of Djarun's body which was now reaching epic proportions. Any onlookers might likely need to avert their gaze as it grows to a blinding intensity. In the next moment two platoons of armed men, sixteen men in each, are surrounding the destroyed building which Djarun and Ymheshphilun occupy, yet rather than intervene they are left to watch in awe at the events transpiring. Within the minds of Djarun and Ymheshphilun the chaos which has been ensuing reaches a final height of violent activity, the kind of which can leave permanent scars on the minds of those unprepared. Like a man drawing too close to the sun it burns them both, a wildfire left unchecked ravaging the landscape of their most private sanctum. Then, just as it had come it ceases, winding back down slowly from near the point of total conscious obliteration... the sheer pent up rage of Djarun and his ancestry, muddled with the arcane force of all Dragons whom had come before. This was but a taste, a tiny drop of water from the pool of past experience, the likes of which a single mind could -never- hope to comprehend. Much longer and it might have eradicated Djarun's mind, and the one which had been connected to it entirely. Back in the real world, the glow which illuminated the pair had ceased quite suddenly, leaving stars dancing in the eyes of those whom had been present to witness it. As observing eyes were to adjust they would find the form of Djarun laying prone on the brutalized interior of what was once a building, yet it was once more the Djarun whom had strolled calmly into the Grogshop earlier this evening. What had become of Ymheshphilun was beyond Djarun's grasp to contemplate, in fact everything was beyond his grasp to contemplate at the present time. However in all likelihood the giant centipede was in much the same position. The experience they had both shared unwillingly was of the sort that the mind's natural reaction to avoid permanent damage would be to cease functioning. Wall itself off and pray to avoid destruction. Such was how the battle, would hopefully draw to a close. Quickly overcoming their surprise, the Gualon soldiers begin to advance quickly, encircling the pair with weapons drawn and pointed toward them before any more damage could befall their city.

Ymheshphilun felt a sudden void, and savored what he thought was victory for a moment too long. The massive force of pure energy seared up into his mind, threatening to rip him from his grasp. With consciousness fading rapidly, the centipede unleashed a storm of countercurrent into Djarun's brain, trying to negate the effects, but magic was something Ym had no defense against. Mental barriers were blasted apart, though perhaps they lessened some of the onslaught. With a final, agonizing wail not unlike that which had started this battle, (in other words, it would hurt the guards) the only Scolopendra Primamplio fell, knocked out cold, curled at last into that ball which he had sought.

Zedreth watched from an outside perspective as the light within Djarun grew brighter and brighter. He averted his gaze, for the light itself felt like the sun. He then spun around and sat with his back to the rubble he was behind. His knees were up, and his arms rested on them. His head hanging low. He shot up after the light went dim. He saw the soldiers line up around him. He knew he couldn't take them all at once. He knew what he needed done though. He quickly turned around and darted into the night.

Djarun lays like a lump of stone upon the ground, unconscious and unmoving. He is unable to feel anything, nor struggle against it as the Gualon soldiers bind him securely and carry him away, not that he would have anyway once returned to a right state of mind. His Saurian form was wild and uncontrolled, almost like a renegade beast, yet his humanoid form granted Djarun a measure of control, a vestige of logic and sanity. The task of carrying Djarun's dead weight would be called easy in comparison to the effort put forth for the other participant in this destructive affair. Ymheshphilun would be bound as he was, in a tight coil, with mass amounts of sturdy chord encircling every open inch of his outer shell. The task takes nearly an hour, and the strength of many able bodied men to perform. However soon enough it is completed, and the even more difficult task of transporting the centipede into a secure location where escape would nigh impossible would begin. Still... the Gualon soldiers were both capable and ingenuitive, managing to complete the task long before the risk of Ymheshphilun returning to consciousness was even a serious risk.