RP:Provoked

Krice encounters Garrett in Frostmaw Tavern and the ronin has a lot on his mind, which he relays to the frustratingly-calm silver-haired warrior. A vampire named Kithri overhears the men talking and decides to actively listen in, hoping to keep things calm if the situation intensifies. Just when it seems that Garrett's inflammatory remarks have little effect on the man, Krice reacts in an unexpected way...

Frostmaw Tavern

Krice returned to the tavern after being away some time. Dressed the same clothing that he was wearing when first he entered, it seemed as though the man had departed simply to escort Charlee out of Frostmaw safely; not his duty, but he did it anyway. Whilst Garrett sat pondering his behaviour, circa Hilga's lecture, the warrior passed his table en route to the bar where he'd take up temporary residence upon one of its empty stools, his katana-holding back to the rest of the room.

Garrett twirls about the mug of apple cider as he ponders many a thing. Then Krice enters. He too, lectured him recently. Why is everyone doing this crap? He's just been trying to protect Rinn. Hell, he even stopped some bandits, or whatever they were, the other day, even if Krice helped. He just wanted to do right, and now he wanted to find out what happened to his mom, but he has duties here, but then Rinn drags him along on adventures. Rinn, hell just the other day she came into the tavern a damn burning corpse! Which meant he now had to go hunt down the one responsible, meaning he had to leave again. Ugh, his life is chaos. He'd slip out the bottle of scotch that he nabbed while in Larket, and spike the cider. He needed something stronger to help him try to think, to find out how to level out his life. But it was Krice who also got his attention. " So, gramps." A pick on his grey, or silver, hair. "The hell were you jabberin' on about the other day, ya know, when you decided to try and lecture me? And again, with the bandits, you got on me about goin' in for the kill, when this is the damn city of war! Ya think the Frost Giants would have shown those guys any mercy? Especially attacking someone in thier city?" He was annoyed, but at the same time he is looking for answer. " And then, the other time, with that odd elf lady, you made me and Rinn seem like bad people. Whats up with that? You got an issue with me, man?" He was doing it again, almost looking for trouble, but it truly wasn't the core to his lashing out. A wise one could see that. He was confused, and hurting and felt as if he had too much on his shoulders these days.

Krice sat at the bar unmoving, with a glass of water placed in front of him by Drargon, who was familiar with his routine. 'Gramps' didn't incite the warrior's wrath, or even garner Garrett the briefest of looks. It seemed as though he was going to mind his own business, keep out of trouble if at all possible, and drink of the water held in his glass. He lifted it to his lips, took a mouthful, swallowed, and lowered the glass to the bar once more. He was quiet and unmoving otherwise. If Garrett wanted to talk, he'd have to do something different.

Kithri enters the tavern and casts a weary eye around the warm room which contrasts against the frozen surroundings outside. The vampire takes a seat near the firepit, although she is no longer bothered by temperatures, she seeks the comfort of the flames that waver merrily in their pit. She proceeds to brush the tangles out of her long crimson hair that had prior been at mercy to the strong winds. Inhaling deeply in comfort, she turns her smokey grey eyes onto the other patrons of the place and observes them almost lazily.

Garrett lets out a "tsk" towards the silver-haired swordsman. Typical, with his nose in the air! " Seems the only time you feel lie talking is when you think you're gettin' in a girls pants. Then you're just flowing forth with all sorts of crap running out that trap!" He waves the man off. " Fine! Think you're all high and mighty! Come at me again with that crap, and we'll see just who is the better man, even if it is just with a blade!" Today wasn't his day. Getting scolded by his mother-like figure here, and then straight up ignored by this Krice fella. His girl had gotten all burnt, he had no idea just yet who did it, nothing was happening here. He was idle, and he felt useless. This bothers him, and he forgoes the now spiked cider and just tips back that bottle of scotch. " Whatever.." He mumbles. Thoughts of his mother flitter through his mind, and a longer swig of that potent poison is taken. Seems without Sir Thomas, he was lost, with no direction. Just a wanderer. A masterless knight, a ronin. No better than a sellsword. Why would Krice talk to him? Another swig is taken. " To hell with ya! Like I need advice from you!"

Krice wasn't looking at the tavern, seated with his back to it as he was, so he didn't actually -see- Kithri enter. Whether or not he heard and sensed her was another matter. Anyway, he couldn't be concerned with strangers when a nuisance was growing behind him. In true fashion, the warrior remained where he was and held an air of calmness about him, impervious to all that worked against him - sword strikes or tongue-lashings alike. He didn't leave Garrett completely without a reply, though. " Because you seem stressed," Krice murmured, lifting his glass to his lips again. " I'll let your attitude and insults slide."

Garrett doesn't pay anyone else no mind. He was indeed stressed. " Betcha if I had tits, you'd come runnin' to see what the problem is." He snickers to himself. " Let my stuff slide, must be a female around, talkin' all that crap." The man's calmness pisses him off. Not because Krice is calm, but because he isn't. He'd turn his attention back to the bottle of scotch. Least that made things better.

Kithri stretched and stood before she approached the bar and seated herself on one of the stools there. Calling out to the bartender, the vampire ordered a mug of ale which she drank thirstily momentarily. Overhearing the two mens' words, she glances their way trying to seem inconspiuous before returning to her ale, still focusing her hearing on the two men's banter.

Krice didn't let Garrett focus on his scotch, though whether to get back at the little bastard for his crap, or simply to goad him because he wanted to... well, he didn't exactly announce the reason. As Kithri ordered an ale for herself, the silver-haired man delivered a challenge to Garrett on that cool, composed tone of his: " Keep trying, hotshot."

Garrett knew he was being poked at. Hell he was asking for it, truth be told. He needed to vent, and lords above know he had a lot to vent at the current moment. So he'd slam that bottle down and rise up, looking to Krice as he replies. " I don't need to try anythin' pal!" His hand finds the familiar hilt of his katana, and a cocky grin spreads across his face. "Think you'll catch me off guard with that speed and strength of yours? Pft, bring it on, if you're man enough! Or would you rather sit there with that nose of yours in the air, waitin' on some woman with issues to prey on with your little hero act?" The two guards from earlier start placing bets on who they think will win, or if Krice, who they've seen around, will even accept the challenge. Using his thumb to ease up the black so it isn't locked into the sheathe anymore, the young ronin takes up a stance, ready for the silver-haired wanderer to answer his call. " I've been itchin' to put you down!"

Kithri , startled by the sudden turn of events, stared at the two men in shock. She pondered whether to intervene for few momnents before she stood and hoverered a few feet away from the two men, uncertain of what to do next. Kithri wanted to get in between the two and calm them down but feared she would only end up making things much worse. She only hoped that Krice would turn down Garrett's challenge and avoid any futher conflict. Measuring up the two strong men, she took in their well muscled forms and realised that they were a good match for one another but a confrontation would merely end with bloodshed of some form.

Krice had katanas. Two of them. He knew what one sounded like being released from its sheath lock. Garrett was ready to fight. Upon hearing another insult directed at his integrity as a man, the warrior finally--and calmly, of course--turned in his seat so that he was facing the room at large, the weight of his gilded stare levied upon the hotheaded ronin. With Kithri in the periphery of his right eye, the tavern exit in his left, the man studied his would-be attacker and murmured, " Really? You use enchanted boots and magical girly jewelry and even -then- you can barely keep up. Why are you so ready to fight? What the hell is your -problem-?"

Garrett smirks at Krice's comments. How he -knew- he used things to enhance his abilities was surprising, yet didn't matter. Sir Thomas faught monsters and villans and took what bounty he could from his years of adventuring. Magical items were not that uncommon. " Says the... what, vammpire? No way in hell a -normal- person moves that fast, unless there are a damn mutt lycan or one of those who carries Elazul's curse, so don't you talk to me about -using- something to make yourself better, its the world we live in." He'd shake his head at the man now. "Always high and mighty, thinkin' your one step above somebody. -Thats- my problem with you. Hell, day we met, you and that wanna be high priest spout off and giggle liek school girls because I had a dream of doin' good. Yet, of course you were in the company of a woman, so no surprise you try to make yourself look better. Just like you playin' hero for that chick who off'd the thug -you- left on the ground. Playin' on her poor state to make yourself look better! Feel like a man, do ya? Guess it can't be helped, bein' a predator and all. If it isn't the blood, its gotta be somthing, right?" He levels his own stare back at the man's gilded one. " I'm ready to fight because thats what I do. Its what I'm good at. Now you gonna anty up, or you just gonna sit there?" He was indeed very hot-headed. He was lost. His mentor gone, his real mother killed, even when he came here he hasn't seen Hildegarde in over a week. His woman was attacked, people are placing bounties on his head. He was pissed, and had no direct target right now, Krice's odd way with people just made him and easy target. Well, easy isn't the right word. Truth be told, Garrett knew Krice was a skilled warrior, and can handle his rage being tossed at him, and survive. It was a calculated move, really, if not really thought through.

Kithri narrowed her grey eyes as she listens to the two men arguing. She took another step closer and wondered if she could distract them long enough to end their feud. The vampire put a strand of stray crimson hair behind her ear and looks boldly at the two men with a clear look of intent in her eyes, "It's ridiculous how two grown men can get into these squabbles and disrupt the entire peace of a once tranquil place," Kithri grumbles more to herself than the men but doesn't bother to lower her voice, not caring if they hear her or not.

Krice's gaze was unwavering and resolute as it lingered on Garrett's face, reading the expression and micro-changes in them in an attempt to glean some kind of explanation as to -why- the ronin was so hostile. More insults were thrown his way and he discarded them with apparent ease, barely a vein in his forehead twitching in aggravation. Really, the silver-haired man was near-impossible to goad. Kithri's approach meant that her image got larger in his periphery, yet still he did not engage her. Instead, it was with a change in his -own- expression, slight quizzicalness, that Krice spoke to Garrett. " It's almost laughable how warped your perspective is of the things and people around you. How you've survived -this- long is a mystery." He wasn't saying these things to grate on Garrett's nerves, merely to express genuine bewilderment. However, that bewilderment turned to ice-cold malice as he warned the ronin, " I owe you nothing. Don't challenge me again." No anteing would be done from -this- warrior. Only now glancing in Kithri's direction, Krice took a page from Garrett's Book of Insults and slotted it into a moment of truth, extending an arm. " Oh look. Here's a woman. Sorry, -pal-, I've gotta pay attention to her. You'll have to preach to someone who cares."

Garrett smirks, then scoffs at the other warrior as he watches Krice go about his thing. Shaking his head, he waves the guy off. " Friggin' coward." He says. " Must be why you fancy a woman's company all the time. Oh, and I survive because I'm better than the other guy. Must be why you're backing down." Returning to his own seat, disgruntled as to not being able to vent in his own way, he turns back to the bottle. The only real way he can numb all of whats going on, since he isn't a cold blooded killer. He wanted a fight, not to just kill someone for no reason. He was done, he'd bother them no more. Hilga shakes her head, and one guard passes another a few gold coins. Soon he'd head out, and start looking for whoever tried to kill Rinn. Hell, he didn't care who got in his way right about now.

Kithri breathed a sigh of relief as Garrett turned away, leaving Krice stood a few feet away from her. She caught his eye and scutinized him curiously with her head tilted slightly to the right. The vampire wondered if she should approach the man or keep at a safe distance to avoid any trouble. She didn't want to get herself into any bad situations as she was still new to town at that moment and needed to get answers for her questions and not get involved with anything that would prolong these so desired answers. Kithri pondered the current predicament and decided to let Krice approach her if he wished to but would not engage with him in case he was looking for somebody to take any frustration out on from the prior events.

Krice could only take so many insults. Calm, collected, composed, in control of -every- aspect of himself, he was not easy to goad into a fight or to piss off in general, but Garrett had pushed, and bloody pushed. Now, he was going to push back. Excusing himself from Kithri by lifting up a hand to pantomime 'one minute' with his index finger, the warrior slid from his stool and strode coolly across the expanse to Garrett's table. There, he bent enough to slam his right palm atop the shaped wood, though restrained himself enough that he didn't damage any furniture. The candle shuddered from the impact and turned to a whisp, flame extinguished. With a gold-freckled glare of provoked malevolence, the warrior murmured a guttural, " Let's go, asshole."

Garrett isn't fazed by the slamming of the hand upon the table, and ignores it for the most part of he takes another swig of that scotch. Placing the bottle back on the table, he'd smirk as he replies. " Outside then. Doubt either of us wanna piss off Drargon, and I'm not makin' Hilga clean up the mess I leave of you." So, he'd rise once more, not caring if he bumps into Krice or not, as he would make his way out of the tavern, his katana in hand. The two frost giant guards perk up as it seems a show was about to happen! One nods to the other, and they too move outside, so they can clear the street and keep order so the fight doesn't endanger anyone invovled. Stopping short of the door, and without looking back at the man he is about to face, the young ronin says. " I'll be outside waiting." In a much calmer manner than he has been talking in than before.

Kithri sighed and shook head; apparently the confrontation had not yet ended like she had previously thought. She watched as Krice challenges the other male and hears him accept. Staring hard at Garrett's retreating back, she decided to follow him outside, thinking she could attempt to stop them if any real damage was being done. After downing the last of her ale in one smooth motion, she scurried after Garrett into the cold outside world.

Krice stood before Garrett rose, but as the man butt against his shoulder, he shoved back, just enough to ensure that he felt the impact - not enough to introduce him to embarassment by falling. The warrior moved in the wake of the ronin, his arms down at his sides, and his gaze on - Kithri. As she pushed open the door and exited after Garrett, Krice caught the door and stepped into the icy air of Frostmaw, addressing the woman calmly. " Don't get involved." Reaching up, he gripped the hilt of his left katana and gave a subtle twist, dislodging the blade from its locking mechanism. Immediately following this gesture, the weapon was pulled free and glinted in the mist, reflecting the world as its point descended to the earth. He walked quietly, too quietly for a human, and slowed once he caught sight of Garrett. The warrior's mood was calm again, his eyes focused and still intense, but at least not nearly so filled with the malice that had darkened them moments prior.

Frozen Road

Garrett was already out in the street by the time Krice showed up with his own weapon already in hand. For a moment it seems the young swordsman is lost in thought, but any real warrior knows that he is preparing himself for what is to come. This silver-haired man was a true fighter, not the scum he normally faces, and this was a big part of the reason he chose to antagonize him so much. The other was that he respected him. Yes, oddly enough the ronin has a respect for the man he has been belittling for the past half an hour. But right now, he was pissed at this man too. His calm nature, his power in of itself, the way he already knew what to do in situations, and the way he called him out on how he does things. It was all like Sir Thomas, his mentor and a father-like figure in his life, who was murdered while looking into matters within the knighthood that one day Garrett himself wanted to join. And now, he is master-less and lost. Not even a knight, no Lord who has called him to serve, the best he got was common guard, while other warriors prepared for war. Then, news of his mother being killed, and where was he? Gone off to some far land, doing what? He just couldn't stand it, feeling so useless, so lost and misunderstood. And here was Krice, an embodiment of everything he wished he could be. It was like life was rubbing it in his face, and he just couldn't stand it. Inhaling a deep breath, no words are exchanged this time. Once more is the katana dislodged from its slumber within the sheath that houses the masterwork blade. In one smooth draw the ronin brings his master's weapon to bare in this fight, the gleaming metal shines as it catches the light of the late afternoon, its razor's edge ready to do what it was forged to do. Adjusting his body so that his right leg is back farther than his left, Garrett settles his own electric blue stare upon his chosen target for his rage. The magical enchantments upon the various items he wears sends a chill through him as their power awakens, thus filling the larketian with confidence that at least this fight will be on more favorable terms given this man's expected true race. Every muscle in his toned body tenses, and with one sudden explosion of force do they release that built up energy that sends him in forward charge towards his foe. The added effect of his boots make this forward sprint much faster than one would anticipate, but Garrett knows that gig isn't gonna catch Krice off-guard. He's already seen it. But its the momentum in of itself that adds a deadly addition to his opening attack, as he lowers the blade so that is almost cuts through the freshly fallen snow, before the distance is close and the blade is brought up in a powerful arc that is aimed from his left thigh all the way across to his right shoulder. The strength of this blow is coupled by a few different elements. First being the sheer speed of the ronin's charge, coupled by the momentum of it and topped off by the ring he wears on his right thumb. This heirloom was yet another of the gems left behind by Sir Thomas, and it imbues the wearer with the strength of an ogre, the making a normal attack that much deadlier and often catching people off guard, due to Garrett's lean frame. But this wasn't a simple minded man he was facing, and so, once the opening blow was delivered, hit or not, Garrett will continue to move through, feinting two times again before he'd grasp upon the hilt of his master's katana with both hands, and come back around in a reverse slash in the opposite direction from earlier, left shoulder to right thigh. He was testing Krice's abilities, before he'd really go in. These attacks were dangerous enough to command a proper defense, as well as fast enough to not leave himself open for too long. Garrett Sanada was not a novice in the way of a sword, and he'd show Krice exactly why he has survived this long in this battle.

Krice halted just a few metres away from Garrett and appeared relaxed, though subtle preparations were taken; he shifted his left foot outward, twisting the toe of his boot subtly into the icy road to solidify his stance. Quiet and motionless - that was how he awaited the ronin's attack. Gifted with natural speed that easily surpassed his human peers, the warrior knew how to read things that moved fast - be it the world as he ran through it, or someone else running through the world at -him-. The ronin's enchantments certainly made him a dangerous foe, so Krice did not slacken any aspect of his style. Halfway to contact, he lifted his foot and thrust it down, a bland gesture in sight but compelled by the taut musculature of his leg, sinew rippling to deliver a forceful, downward blow into the earth. Ice crystalized around his boot, indentured underfoot to provide him traction. When he lifted his own katana in both hands, the silver-haired man was grounded where Garrett had nothing but ice to slide on, enabling him to more easily deflect the other's sword with an upward swipe that contradicted his opening attack. Krice's left side was vulnerable, but only from behind or beside - and his finely toned upper limbs were forcing Garrett the other way. Immediately following the clash of steel on steel, the warrior backstepped out of his little pothole and thrust his foot down to create another just a metre over. Again providing himself traction, Krice better allowed himself to defend and retaliate against his opponent's follow-up efforts, a flick of both wrists guiding his katana blade down into the upward sweep of the other weapon. Turning his elbows outward together, he brought his own weapon forward and swiped across Garrett's body, attempting to cut his neck - though not to kill - with a length of steel that spanned from the shinogi-ji to the kissaki. Hit or miss, a secondary turn of his wrists guided Krice's sword back in the direction from whence it had sliced previous, angle adjusted to follow the evasive maneuvers of his foe. The silver-haired man was quiet and focused but deceptively so; each blow contained enough force to cleave through bone.

Garrett finds that his speed is slightly turned against him somewhat, due the Krice's clever pothole trick of ice. But the ronin has years of training to back up his mouth and his mentor was far from forgiving with errors. So he uses whats in play to his own advantage, thus sliding downward on his knees when Krice's swing comes in, getting behind the stalwart warrior in the process before his head could be cleaved from his shoulders. The swiftness of his opponent, and the defensive posture he takes on each time, is noted and thus met with the power and elusiveness that his own style offers. This is a battle of styles, more than anything else. Krice easily has better speed due to his unique nature, while Garrett's augmented strength is far above the norm for many. Where Krice delivers calculated blows from a style mastered over the years, Garrett is adaptive and unpredictable with his own style based of raw instinct rather than practiced move-sets. Tight corded muscle twist him about from his slide across the ice covered ground, where he would use his left hand and magically empowered strength to get a grip where he can, and launch a spinning kick towards Krice's own legs in an attempt to both knock his foe down and provide himself time to get off his second attack. Using the momentum of his spin, kick failing or not, his blade is sent forth in a forward thrust towards the silver-haired warrior's gut in an attempt to drive him back or slash at his right side. Its clear he avoids trying ti impale him, as he too wasn't going for the kill. But just as Krice's blows carry with them great strength, Garrett's own have enough substantial power to deem each attack worthy of the proper defense. So, if Krice does manage to stay on his feet, he faces an attack towards his center, which leaves a parrying move that allows the ronin enough time to push himself back on the ice and regain his own footing again. Taking on a stance that nearly mimics Krice's own, it seems Garrett is taking bits and pieces of his opponent's own style and adding it into his own with each passing exchange of blows. This isn't the more hack and slash style of fighting. Duels with a katana are usually summed up with one or two moves, once an opening is found. Thus it turns into a dance of death between skilled opponents, each figuring out where the best place to land a solid blow, and end the fight. But at the same time, to any who truly know this, one could tell that with each blow Garrett's usually rage fueled attacks are becoming more and more smooth and calculated as well. Like his temper is dying off with each passing moment these two clash. It seems he finds his own peace in battle.

Krice hadn't expected the strength of Garrett's enchanted ring to be so significant, but he was a warrior of inherant ability, unshakable instinct, trained skill, and experience; Krice knew how to compensate. As the ronin maneuvered around him and kicked at his legs, the warrior pushed both feet into the icy ground and lept over the attack face-down, gilded gaze fixated on the form of his enemy through the duration of his overhead descent. The warrior landed half a metre away on Garrett's opposite side with enough force to create a third pothole of traction. Brandishing his sword, he expressed more of his own calculated strikes against the other male, clean, efficient, and swift - starting with a weighty, downward deflection of his katana steel into Garrett's. The silver-haired man successfully protected his abdomen from the would-be strike, His natural abilities were undeniable. The man was a vampire. -Had- to be. At the very least his movements bordered on the supernatural. Was this really a fair fight? Garrett's accessories tipped the balance, at least. Following his second deflection, Krice turned his katana forward, the sharp, curved edge diagonally cutting through layers of frosted air en route to the other swordsman's dominant hand. He sought the wrist speedily and with accuracy, intent on disarming the ronin. Successful or not, hands twisted the blade upward to recoil from that attack into another, this time aimed at the exposed triangle of space under Garrett's left shoulder, where armour could not curve and flex for functional protection.

Garrett watches as his foe glides through the air with unimaginable ease, to land gracefully in an ice covered road. This guy was unreal, but it only served to heighten his own desire to fight this man. And unlike Krice, the younger warrior wasn't one to -not- resort to cheap tricks to gain an advantage. Due to recent events in the land, carrying something to help one against a drow, be it to kill one of run away from one, has made it easier to obtain certain items. One of them being a rather useful little rock, that when struck against a hard surface, radiates a incredibly brilliant light that is very effective against a drow's eyes, but can even temporarily blind normal eyesight. And so, as Krice flies through the air, the moment he lands, Garrett tosses two of these little stone pellets against the hard surface of the ice covered road, while he closes his own eyes and adjusts his course. The blast of light is spectacular, and its eruption emits such brightness that anyone around a one hundred foot radius of the fight is subject to the blinding effects of this sneak attack.The initial attack towards his wrist is avoided in the movement, as the calculated blow of the vampiric-ish swordsman whiz by with incredible speed. The second attack comes in, right as the brilliant light offers Garrett just enough time to barely dodge Krice's thrust, his opponent's blade slices through the billowing left sleeve of his hoari jacket, just mere inches away from the blade's intended target. It is within these moments that Garrett goes to grab Krice's exposed wrist with his free hand, and if successful, he would pull the man in while driving the hilt of his katana towards Krice's jaw while he is hopefully blinded by the light and disoriented. If unable to get a firm grip, he will just back pedal and regroup, thankful to have avoided such a well placed blow from his opponent.

Krice always kept his eyes on his opponents in any battle, even when he jumped and twisted over them to avoid an attack. As such, he saw Garrett reach into his clothing and knew that something was coming, but of course he had no forsight as to what that something was. Regardless, consequential preparation marked his movements until the big reveal; he followed through with his attacks, but as the second strike hit cloth, not flesh, that blinding light filled the area and he shut his gaze, turning away. Possessing intelligence enough to reason his way through all half-wit level conundrums, the warrior ran from the origin of that light to gain distance between himself and his foe, not standing there - like a half-wit - waiting to take damage. He was swift and knew the road, just as he knew himself, to avoid crashing into anything. Because of this evasive action, his wrist was no longer within reach of his opponent -to- be grabbed. Krice had only gone roughly four metres from the bright light before he halted and turned toward his foe once more, brandishing that expertly-crafted katana at the ready. " So," he said, his voice smooth and even, as if he hadn't just engaged in a brief but fast-paced battle. " You resort to dirty tricks. Can't say I'm surprised, but would you -really- be satisfied if you won by cheating?" Many of the civilians who -had- gathered to watch were startled by the blinding light of Garrett's mini-bombs and scattered to carry on with their day, reluctant to be drawn into the battle by either warrior. The guards, well... Whether or not they stopped the fight depended largely on how uncomfortable their eyes were.

Garrett doesn't land a blow on this guy. Time and time again he is one step ahead of him. Even with a blinding light, he manages to slip away. Then comes the comments, to which he'd smirk. "Cheap tricks? One would be stupid not to find a way to exploit some kind of advantage against an opponent like you, so call it what you want." But just as he gets ready to face off again with this silver-haired man, the guards get involved. " The hell was that? You crazy? Bad enough we let this go on, but you could have hurt people!" They approach the ronin, shaking their heads. " You're coming with us, Stewart will want a word with you!" Looking a bit shocked, as he really didn't think a light pellet would cause such a reaction, he sheathes his katana and just chuckles to himself. " Can't win it seems like.." Before he allows himself to be escorted to a cell, where he will await judgment from his peers.

Krice's lips twisted into an expression of contemplation in light of Garrett's response, but the approach of the guards drew his gaze next. He straightened, lowered his sword to show he wasn't a threat - though they already knew that - and then sheathed it in its scabbard against his back. Once more, twin katanas crisscrossed his torso. In response to the guards' apparent desire to take Garrett to the Steward, the silver-haired man could not argue, but he said, " I was at fault as well. Neither one of us should've been fighting out here in the street."

Garrett just looks at the sky as he walks away, listening to the guards tell him that they gotta do this, or they are all screwed. Then Krice chimes in, and the two guards turn about and ponder a moment on if they should take him too. Right before they go to get him though, Garrett intervenes by saying loudly. " Ah, shut it. I baited you and baited you until you couldn't take it anymore. I'm the cause of this, and I'll face whatever comes my way, so don't go tryin' to take -this- from me, I've had enough crap taken already." He hopes this reassures the guards that no trouble will come thier way.And with that, he'd look to the guards he has worked with before, and says. " Ain't nonody gettin' into any trouble of me being dumb. So lets go, I could use a nap somewhere quite anyways." He hands the one guard ot his left his katana, and follows them to the cells.

Kithri flexes her muscles and steps away from the wall which she had been leaning on for the entirety of the battle. The vampire attempts to hold back a snicker as she watches Garrett being taken away by the guards. She was very pleased to see that, in the end, neither of the men were badly injured and Kithri felt in gratitute to the guards who had ended the fight before any real damage was done. "Well that's that over and done with, thank goodness. Damn men getting me worried over what turned out to be nothing, honestly," she spoke in a disapproving tone to nobody in particular and looked down in disgust at the icy mess surrounding her figure, "and got my boots covered in this awful frozen stuff as well..."

Krice pressed his lips together in a contemplative line following Garrett's words. He did shut it, though let's be clear that it wasn't because he was -told- to, and glanced between the other katana-wielder and the guards who escorted him away. Kithri's words inevitably drew his attention thereafter and he addressed her with a casual, " You could've stayed dry, in the warmth of the tavern." She didn't -need- to get her boots wet and snow-covered. He wasn't going to take the blame for that.

Kithri looked at Krice in contempt, "For your information, I happened to be worried about you and your -friend-." She turned away from him coldly and marched back into the tavern which had a pleasant and warm glow emitting from it. As she does so, the vampire turns back to look at Krice, "Maybe next time there won't be someone there to intervene when you're getting beat up badly."

Krice looked at Kithri as if she had two heads--which, actually, wasn't so bizarre in this part of the world, but still, the premise remains--with one brow lowered in bemusement. Her reaction was intense to him, to the point that he hesitated before calling to her a calm, " You're a complete stranger. Why do you care what happens to people you've never met?"

Kithri looks at Krice in confusion for a moment before she cleared her face of emotion and shrugged before replying shortly, "Maybe because I'm just a good person." She then heads into the tavern to dry off by the warm fireplace. Though the vampire, does not know the man, she feels hurt by his words but hides her feelings behind a face of firm indifference and exhales loudly in her frustration of the events that had just taken place.

Krice was the king of expressing little emotion, so when Kithri concealed hers behind her own mask, the man didn't -appear- too bothered. Once the vampire had disappeared into the tavern, the warrior turned to move westward, away from town.