RP:Rivals Clash Part 1

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Dergious sidles over to a table, his suspicious eyes scanning the crowd as his mean little imp sneaks about exploring.

Aelfulf steps into the tavern, his ragged, salt-encrusted clothes hanging loose, his only weapon a simple dagger, set with a semi-precious jewel. He sags wearily into a chair, listlessly glancing about.

Sethryn simply watched the meager crowd gather from her perch atop a barstool. She held a glass loosely in one hand and leaned a bent elbow upon the bar upon which she rested her dainty chin.

Dergious drinks his own beverage while sending a dirty look to Mesthak and muttering something about, "topside swill" under his breath.

Valentin looks at the newcomers in a bored fashion.

Aelfulf looks to be nearly asleep, although the dwarf catches his attention, and he watches the little man from under lowered lids.

Dergious relieves himself of some of his burden, as the imbibed alcohol relaxes him a bit. HIs mischievous imp sticks to the shadows and moves closer to the dwarf. The numerous pouches fall to the floor at his left side.

Aelfulf's gaze now turns to the imp, its sneaky behavior posing more of a threat than its master at the moment. Sore muscles tense almost imperceptibly as the high elf readies himself for possible action.

Dergious closes his eyes and finds his center. Though very much aware of his surroundings, the dwarf seems to be deeply concentrating, perhaps meditating. His imp grins widely and tip toes silently over to the dropped packs and begins to go through them. He exposes a number of odd artifacts. An ornate ring, a darkly glistening pendent, a vicious bladed dagger all are plain to see. The imp seems to be searching for something, and casually sets aside a very interesting sword. It is of obviously elven design, the rich and delicate runes on the hilt are proof enough of that.... and then the swords blade is exposed. The blade should not appear as it does. It is blood red, and when it is free a sense of wrongness permeates the room. Those familiar with the legend of the moon blade, a symbol of elven faith and strength, would be repulsed by what has been done to this artifact. There is pain here, and loss. It is a difilement.

Aelfulf's eyes snap open abruptly, as if some horrible shriek has startled him from his apparent doze. Focusing in on the blade, he leaps to his feet, a pained and sickened look on his face. Bare feet pound purposely on the floorboards as he storms toward the duergar and his imp, flipping chairs and tables out of his path as the blade in front of him drowns out all else.

Dergious opens his eyes almost the moment the elf rises. He looks down, kicking at the imp who scurries away uttering a rather impressive stream of imaginative vulgarities and shaking hits fist. The dwarf kicks reaches out a dirty, filthy hand and the elven blade lifts from the ground and settles in it. The dwarf grabs the table he had been sitting at and sends it to the side and tipping it, and then he stomps forward. "Ye gots sumthin te be sayin?" he says as Aelfulf nears the long reach of the sword.

Aelfulf's dagger is out in no time, puny when compared to the sword, but held in a steady, strong grip all the same. When he speaks, his voice is broken from grief and shock, hatred shining through in each syllable. "What have you done?" The question seems, for the most part, rhetorical. "You will give that to me, you wretched being, and beg forgiveness for the atrocity." A command, flatly given, with the sound of one used to having his orders obeyed without question.

Dergious grins, though it is hidden behind the horrid mask the man wears, and looks the elf up and down. "Awww... yer thinkin dat butter o' yers be a match fer dis?" he says incredulously. "Lookit ye! Beggar givin orders. Ye ain't gots a chance bub." HIs dark mithril armor glints dully in the light of the candelabra, overshadowing the elf's own attire. "Cut yer losses, bub. I lost me taste fer guttin yer kind. Ain't no fun when dey be dyin so quick."

Aelfulf's expression looks nearly crazed by this point, the profanity in front of him driving all control away. "I assure you that I can and will kill you, even if I was entirely unarmed. Hand over the blade, and you may leave with your life. Otherwise, my face will be the last one you ever see." Through the tattered rags, the arm muscles of a trained fighter can be seen tightening, readying for combat.

Dergious laughs and begins to speak, "Elfling, mebbe-" and suddenly the cruel duergar is stepping forward, the blade slashing across at knee level. As the sword swipes at it's own heritage, a high and mournful cry echoes through the room, though in truth it does nothing to hinder the powerful strike.

Aelfulf moves exceptionally quickly for one who, just moments ago, appeared exhausted. He jumps straight upward, pulling his knees as high as he can so that the sword sweeps by beneath him, on course for the thick table leg nearby. Just as soon as he lands, the high elf pushes off again, his dagger thrust out before him as he attempts to gore the duergar through his thick torso, his free hand reaching for the sword's hilt at the same time.

Dergious clearly was not expecting the elf to move so quickly, and the blade strikes true. The knife plunges down into the duergar's exposed back only to be deflected by the Hepti-made mithril shirt and causing little actual damage. He drives upwards with the hilt of the Elven Blood-Moon Blade towards the momentarily undefended midsection of the elf.

Aelfulf gasps in shock as his dagger's blade snaps off at the hilt, falling harmlessly to the floor. Another gasp follows as the hilt slams into his stomach, driving the breath from his body even while the contact with the tainted artifact seems to scream through his mind, while yet calling to him on a most primal level. Stunned, the paladin falls to the floor, curled up into a ball.

Dergious stands over the elf and lifts his mask. "Boy, see how far yer indignation gets ye?" He stomps a full circle around the curled man, the blade poised to strike. His arm raises, and the point shines only briefly before plunging down the man's neck. The same mournful cry rips through the air, and the blade turns aside, striking the floor next to him. The dwarf stumbles looks from blade to elf, and the growls as he rips it free. He leans close to the elf, "Dis blade be me own, till I be decidin utherwise." He straightens, and then turns towards the door. As he exits, he leaves only a harsh, cruel laugh.

Aelfulf slowly climbs to his feet, humiliated and enraged. He stalks to the board and leaves a note before leaving the tavern abruptly.

I will find you, dwarf, and I will make you pay for what you have done. Such a profanity will not go unpunished. - Aelfulf, Paladin of Arkhen --Aelfulf (March 3rd, 9:49 PM)