DragonSworn

[POG]

Night.

He knew they would come for him.  Cloaked in the cover of darkness they thought themselves safe.  They sought to do murder.  They would be found wanting and less than prepared.

Night.

Darkness was his.  His realm was shadow.  No longer concerned with earthly pursuits or vices, dedication to his craft consumed him.  His craft was death.  The overwhelming lust for power was both blessing and bane.  He was incomplete and his enemies were infinite.

Powers such as his waxed and waned with the phases of the moon/  This night, the eve of the full moon was when his power reached the apex.  It was a time of rebirth and recharging.  His adversaries thought themselves protected by the night's shadowy embrace as they ventured via magical means toward his most private chambers.  They were mistaken.

Such Folly!! Such Hubris!!

Cobalt eyes smoldered beneath silvery brows.  Pale skin drawn tight in the rictus undeath pulsed with newly acquired energy from the new moon.

The wards, powerful creations, imbued with magik most fell, were rent asunder with the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking.  The doors to the chamber, his inner sanctum, weighed nearly a ton.  They burst inward explosively.  Hinges as think as a man's arm shuddered and groaned, protesting briefly before shattering like spun glass.

The doors flew inward with enough force to crush any unfortunate to fall within their path.  An uttered phrase, a negligent flick of the hand sent a tight weave of magik screaming in opposition, end over end, cleaving the deadly missiles of wood and iron, shattering the massive portals, in mid flight, with the sound of a thunderclap, sending deadly shards of metal and wood flying back towards those who would enter the chamber.

The response was immediate; an inhuman roar rent the air as silver scales flashed in the wan torchlight.  A reptilian snout surged forward as the Dragon seeking entrance tried to force herself into the room.

"B**CH!"  His eyes blazed.  He should have known.  None but her and the cursed wretches that served her could bypass his wards so easily.  It mattered not.  Even now he was drawing forth his energy.  A malevolent swirl of eldritch power that would both protect him and finish Her, once and for all.  It danced about his body by the shriek of tortured souls that was music to his ears.

She drew in air; her lungs filled as silver eyes blazed like liquid beacons.  She would release frosty death and finish him once and for all.

They released ll the magikal might within their powerful bodies at the same time...

[POG]

Twenty Years Later
It was going to rain.  Ever since Trafgar Dunrik knew when it would rain before it happened.  His knee told him.  That was a decade ago.  He ran a calloused hand over the mostly grey hair covering his face.  Less hair on his head and grey hair on his face, hundreds of battles, that was his lot.  Durnrik could complain but that wasn't his way.  Armed with two blades and a disarming smile, he was confident but not cocksure.  It would serve him well on this fools mission.  There was no doubt who the fool was as he smiled down at his sleeping charge.  The Guild thought the girl was something special but he knew that she was.

He knew that he would protect her by any means.  The world depended on it.  They would have to rely on haste and secrecy to get to their destination.

Dunrik didn't want to leave her in the room but he saw no other way.  He had a bit of magik about him, nothing spectacular, merely cantrips and such.  But sometimes it was just enough to swing the scales in his favor.

Setting a few wards about the door he gathered his blades and walked down the rickety stairs to the main room of the tavern.  The others the guild was sending would be here soon and he wanted to see what they were about.  They didn't know what he looked like but he'd know what to look for in them.

The Crying Jester was a small tavern with a few rooms upstairs.  There were a few people int eh main area, mostly workers from the harbor along with some mercenaries up north.  Hard men.  They gave Dunrik wary looks akin to that of a predator showing respect to one he knows is more dangerous than he.

The serving wench was comely.  Under different circumstances Dunrik might have pursued something more than the ale she placed on his table.  She gave him a warm smile.  He returned it then settled down at a corner table to wait...

[Pee-cola]

It was going to rain. Standing at the forests edge, Jori-ell could see the cloud cover was dark and thick. Not a star in the sky can be seen, yet the torchlight from a far away town guides Jori-ell to his next destination. A normal human’s eye would hardly detect such a distant glow, yet he could count the number of guards at each gate from this distance but Jori-ell was no longer a normal human. His years spent mining in the dwarves prison camps have sharpened his eyesight, and hardened his fists. Due to the absence of sunlight, his brown skin is less damaged and his short, stocky stature, he appears to be much younger than his human years would reveal. With a quick flip he pulls his hood over the single thick braid of hair emerging from the top of his otherwise, bald head to protect him from the elements. After gathering all of his belongings, he retrieves his stead from a near by watering hole, which should quicken his journey as a lite drizzle begins to fall. With a swift kick to his steady, he quickens his pace for fear of getting caught in the coming storm.
After an uneventful journey down the mountainside, Jori-ell arrives at the well-guarded front gates of yet another strange town.
“State your business!!!!” barks a guard perched high on the stonewall that surrounds the entire town.
“I am but a traveler seeking shelter out of the rain for my steed and I….” Jori replied.
As if on cue, the rainfall became torrental and the guards began to scramble for shelter. “Please kind sir, I merely have but this cloak to protect me…” Jari stated.

“Open the gates!!!” the guard replied from his hiding place.

The single gate swung open and another guard motions him inside.
“You can find a room at the Crying Jester,” pointing off down the road, “….just mind your purse!!!!”, the guard yells over the pounding rain.

With a thankful nod, Jari rides into the direction the guard indicated looking for the sign. The streets of this town are now desolate due to the inclement weather, however he notices one particular building that seems to be teeming with activity. “That must be the place.” Jari thinks to him self. Through his travels Jari-ell has found that a cautious approach to places like this is always wise. While dismounting his horse, he carefully surveys the surroundings for hiding places; escape routes and such…just in case. Then he cautiously walks into the inn….

[POG]

Dunrik peered at the newcomer over the rim of his mug.  He drank in the details, the measured gait, the stance, the way he moved.  The man was a fighter.  Although the new arrival looked young, hard eyes told a different story.  He had seen much but would see more and be changed.  Dunrik ventured a rueful smile and gestured towards the empty seat at his table.  He waved the serving wench over as well.  You can't trust anyone who doesn't drink.

[Pee-cola]

Pulling back his hood enough to reveal his eyes, Jori takes a quick scan of the place. Nothing unusual here, yet the hair on the back of his hands was beginning to raise. Perhaps it was the unwelcome feeling he got from the patrons of this establishment. Lowering his hand, Jori makes sure that his trusty warhammer is well concealed beneath his black cloak. “Soque” is what he called her, named after his true love. But this was no ordinary hammer in the hands of its maker. Forged with his own hands from ore he himself had mined. Beset with magical properties by the elvish folk who rescued him in such that only its maker can actualize it’s hidden powers.

A drunken man points at Jori and shouts,  “Look…a lost pup!!!!” Then there’s an eruption of laughter from the rest of his party. He ignores the drunken crowd and makes his way through the sparse crowd toward the bar but then he is stopped by one of the serving wenches.
“This is no place for children. You may want to seek shelter elsewhere.” She politely whispers in his ear before she continues serving her customers.

Just then he notices a dark lone figure nestled at a corner table, beckoning him to join him for a drink. Jori looks around as if confused, then gestures as if to say ”…you talkin’ to me?…” the figure nods, never losing eye contact with Jori. “Hmmm, Could this be the one I seek? Or does it seek to harm me?”, Jori thought to himself. "I really could use a drink."

“Awww….the pup lost his Maamaa. I think she upstairs in my room!!!.” Shouts another drunken patron. More laughter from the men can be heard thought the tavern. Jori shoots them quick glance but says nothing as he inconspicuously checks for Soque, turns and approaches the figure at the table.

A half smile greeted Jori as the strangers face became more visible. This certainly put him at easy however, Jori knew that looks can be deceiving. The bar maiden rushes over and places 2 large flagons of ale on the table then scurries off.

"Greetings and thank you for the drink, I'm parched."

[POG]

Dunrik calmly appraised how the newcomer handled the jibes tossed by drunken revelers who danced with unknown forces.  There was a time when he relished drunken brawls and such but such youthful bravado was lost on him.  This undertaking had to be accomplished ere the enemy gained strength.  The passion for senseless violence he had embraced in bygone days wasn't there in this one.   As the youth sat down at the table he didn't see it.  The other patrons should have realized it but they were drunk.  Too drunk to realize that this would be no pushing and shoving match were noses were bloodied and crockery was smashed over the combatants heads.

If this one, his Guild contact had said Jori was his name, was provoked, blood would be spilled and lives would be in danger.
"Well met Jori."  Dunrik finished the first flagon in a long pull and then started in on the second.  "I am called by many names but you can call me brother, I am Dunrik"  The first was a greeting used by members of the Guild.  These were hostile times and agents of the enemy were many.
He looked up at the five men sauntering toward the table, then expectantly at Jori.  The greeting he had given required the proper response.  If Jori didn't give it to him shortly the young man needn't worry about the drunken mercenaries coming his way looking for cruel sport.
If Jori didn't give the proper response Dunrik would kill him before they had a chance to lay hands on him...

[Pee-cola]

At first, Jori was rather puzzled, yet curious of this strangers intention while taking his seat. But once he heard the guildspeak, his purpose became clear. He knew he was among trusted brethren.

“Hail Fellow Dunrik…” He replied, as he closed his eyes and puts his mug to his lips. After three big swigs and a little spillage on his cheeks, he opens his eyes to see Dunrik looking past Jori over his shoulder.
“Looks like someone wants to talk to you” warned Dunrik in a low voice.

Jori-ell turned around to see four hulking men towering above him sitting at his table. Based on his quick head–to–toe assessment, he could tell that these men were guardsmen of a sort. All dressed in the same armored garment with a bird-like insignia emblazoned on the breastplate.

“Look at the lad, trying to drink like a man!!!!” yelled one man from the back.
“Isn’t it past his curfew????…haharharha” chuckled another,
“This is my tavern!!!” , Screamed the alpha of the pack, as he slamed his ungloved hand on the table with such force, it spills Dunriks drink.
“You think you can give me a squinty-eyed look and just get away with it….? You’d better apologize before me and my goons, break you and your friend here.”

Jori is not unfamiliar with these circumstances but the outcome is not usually good. He looks toward his new found comrade for some kind of affirmation, but Dunrik says nothing.

“Oh I get it. He’s your babysitter!!!!.....Haharharhahahar….” Blurted the last guardsman.

[POG]

Dunrik saw the younger man tense like a coiled spring, ready to explode into murderous action.  He laid a roughly calloused hand on his arm.  His eyes told his companion,

I'll handle this.
"You know, you lads are right."  Dunrik spread his hands, "We are sorry.  I apologize for not realizing I was in the presence of my betters."  He placed a gold crown on the table, about what these mercenary/guards made in a month.  "For the drinks,"  He casually flipped another on the table "and another for the trouble we've caused."

He rose slowly, hands away from his blades.  The men were already moving forward eyes gleaming greedily at the prospect of ill gotten gold.  Their leader, a bear of man whose nose displayed signs of being broken several times, deftly pocketed the shiny coins.  Dunrik took a step toward the rickety stairs leading to the second floor.

"Hey?!"  A grimy hand shot out and grasped Dunrik's shoulder. "It's time for you to leave!"  Dunrik thought briefly about explaining that he had a room upstairs but thought better of it.  He had seen this before.  Once outside these lads, perhaps joined by more of their fellows lurking about in the shadows, would do their best to liberate the rest of his gold from the captivity of his coinpurse.  There was but one thing brutes such as these would understand.  He didn't have time for this.

"I thought I told you..."  Dunrik pinned the hand to his shoulder and spun dropping elbow and his full weight onto the exposed elbow joint of his assailant's arm.  There was a sickening sound reminiscent of dry timber cracking.  The formerly arrogant guardsman let forth a high pitched wail that sounded as if it should be coming from the mouth of a school girl.  The yell was cut short as Dunrik's forearm blurred into a point on the side of his opponent's neck in a motion to fast for most in the room too follow.  The unconscious man slid across the floor.  A second assailant rushed in swinging a haymaker punch.  Dunrik dropped to the floor and spun, his outstretched leg catching the attacker behind the heel.  Between the wild punch that hit air and having his legs swept out from under him the brute found himself spinning thru the air and crashing to the ground heavily.  He tried in vain to catch the wind that had been knocked from his lungs.  Dunrik snapped a kick to the groin of the third guard, who had been watching the spectacle unfold before him as if it was a spellcaster's fireworks show.  The man pitched forward and Dunrik dropped his elbow onto the back of his head driving the man's forehead into the ground.  The man's hands were covering his hurt parts so his nose broke his fall.  The second man pushed himself to his feet just in time catch Dunrik's elbow in his temple.  Stars filled his vision and swirled down into darkness.

OOC:  Fourth guy is your's P.  Have fun

[Pee-cola]

It quickly became obvious that Dunrik could certainly handle his own affairs. His companion was fast, agile and well skilled at hand – to – hand combat. In fact, Jori felt that his interference would merely complicate matters. He made such quick work of his combatants that the last foe, knowing he was no match for the Dunriks fury, reached in his waistband for a weapon.

But Jori was no mere spectator to the brawl, with drink in hand, he was also observing the patrons who seem to be enjoying the fray.  A glint of steel caught his ever-scanning eye, which forced Jori to react. He reluctantly tosses his ale in the eyes of the remaining guard. Before the oaf had time to wipe his stinging eyes, Jori leaped over a crumpled body and pounced on the mans back like a hungry feline catching its next meal. His legs wrapped around his torso pinning one arm to his waist and his other arm was now pinned to his ear by Joris powerful arms, twisted and contorted around his neck in such a way that the unfortunate recipient of this chokehold would have his last words spoken with his eyes. As the grip tightened around the guardsman’s neck like an executioners noose, the victim dropped to his knees, and then to his face as his body went limp. 

“What a waste….of a good drink.”, Jori mutters while dismounting his prey.
He then uses his foot to roll back the guards arm to reveal a dagger loosely held in the sleeping mans hand.
“He sought to jig you from behind.” reported Jori. “I don’t like cheaters.”   

[POG]

The echoes of the quick but frenzied battle died slowly.  Dunrik scanned the room looking for other potential foes.  None had the heart or mettle.  The bartender's eyes were wide with awe.  He had seen many brawls in his time here but none finished with such quickness or ferocious efficiency.  As the collective heartbeat in the room slowed.  Dunrik flipped the man a gold crown.  "For your troubles."  He nodded to Jori in thanks.  "We'll be leaving."  We have to go upstairs first.  "You with me."  The last was guild speak.  Jori new it meant that Dunrik thought there were more enemies about and to be cautious.  He started to walk upstairs when...

[POG]

The forsaken isle was a block of rock that rose from the turbulent waters of the narrows ten leagues west of the Crying Jester.  Imposing cliffs and crags blasted and scoured by wind added to the ominous aspect of the small inhospitable place.

The Forsaken isle was haunted.  Along the northern cliff face a series of steep steps found precarious purchase in the unforgiving black rock. Rez climbed these steps, a grisly bundle over his shoulder, shuttered lantern dancing wildy in his free hand.  The dim light failed to reach the waves crashing on the jagged rocks hundreds of feet below.

The path was slick and slippery, raindrops driven by strong wind flung themselves into his face but Rez moved with strength and agility that belied his advanced years and after an hour of determined and methodical climbing he had reached the end of his journey.  A temple of sorts, or the ruins of one, stood atop the cliffs.  He stood before the ornate door, inscribed with runes.  Unbidden it opened before him.  He walked across the threshold and a thousand candles burst into flame simultaneously.  They were scattered about the temple and their fat black waxy bodies were topped by errie green flames.  Melted wax from previous use hung frozen in mid drip like so many icicles.  In the midst of the candles lay an large altar, stained brown.

Rez dropped his trophy.  She groaned.  Quickly using the manacles and chains attached to the altar he immobilized her then drew a black dagger that bore green runes.  The flames seemed to grow in intensity casting the malevolent green pall into the furthest corners of the chamber.

Rez raised the dagger overhead, his chanting voice a low growl that grew in urgency.  The sudden thunder drowned out the sounds of what followed...

[POG]

...A tingle in his stomach made him pause.  He swayed a bit on his feet.  Jori looked at him concerned.  Dunrik cast a wan smile at his companion.  "Things have moved at a faster pace than I had thought they would."  Help would have been good, and Dunrik was sure the guild was doing what it could but it looked as if it would fall to the two of them.
Dunrik bounded up the stairs to the room and was happy to see nothing had been disturbed.  He opened the door and Kri was standing by the bed ready to travel.  She was a small girl, looked to be about 12 years old.  Her cloak was thrown about her shoulders and she had a stout walking stick in hand.  Although her hood was over her head it didn't hide the blindfold covering her eyes.
Dunrik looked meaningfully at Jori.  "This is Kri.  We'll be taking her to Russex.  Maybe further."  The girl took three measured, graceful steps toward Jori and held out her hand.  Her touch was light with the hint of hidden gravity.  When she looked at Jori with blindfolded eyes that he didn't see it was as if he were looking into sky.  It was instantly disconcerting and calming at the same time.
"Well met Jori..."  Her voice was music.  Wait a minute Dunrik never said his name.

************
Downstairs the fourth guard, the one who had the dagger in hand slowly rose to his feet.  Jori used a bit to much pressure and a maneuver that was supposed to put the man to sleep had killed him.  His fellows, who were lifting themselves from the floor did not know that their companion was....changed.  His eyes were far away and filled with a dim green glow.  He took a halting step forward, like a toddler unsure of his balance and then ran upstairs faster than humanly possible.

OCC Hey P, read your PM before you respond.

[LithTheBlade]

Jared looked to the sky from his perch on the roof. Dark billowing clouds were coming towards the area swiftly. He gave a heaving sigh, tonights mischief would be easier in the rain, but much more unconfortable. He decided that tonights victim to his theivery would have to keep his gold day.

"Blasted rain, and the guy had so much extra coin, well more than he could spend," Jared whispered to himself. He thought a second if his room in the Crying Jester was still paid for. He had paid for a month in advance, but could not remember exactly how long it had been. Working the highways and stealing from sleeping merchants on the road had paid for that, and he had never even once needed to use his twin daggers or bow. He was glad for that. He was a theif, not a murderer.

He thought a moment longer about the man he had seen at the last caravan he had robbed. That was why he got a room at that specific Inn. But what use would a guild have for a common theif? He questioned it for a long time, but finally decided to go with it. He had been tricked into severe traps, and always managed to come out of them unharmed, thanks to his speed and agility. He heaved another great sigh as his mark left the bar from which he had been drinking, crossed the street, and went into his own Inn. A real shame.

Walking into the Crying Jester, Jared could easily see there had been a brawl, with 4 guards lying on the ground, and slowly trying to regain their footing. But one seemed a bit off, like a baby taking its first step. Jared had seem many different creatures, and this one reminded him of a group he had escaped not more than two months ago after raiding a wizard's tower and stealing the very daggers he now had sheathed on his hips. He rested his wrists on the grips, and slowly made to the bar. If it was what he was thinking, things would turn sour very, very quickly.

[Pee-cola]

Jori shoots Dunrik a puzzled look. “She knows my name?” he thought to himself. He then turns in her direction,
“Hail fellow Kri…” Jori responds in kind ”…you seem wise beyond your years.”

Although her eyes were hidden behind a black cloth, her gentle smile was reassuring. Jori hastened across the room to peer outside at the fierce storm as the downpour pelted the dirty window. Through the small pane, lightning occasionally illuminated the small room, but the thunderous rumble was felt more often. Without turning from the window, Jori stated in a low tone, “Strange, it seems that even when there’s no flash from above, no bolt from the sky, the rumble continues….”

“That’s not thunder my friend,” Dunrik replied, “Some ruckus in the hall…”
“and it’s coming closer…” muttered Kri as the floor begins to shake.
“Quickly,….hide!!!” barked Dunrik as he guided Kri to a dark place behind a chest in the corner of the room.

Jori cautiously approaches the door, “It’s probably just some more guards looking to…..”
Before he could fix his lips to utter another word, the wooden door explodes off it’s hinges and flys inward knocking Jori to the ground and pinning him underneath. Stunned, Jori quickly gathers his strength to lift the door off of his chest and suddenly a heavy boot comes crashing down shattering the door and impacting on his chest with such force, he nearly passes out. Looking up at the mass attached to this boot was a familiar face. “Wasted ale!!?!?!?” growled the bleery eyed man-thing.
“The guard….?” Jori thought. But something was very different. His skin was as pale as a dead fish, and his inhuman eyes looked as if possessed by some unwanted evil. Jori had to think quickly as he had not enough breath to call for help and could not reach for his trusted weapon. His frantic palm found an iron spike that fell from the door hinge. With a might heave Jori thrust the spike through the light armour and into the side of the undead guards knee, weakening the pressure being applied to his chest and allowing Jori the leverage to wiggle from beneath his crushing heal. Before Jori can get his footing the beast is on the attack again, grabbing him by his shoulders and lifting his feet off the ground so that Jori and his undead friend can now see eye to eye.

“A little help would be nice…” was all that Jori could blurt out before he caught a head-butt to his frontal lobe. Dazed and confused but still conscious, he is flung into a table across the room like a child would toss a doll into a toy chest. Luckily for Jori, the only light source was on that table, but is now extinguished. Darkness was his thing, much like the mines he slaved in. And he knew this would buy him little time. Keeping his eye on his advisory, he reached for his weapon “…she’s not there!!!”. A quick glance revealed that Soque fell from his waistband across the room.  He scrambled to his feet then made a dash for his weapon. But just at that moment, a flash of lightning betrayed his position. Just as he grabs his beloved hammer, the vengeful guard rushes Jori with such speed and power that the crushing blow sends both Jori and his enemy crashing through the second story window……

[POG]

Chomo would have given his eye teeth for a decent pint of dwarven ale.  Dwarven spirits would be even better he thought as he nonchalantly shifted the burden of the heavy war hammer strapped to his back.  The fine dwarven chain was covered by sturdy cloak that was, in this storm, thoroughly soaked through.  A stout helm sat atop his head though it couldn't be seen for the oversized cowl of the cloak.  Bushy red beard was tucked into belt strained by a belly that showed signs of much good drink and more good food.  All else about Chomo was compact muscle, thick bone, and tough sinew.  He had run thirty leagues that day.  Not quickly but at the plodding constant pace that only dwarves are capable of.  He was thirsty and hungry and these human lands were no place for...

Jori and what used to be the fourth guardsman landed with a splash, right in front of Chomo, nearly hitting him, in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

"Praise the gods!" Exclaimed the bloodthirsty priest as he jumped back into a fighting stance bringing his warhammer into a fighting position.  The only thing he wanted more than food and strong drink right now was a good fight.

***************************************************************

Dunrik was thru the door in a flash Kri in his arms, light as a feather, bounding down the stairs two at a time.  He saw, in addition to the aftermath of the earlier fight....JARED?
They hadn't seen one another since that raid on the wizard's tower.  He smiled as he thought of the skills Jared would bring on this fool's venture.  Dunrik put Kri down and drew his blades.  The raspy sound was filled with menace and promise of spilled blood.  "Outside!" he yelled at Jared.  "Protect the girl by all means."  He ran thru the door, pell mell into the driving rain, hoping he'd be in time to save Jori.

[LithTheBlade]

Oh boy, thats definately Dunrik, from... The wizard's tower? Jared thought to himself. This was going to be one hell of a party, with the noise from up the stairs, and then more noise coming from the doorway, Jared figured it all out.

"So sorry, madam, but I think it is better I listen to the old warrior. No time for pleasantries," Jared said quickly to the girl as he swiftly picked her up. He was out the door a moment later, and saw a man wrestling with the pale guard, a dwarf with his war hammer out and ready, and Dunrik swiftly approaching the group. Instincts took him the opposite way.

Dipping into an alley, Jared winded through the streets, completely unaware of where he was going. If he could find a safe spot to leave the girl... He thought about that, and realized Dunrik would probably kill him himself. He motioned for the girl to climb on his back, and surprisingly, she didn't argue. Nimble as a chimp, and with strength trained by years of the same work, Jared easily scaled the building, all the way to the roof. He took a moment to get his bearings, and rushed across the roofs, sprinting and leaping his way back towards the area where his Inn, and Dunrik, was. Finally reaching the roof of the Inn, he watched the fight continue, ready to rush down and help if he was needed. Dunrik had saved his life from those ghouls back at the Wizard's tower. And while the favor had been repaid, still, Jared liked Dunrik. And Jared refused to see the man fall right in front of him.

[POG]

Chomo swung his enchanted warhammer into the undead head in front of him as Jori slid across the muddy ground, putting distance between himself and the creature.  Chomo did not get the satisfaction that would normally come from the meaty thump of the glowing hammer head into fetid undead flesh.  The fell creature before him had speed that was unnatural.  The hammer passed thru air, smacking raindrops.  It's shoulder plowed into the doughty dwarven priest driving him backwards with speed.  Feet leaving the ground, Chomo found himself being flung through the air.  He crashed into the wall of the building across the street, landing heavily.  This is gonna be a good fight wot, were his thoughts as he pushed himself to his feet, tasting his own blood...