Beowulf looked down into his mug of ale, staring at his reflection. Only a few hours had passed since his run-in with two strangers at the Taras Library, but since he had left, he had been in deep thought about what one of the men had said to him. Although it had only been a mere sentence, it made Beowulf question his line of work. "Am I really an imposter?" The pseudo bandit asked his reflection. Beowulf had drank a good deal of ale, but he was far from drunk. "Nah! I'll show him!" He said, raising from his chair, fists clenched. The Istan refugee had not drawn much attention to himself, as most of the other Taras citizens were drunk, or did not care what Beowulf had to say to himself.

Feeling a sudden inspiriation within himself, Beowulf felt inclined to start a fight, as he had originally intended to in the Taras Library. But now that the man who had impeded his work in the library was gone, Beowulf could now continue. He returned to his chair, thinking of the best way to start, without being the first to be pummeled. Staring down again at his reflection, an idea sprung into his head, and a grin appeared on his face. Taking no time to waste, Beowulf backhanded the side of his mug, launching it off of his small wooden table. The mug pegged the bartender in the face, knocking him out. Beowulf cursed under his breath. Damn it all. No one cares about the bartender... He thought. "Oh well, I suppose this will suffice." Beowulf said to himself, rising from his chair. He grabbed a leg of it, swinging it around in a circular motion. Gaining enough momentum to maim someone, he released the leg. Both he and the wooden chair flew into opposite direction, Beowulf into a wall, and the chair into a small crowd of shady figures. Looking up, the bandit drew his sword, realizing that the victoms of the chair-throw were one step ahead of him. They charged with daggers drawn. Fun times! Beowulf thought, charging into the fray.

Alayel spat angrily as she was struck with things falling from a table next to her that had just had a chair thrown into it. A mug of disgusting ale, wood splinters, and disgusting human food. She hissed wickedly and glared at a human male that was apparently the one that threw the chair. She considered getting up to punish him for his wreckless behavior, but a group of other men already advanced upon him. She gave him a cold, hard scowl and hoped that the angry men killed him. Brushing food and debris from herself, she looked back across the room hoping to see the woman she had been planning on following out of the bar and catching in a dark alley for dinner. But in the short time that she had been distracted, the woman had managed to escape. Ibmecil! she screamed in her head, and she rose from her chair. How often lately she had been deprived of a meal, she did not know, but it was getting old. This land of Imythess was full of pathetic heroes, and even those with dark ties managed to keep her unfed by mindlessly killing people she had wanted to feed upon. She stood watching the fight that was beginning, and decided that one of these men was going to be her dinner.

Beowulf smiled. He whispered silently an incantation, and his weapon began to glow with a holy light. In these times, anyone can disguise themselves as a human. Beowulf stared at the men. Any of them could be a vampire, a demon, or of the undead. And if they were, they might think twice before attacking with daggers. But the men, being wreckless had acted out of anger, and leapt at Beowulf before they could see the dim glowing sword. Concentrating on the first to take a stab, Beowulf parried the dagger, putting the man off balance. Exposed, the bandit took a quick punch to the man's rib cage. The blow was powerful enough to break one of the ribs. Beowulf turned his attention away from fallen opponent, to the rest of the eager fighters. They were still in motion, readying themselves to strike at the bandit.

Beowulf, who initially started the fight, did not want to take anyone's life. He cast his scimitar aside. Repeating the incantation he whispered earlier, his cloth gloves began to shimmer dimly, with a holy light. After finishing, Beowulf let out an Istan bandit war whoop.

The wreckless human appeared to be moderately experienced, and was dealing well thus far with his attackers. Pathetic drunks they were, and advancing with daggers at that. They were probably simple-minded thugs working for some low life criminal. She watched him fight for a short while with one man then tossed aside his scimitar after giving him a strong blow. He twice cast a spell she did not recognize, but the glow of his weapon and now his gloves made her uneasy. She couldn't tell if he was a wannabe hero, or if he was out for blood. Or something else. Doubts about the men he fought against made her impatient, so she drew her katana from its keep at her hip. She lept lightly onto the table at which she had just been sitting and crouched low to pounce forward. She did not know if she had been noticed yet, but she was certain that now the scuffle would notice her. She disregarded anyone else in the bar and concentrated on the humans before her. Alayel did not need her armor yet, it seemed more of a hand-to-hand fight and she was carrying a katana. Though she could always rely on her superior hand-to-hand fighting abilities, she hoped that her blade was enough for anyone foolish enough to toss aside their weapon when fighting on this side of the city.

She leapt forward off the table and it tipped over from the force. Landing lightly on her feet near the man, she looked up at him and hissed menacingly, fangs barred, hoping to intimidate him a bit.

Dodging and evading the drunks' attacks, Beowulf fended a few of them off. The alcohol in their systems had dulled their senses. It was bad and good for Beowulf. Good because it dulled their senses, slowing their reaction times, bad because it nullified some of the pain that Beowulf inflicted on them, and as soon as he knocked them down, they slowly rose up again. Overall, the newcomer from Istan was winning, and the challengers were slowly but steadily becoming unconscious, from either Beowulf's punches, or the amount of ale they had drank. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw that a new challenger arose. This one differed from the rest. "A woman..." Beowulf said under his breath, as he jabbed a man in the face. He turned his head to face her, only now realizing that she had a sword drawn. The woman hissed at him, revealing two fangs. Beowulf jumped back in surprise, and terror. I have never fought a vampire before... Beowulf thought to himself, disregarding the rest of the men in the tavern. They moved at too slow a pace, and with a lack of accuracy in their strikes for the bandit to be worried about. With his eyes locked on the devil-woman, Beowulf moved in to attack, punching twice into the air as a small warm-up before confrontation.

Alayel smiled evilly, pleased to see a reaction on the human's face. He seemed to be preparing himself to fight her, and this pleased her. She grew hungrier with the prospect of a meal within her grasp and licked her lips. She hoped that he would be her dinner, as the other choices would have more alcohol in their blood than she cared for. Though if it came down to it, she would take what she could get. With the strength and swiftness that the undead posses, she leapt slightly forward and to the side and grabbed one of the much slower drunken men that had suffered a few too many blows, and shoved him forward into the other man with force to keep him preoccupied. "It is exquisitely rude to deprive someone of a warm meal and make a large mess to further obstruct things," she hissed at him in a throaty purr as a cruel smile curled her full lips.

The woman moved quickly, pushing a man towards Beowulf. Seeing this as his chance, the bandit ran and dove across, sliding towards his scimitar. Grabbing it by the hilt, he leapt back up, listening to her claims of Beowulf being rude, for ruining her dinner. "You die!" He said to her, across the room. Beowulf did not feel like giving her a chance to surrender, because his plea would fall upon deaf ears. Beowulf noticed that his holy magics would work in this fight. The bandit recast the spell on his sword, hoping it would not fade in the middle of the fight. He took a few steps back, keeping some distance imbetween himself and the vampire. A burst of holy energy appeared over his forearm, taking the shape of a small shield. The shield hovered inches over his arm, bound to it with magic. Now that he was prepared, Beowulf got a running start, leaping off one of the fallen tables. Raising his scimitar over his head, he aimed for her neck. In mid-air, seconds before falling, he brought his sword back down.

Seeing the human dive for his scimitar she decided that now would be an appropriate time to be armored. She hissed the incantation and spirits of the dead drew together, covering her body is a strong, shining armor. She felt empowered by the magic it emitted and hoped that he was susceptible to the fear it caused. She still couldn't tell if he was a hero or not, his white magic yet hostile actions confused her. She narrowed her eyes at him in scrutiny, watching him carefully. He threatened her life and she couldn't help but laugh coldly. I'm already dead, she thought to herself and was pleased at his naivety. He too prepared himself for their fight with additional magic, and she scowled at the glow of his blade. She didn't know what was wrong with it, but she knew she didn't want the accursed thing to touch her.

The human finally charged at her and she could feel the excitement of battle in the air. She was exhilerated for a challenge and the potential meal it would reward her with. This human was not filled with alcohol and was faster than the others for it, but he was still a human. As he made his bounding attack she swiftly moved to the side so that he would not come down directly over her, but to her right with his back slightly facing her. She wondered if this fight would be worth it, if she would kill this man. If she were to kill him, it would be with her katana and he would be dying already before she could taste his blood. Additionally, he was not as slow-witted and pathetic as most in this bar, Even now she was losing her patience, she wanted food and she didn't want to work this hard for it when she was surrounded by so many easy targets. She forfeited her opportunity to dash from the bar and catch the leaving bar patrons as they stumbled down the dark streets. By now the human should be ready for her attack and she moved forward, katana at her hip for a second, then she swung it up toward his midsection hoping to hit something vital.

She is quick. Beowulf thought, as she swiftly moved out of the way of his attack. Landing on his right foot, he turned, keeping his holy shield covering the left side of his torso. As Beowulf turned, he noticed that the vampire was already on the offensive. Her blade traveled in a vertical cut, upwards. In an evasive motion, Beowulf hopped back as fast as he could, the blade traveling up his midsection. The katana left a small gash on the upper right side of his chest. Gah! I hafta be more careful. The bandit thought to himself, glancing quickly at his wound. It was not too bad of a cut, but if he stayed too long in the fight, he would become dizzy from the slight loss of blood.
Returning his attention to her, he noticed that she too had cast a spell, but it was of a different school of magic that Beowulf had known. He hadn't seen this before, but as he stared at the armor, a cold feeling ran through his veins. A feeling of death. A shiver ran down his spine, as he attempted to disregard the terror. Beowulf took the initiative, bring his sword over his head, and swinging it down at her. But half-way through the swing, he halted the blade, the threw a punch, aimed at her head, with his left arm. An old technique he had learned to draw their attention one way, and attack from the opposite.

((Tell me if I misunderstood anything about your post. I dunno if I messed something up or not.))

((No, your post was perfect. :)))

With her attack she had managed to spill a bit of the human's blood and she could smell it in the air, making her mouth water slightly. Human blood was her favorite and its aroma made her stomach rumble. What a nice scent this human had, she would love to taste his flesh. The fight had now picked up page and his counter came as soon as her attack was over. As her brought his blade at her, she moved to bring her own weapon up to parry. She had her arms partially raised when he suddenly changed his attack. Even her fast reflexes only allowed her time flinch, not to make any kind of defensive move. A powerful blow pummeled her upper right arm and she howled in pain. The punch itself was strong, but the pain she felt came from something else. It was the glowing spell upon his gloves, its white magic not only nullified the ghastly protection of her armor where it struck her, but it brought her pain when it touched her. She dropped her katana, arm throbbing and she was now furious. No more fooling around! she howled in her mind. She leapt bodily upon him, pouncing like a wild animal and grabbed at his right wrist so that the blade would be difficult to handle. At such close range it would be hard to use anyway. She wanted to knock him off balance, pin him down on the ground and tear his throat out with her teeth.

Beowulf laughed inside. He never thought he would ever get to hit a woman so hard. Perhaps fighting vampires has its benefits. The bandit thought, letting out a small chuckle. The spell he had cast on his hands had also made the strike stronger. The holiness radiating from his fists seemed to cut through her magic armor. After she recovered from the blow, the vampire leapt at him, grabbing his wrist. "Gah!" He said instinctively. At any other time, Beowulf would've welcomed this, but seeing as how the woman wanted to kill him, he searched for a way to escape her grip. He dropped his scimitar, and brought his left hand around his right shoulder, and then swinging back in the opposite direction. Beowulf did not enjoy to swing at a woman in such a manner, but there was no other option, for she was a devil-woman.

((Sorta short =[))

Alayel was unable to knock him to the ground with her previous attack, but she had managed to make him drop his scimitar. He still had his accursed gloves that caused her much pain. She gnashed at his throat but before she realized it he had backhanded her in the face. Her bite was not in vain, however, and she snapped her neck to the left and bit into his arm. She could taste blood and it gave her more energy, taking some of the sting off of his slap. The taste drove her into a frenzy, she wanted more and now that she had a taste she wasn't going to leave until she was full.

"Ahhhhhh!" Beowulf shouted ripping himself from the vampire. The bandit had struck her off before she could get to his throat, but she still had bitten into his arm. He looked at the wound. Her fangs had gone deep into his skin, and he feared being attacked again. I can't fight in this condition... Beowulf thought to himself. He would have to retreat. Before leaving, he looked around at the damage he had done and smiled. His eyes shifted onto the vampire. "I apologize, but I must leave. Perhaps on a later date, we can finish this." Beowulf said to her. The bandit wiped the blood from his arm, and started running for the door. Not one of the most graceful exits, but it worked. Beowulf ran into the streets, keeping away from the ally ways where he would become prey for most-likely another beast. This'll be the last time I come to this tavern. He thought to himself, fading into the night.

(( Sorry for waiting so long to finish my end of this RP. I was waiting for someone else, but our plans were canceled. ))

The human tore himself from Alayel's grasp, said something to her, and bolted out the door before she could stop him. The taste of his blood was still fresh on her tongue, and she tasted its flavor in her mouth. She stood thinking, promising to herself that she would indeed finish her fight with him. She glanced around the bar that was now much emptier than it had been a few minutes ago when they had started their fight. It was a mess, splinters of wood on the floor, broken mugs and bottles, some blood, and an unconscious man in the middle of the floor. She felt eyes upon her and decided it was time for her to go, there was no meal here for her anymore. Picking up her katana, she wiped it off and returned it to her hip. She strode out the door with a small scowl on her face.

It was black outside, only the stars in the sky to light the night. She slipped silently between the shadows between buildings and alley ways, looking for anyone that may have made the mistake of being out at an unreasonable hour. She need not travel far from the bar to spot someone, and she smiled to herself once more. She ducked behind the shelter of a corner for a moment as she studied her victim. It was a woman, the same that had been in the bar earlier that night before she was interrupted by the human that wanted to start a fight. She could have laughed aloud at her fortune, but that would have ruined her opportunity. The woman looked afraid, as if she had been out this night against her will. Perhaps she was in debt to some thug, and was doing his bidding. It was no matter. It was not long before the woman gave a nervous glance to her left, then to her right, and ducked in between two buildings, clutching something in her arms. There was not a split second to lose now. Alayel dashed across the empty street as quick as lightning, leaping at the woman before any could identify the smear of darkness that had emerged from the shadows. There was a cry, a woman's voice, and the sound of something shattering against the ground. Then there was silence, and the dark night of the silent streets of this wicked end of Taras were again still. Minutes later a shadow slipped away from the building where there had been a noise, and disappeared into the night with a cruel smile of satisfaction on its lips...