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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 60229" data-attributes="member: 143">Thanks for the posts, Talindra and Ziggy!  You know us writers... fragile egos and all <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f600.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":D" title="Big grin    :D"  data-smilie="8"data-shortname=":D" />.  I have to say, I've been a writer for going on ten years now, and I've always done it mainly for my own enjoyment, but with this new story I've gotten sort of addicted to the positive feedback.  Plus it's a great antidote to the form-letter rejections from agents and publishers for my other work <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" />.Anyway, don't worry, Talindra... I'm not going to turn Benzan into a goody-two-shoes (he'll continue get the group into trouble as usual... although he is growing, I think).  * * * * * Book II, Part 12The alleyway behind the tavern became in impromptu sparring ground where the combatants gathered.  Rank smells hung over the dirty cobblestones, and rats cleared away with squeaks of protest as the two groups faced off against each other.  “Remember, no fatalities,” Cal quietly cautioned his companions as they left the tavern.  The law in Velen was that of the wild frontier; justice was harsh and swift.  Captains of vessels were responsible for the actions of their crews while in the port, and none of them wanted to make trouble for Captain Horeth.  There was no coordination, no planning, no discussion of ‘rules’.  Once the last sailor had come around the corner into the alley, all eight of them leapt at the companions, meaty fists raised to strike.   They were ready.  Benzan struck first, connecting with a solid punch to the face that sent his opponent reeling.  The sailor behind him, however, struck Benzan with a cross to the jaw.  The tiefling staggered as the world around him seemed to shift out of focus, and he felt the salty tang of blood in his mouth.  Too late, he realized the danger.  Luckily, Cal had seen it.  “They’re using iron knuckles!” the gnome shouted in warning, as the alley swarmed with sailors and adventurers in a confused melee.  A pair came at Delem, dark smiles on their faces, holding up their hands to reveal the thin metal bars they wore across their fists.  Momentarily at a loss, as nearly all of his magic was designed to be lethal, he retreated swiftly until the wooden wall of another building cut him off.  His attackers came on at a full charge, but cried out in surprise as the sorcerer summoned a flare that momentarily dazzled them.  The respite was brief, however, and the two quickly came at him, fists raised to strike.   Three of the sailors swarmed on Lok, whose heavy armor made him all but invulnerable to even their iron-enhanced punches.  Their strategy seemed to be to overwhelm and overbear him, and two tried to grab onto the genasi’s arms while the third tried to punch him in the face.  That strategy might have worked, if Lok hadn’t been so strong.  The genasi hurled the first sailor into the one trying to hit him, and both went down in a gangly pile of arms and legs.  The last tried to maintain his grip on the genasi, to trip him up, but he might as well been trying to trip a tree.  Lok slammed the sailor in the face with his stony fist, once, twice, three times, until he released his hold and slumped to the ground, unconscious.  The last sailor came at Dana, chuckling to himself.  “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he leered, as he reached out for her with his dirty hands.  Dana easily evaded his grasp, and brought her foot up in a high arc that snapped back down swiftly into the man’s face.  His eyes grew unfocused as he just stood there, stunned, and he didn’t even see the follow-up punch that knocked him roughly to his back on the cobbles.  Cal, meanwhile, had assumed a fighting position, his small fists ready for battle, but he once again was ignored as the melee raged around him.  Shaking his head in disappointment, he turned and put the two men closing on Delem to sleep.  Benzan was really the only one still having trouble, as he faced off against his two adversaries.  The one that had hit him was the leader who had challenged him in the tavern, and the tiefling barely avoided another powerful punch that swept so closely by his head that he could feel the breeze of its passage.  The second sailor, recovered from Benzan’s first strike, hit him in the side, but the blow did little against the mithral chainmail that he wore under his tunic.  “You chose the wrong group of strangers to pick a fight with,” Benzan said as he dodged backward and prepared for another attack.  “I don’t think so,” the leader said, his face twisting into a feral snarl.  He came at Benzan again, angling for his right side, while his companion approached from the left.  Benzan recognized the flanking maneuver, and responded with a swift attack of his own before they could press him from both sides.  His punch connected solidly, but the leader seemed to shrug off the powerful blow.  Benzan’s eyes widened in surprise—the man’s skin seemed as tough as leather, although he looked completely ordinary.  Benzan was unable to fully avoid the return punch, and the heavy impact on his shoulder spun him around into the attack of his ally, which connected with the tiefling’s already battered jaw and knocked him hard against the nearby wall.  The two sailors came into finish him, but to their amazement, the tiefling suddenly jumped up, a wild smile on his face.  That amazement turned to horror as the tiefling’s features twisted and reformed before their eyes, revealing the horrible visage of a terrible demon!“I didn’t sign on for this!” one of the sailors cried out, and he spun and fled down the alleyway and vanished into the night.  The leader remained, but hesitated, the fear evident in his eyes as well.  Had he been more aware he might have noticed that the slavering demon made no sound, or that the shadowy form of Benzan could still be seen behind the demon, leaning up against the wall where he had initially fallen.  Dana, having sent her first adversary into the blissful realm of unconsciousness, came to Lok’s aid.  The genasi didn’t really need the assistance, but he knocked one of his semi-conscious adversaries her way anyway, for her to finish with a potent punch to the head.  Delem stepped gingerly over his two sleeping opponents, and moved up beside Cal to see if any of the others needed any help.  The sailor leader belatedly realized two things.  First, that the ‘demon’ wasn’t doing anything but stand there, and secondly that he was rapidly becoming the only conscious one of his group left in the alley.  He turned to retreat, but before he could cover two steps Benzan came barreling out at him through the illusion, slamming hard into his side and driving him into the far wall.  The sailor staggered, but managed to strike back with an ineffectual blow that struck Benzan in the rear of his shoulder.  The two combatants separated but quickly came at each other again, each landing a solid punch against the other.  Lok, finally free of adversaries, came forward to help, but Cal forestalled him.  “Let’s see if he can pull it out,” he said.  He kept his wand of healing at the ready, just in case.  The four of them watched as Benzan and the seemingly indefatigable sailor traded blow after blow.  Benzan looked ready to go down at any moment, but somehow he remained standing after each successive punch.  His agility and armor gave him an edge, but one that was balanced by the thin iron bar that the sailor wore across his right fist.  Finally, the sailor overextended himself on a punch that went badly awry, and Benzan caught him with a solid cross to the side of his head that laid him out on the dirty cobbles, unconscious and bleeding.  The tiefling turned and saw his companions there, watching him.  “Thanks for the help,” he said, as he staggered toward them, nearly falling.  Delem went quickly to his aid, summoning a healing spell to restore him.“It looks like you had the matter well in hand,” Cal said.  “These sailors seemed to have a death wish,” Dana said, toeing one unconscious form with disgust written plain on her features.  “Not sailors,” Benzan said, looking better as Delem’s powers eased the pain of his battered jaw and bruised body.  “Skilled toughs, thieves, posing as sailors.  I should have seen it earlier, really.  That whole set-up in the bar, they way they fought—these guys were professionals.”  “Not professional enough,” Cal remarked.  “Let’s get back to the ship—this isn’t our town, and we’ll be on our way soon enough.”“Just one moment,” Benzan said.  He bent over the fallen leader of the thugs and quickly searched him.  He unconsciously pocketed the small stash of coins he found on the man, but found what he was really looking for—a small amulet fashioned of woven silver threads on a throng around his neck—and quickly took it.  “I’ll explain later,” he told his curious friends.  “Let’s get out of here.”His companions readily agreed, and they departed swiftly, leaving seven bruised and groaning toughs in their wake.</blockquote>

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