(That wouldn't go over to well in a RPG, but I not going to argue, because Belth likes you... and you have a printer. Oh, and use OOC to talk to someone not in the game.)

OTC: Oh yeah, I forgot about O.T.C. And I was kidding about not changing it. I'll get to it right away.

The "wailing man", as Daryl liked to put it, continued to speak out in a language he didn't recognize, let alone comprehend. The man struggled in his coat until he pulled out something that shone whenever the limited illumination hit it. He held it before his eyes, and it appeared to be important to him. Before Daryl knew it, the needle was already being flung at point blank and was already in the neck of his mount. The sharp, thin needle pressed effortlessly through the rough hide of the wyvern, injecting its sleeping drug into the body of the mount. A dark shade of scarlet, the blood trickled out of the wound. It was nowhere near bleeding profusely, but it was none but unnoticeable. It seemed to miss vital points, Daryl noted, but it immediately had an effect on the winged beast. The mount, while not completely inebriated by the drug, was extremely drowsy and its movements were slowed. Daryl cursed loudly, his voice carrying throughout the tunnel, and took notice of this with haste. He halted his friend's movements immediately. He brought the wyvern, along with the man still dangling from the fangs of his creature, to the shaded, moist, concrete floors of the underground chamber.

As they descended, Daryl, without warning, dug his spurs in deeply and shouted a command to his mount. The mount proceeded to open its grip on the other man, sending him down the ten feet it was to the bottom of the shaft. This would insure that he would have enough time to actually prepare of what inevitably would come. He pulled the winged creature off to the side of the subway tunnel with his reins, and quickly withdrew from its pouch a sole lance. It was nothing special, just a narrow wooden shaft with a metal tip, sharpened by hand. While humbly built, it was somewhat capable of inflicting bodily harm. It was fairly short, and it wasn't incredibly aerodynamic. It couldn't do serious damage by being thrown, but his hopes lay on its ability to stall the opponent. Daryl was constantly thinking about time, for if he had more time to prepare than his enemy, then he surely would obtain victory. He had no intentions of using the lance in an orthodox method, knowing that he was useless at jabbing with weapons. His arms were too used to swinging an axe around. Stabbing motions just weren't natural to him. He turned the lance in his hand slowly, his eyes carefully scanning the wood for any major defects that could have occurred while the two were struggling in the air. This could render the lance useless. Satisfied with his result, he moved his body into a stance that allowed him to shift his weight easily. This allowed the lance to carry further and faster, thus dealing more damage. His arm was pulled back, and he shoved it forward, sending the wooden shaft to meet directly with the left leg of his opponent.

While it glided with no resistance through the air, he turned around and got his second weapon, his axe, from the pouch. He hung it from his belt, and turned again towards the current antagonist of his story. He peered for the results of the lance throw, but couldn't see it clearly. Daryl left his drowsy wyvern for the time being, and got up to face him head on. He pointed towards Zesper with the index finger of his left hand. His eyes again narrowed as a small intoxicating grin spread across his face. "I believe that it's time that we two duel." he stated in his native language. Although Zesper would be unable to understand the words being spoke, Daryl hoped that the other man was as keen at spotting body language as he. He unlatched the axe he had ready, and decided it was easier to show his violent intentions with a weapon. He clutched it in his right hand, and waited for his opponent to approach.

"Yes!" Zesper exclaimed triumphantly, punching his fists in the air. The needle had stuck to the beast, and was taking affect immediately. The dragon-thingy was starting to descend to the ground far below. Suddenly the rider shouted a command to his mount, and Zesper without warning, plummeted to the ground below, face first. Right before he hit the ground, Zesper stuck his hands out and landed in a handstand, then he launched himself into a front-flip, landing nimbly on his feet. He hoped that stunt would intimidate his opponent enough to not have the will to fight. When he glanced up at the man and his mount, Zesper smacked himself in the forehead, realizing the rider had turned around and was not even looking at him. Suddenly a sharp object flew through the air and embedded itself in Zesper's left arm. He had no time to dodge it. The pink-haired protagonist rolled his head, and groaned in pain. He slowly turned his head to look at the wound. A large wooden lance was deep in his arm, judging by the pain, it must of torn a muscle. He glared over at the now earthbound rider and his mount. The man had landed his beast on the far side of the tunnel, away from oncoming subways. The man was now digging through the various pouches on the beast's saddle. Then he turned around, producing the same axe he held to Zesper's head a while ago. Then he held out his hand, pointing at our hero, holding his axe in the other. Zesper looked around then pointed at himself in mock surprise. "Who, me?" Zesper sarcastically asked, then a more serious look spread across his face. "I'm no expert with body language, but I think this guy isn't going to leave me alone without a fight... Well, I already missed my subway, so what do I got to loose?" He went to take a step forward, but then had trouble moving his right leg. Zesper knelt down and lifted up his pant leg to reveal a wilting leg. "Damn!" Zesper cursed out loud "That's right! I haven't had water in a while... This is bad." Without water or light, he couldn't use his powers or even summon VemShred, his over-sized, living battle scythe. He would need to find some water and light, and being in this tunnel wasn't going to help him, and that dragon-thing wasn't going to be asleep forever. He would have to make this quick. Thinking fast, Zesper grabbed the the shaft of the lance and shoved it all the way through his arm so the sharp end stuck out the other side. He screwed up his face in pain. It was painful, but it would make a nice, hidden weapon for now. Then he crouched down, in a fighting style, making sure not to put his weight on his bad leg, and waited for his opponent to make the first move.

Daryl's smile spread like an infectious disease across the young man's face. The weapon he had thrown just moments ago had sunk in easily, exceeded his expectations. It appeared to strike muscle, and the wound looked fairly deep. The other man was seemingly upset about something, which just added to Daryl's confidence. He caught a glimpse of something as his opponent lifted up his pant leg. The limb appeared to be deformed, and there was obviously something wrong. Knowing that his enemy was at a disadvantage, and likely wouldn't strike him, Daryl turned his back to him and pulled the last of his belongings from the pouch. He figured he would need everything he's got if he was to defeat the man before him. The bottle of a local highly alcoholic beverage, seemed to shimmer as the little light in the tunnel hit it. The orange tinted liquid flowed freely inside the already half-drunken bottle. He took a small swig as he turned around, and swallowed briefly, his arrogance deciding he didn't need to be fully sober to fight this one. The bottle of liquid was stuck in the area between his belt and his pants.

His smirk still shining as much as it was before, Daryl slowly walked to the center of the area where the two stood. "You appear to be a tough one. You haven't acted up as much as any of my other threats." he exclaimed, laughing as he was lost in his ego. "However, that lance was just the beginning of the pain to come!" He threw his axe up in the air, skillfully catching the handle, right on time. His eyes narrowed as he approached the other man with no haste, his intentions quite clear. Suddenly, his body began to move faster. He picked up the pace, and began to dash towards the pink-haired man. He took a swing with the axe at the man. It wasn't well aimed, but the force carried it through. He ducked down after the swing, and aimed his leg to trip Zesper. Daryl thrust his metal toed boot towards the leg that he had seen earlier, and thought that if it did connect, it would cause significant damage.

"Man, this guy must be crocked, or something!" thought Zesper as he bent over backwards to avoid the rider's swing of his axe. "Whatever he just took a swig of, It's making him erratic. It must be alcoholic." Suddenly the rider dropped down and lashed out with his boot at Zesper's bad leg. He howled in pain as he tumbled to the damp floor. Zesper lay sprawled out on the ground, clutching his wounded leg, moaning "Owww... What the hell, man?! You just freakin' kicked a cripple!" He continued to moan about how much his leg hurt, hoping to get some reaction out of the mysterious alcoholic, but to no avail. "Ugg... fine. Have it your way." Zesper said suddenly changing his tone from whiny to dead serious. "If a fight is what you want, a fight is what you'll get."

Then with a burst of strength, Zesper started to lash out with his legs in a circular motion, the movements made him spin around on his torso, soon the spinning got faster and faster, this stunt was one of Zesper's favorite break dancing moves "the windmill". He was spinning too fast to see if any of his kicks had make contact, then he stuck out his good hand and proceeded to spin while doing a one-handed handstand, then he launched himself into the air, tucked himself into a neat front-flip, and came down on the rider's forehead with the lance sticking out of his other arm. If this blow landed, it would be fatal.

To his great disappointment, Daryl's mad lop had missed in its entirety, the other man having bent over backwards. "Can one simply fight like this?" he asked himself, no longer thinking it worthwhile to talk to the pink-haired man. "His mind is surely unhinged." However, Daryl's second shot, directed to the deformed leg he had glimpsed earlier, connected directly, sending his opponent down, whining in the same language he had used earlier in the conflict. Daryl's laugh echoed throughout the chamber as he looked down upon the howling husk of the man he had attacked. He hadn't a clue what he had really connected with, but it seemed to do quite a bit of damage to the antagonist. His smile was massive, smug with the seemingly crippling hit.

Daryl was about to turn his back to the other man, and continue on his way, but suddenly, the man on the ground began kicking out his legs, the two limbs spinning with his body, which was now in full motion. The spinning legs caught him off guard, and the young man was hit right in the chest, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped for breath as the other man continued to spin around in what seemed to be a dance move of some sort. He clutched his chest with one hand, and observed what the other man was doing. He had been still spinning, but without warning, he sprang up with a flip, and started to come down. Daryl panicked, and thrust his recessive arm, his left, in front of his face. The lance head entered his forearm with little resistance and made a rather deep gash in the skin. Daryl got a grip on what was visible of the lance handle, the tugged the rest of the weapon through, causing the other man to feel the full effects of the lance shot. It had begun to bleed rather profusely. Daryl clutched the wound with his other arm, as his air returned, turning around to meet with the man who had just moved to the offense. He moved towards him with less vigor than before. At the midway point between them, he stopped to check his bleeding, and decided at this point, it was not a good idea to use the wounded arm. Soon his bottle was again in his other hand, and a small sip had been taken.

Daryl continued forward slowly, and upon reaching his opponent, immediately thrust out his knee in an attempt to hit the other man's torso. He wound his other arm back, and sent it rushing through the air to meet the pink-haired man's face.

"Grrrrraaaaaaah!" Zesper roared out in pain as the rider pulled the lance out from his arm, causing blood to gush out and cover the sleeve of his jacket in crimson red. He stumbled backwards from the unexpected pain, clutching the open wound, trying to gt it to stop bleeding. "Grrah! I need water and light now! But there's no way I could find any here!" Zesper mind raced to try find the solution "If only there was some way I could get him outside..." he thought as he prepared to run for it. All of a sudden, the tunnel filled with the same blinding light, and the same loud grinding noise from before. Zesper's eyes widened in realization, as he whirled around just in time to see a subway rounding a corner, coming their way at full speed.

"It's gonna run us over if we don't move!" Zesper shouted over the noise, even though he fully understood that his foe could not understand him. He looked over his shoulder at the rider to see if he noticed it too. The rider was coming toward him at a trot, a evil look on his face. Zesper turned around and faced the man, and was about to suggest they run. But before he could even make a sound, the man lashed out with his leg and caught Zesper in the stomach, causing him to bend over in pain. The rider followed it up with a slight uppercut right into Zesper's face. (Our Pink-haired hero, having the burden of being very light-weight is easily knocked around.) The force of the blow, combined with Zesper's extremely light weight, caused the plant groove to be knocked back roughly 10 yards. As he was propelled through the air, in his own little personal world of hurt, he caught a glimpse of the metallic beast speeding right at him. And before he could register what was happening, he collided with the windshield, breaking it into a thousand little shards of glass, and landed with a sickening thud inside the subway.

The other man had reacted to Daryl's satisfaction. He seemed rather upset about the lance being pulled out from his arm. The young man smiled smugly, thinking that he had broken the other man's morale. Unfortunately for him, this was not the case. It became obvious that something was not right, as a loud sound was heard. The noise had hit his ears only in the middle of his attack. He heard it, but he made nothing of the loud, grinding noise. His arm had already flung ahead and pounded the pink-eyed man off a distance of around 10 yards. While Daryl thought about how this was possible, the noise had finally registered in his mind. "Wait, that noise, was it the-" he was cut off, as immediately, the whole tunnel was illuminated by the headlights of another subway cart. Its speed was unmatched, and a head-on collision would likely be fatal. His thoughts raced, as he looked around the room for a safe area. His eyes drifted to look up to see that his opponent was still in the air. The train was on a direct course to collide with the propelled man. At this rate, it would probably kill him, if he collided with the steel of the train. It followed through and, to Daryl's surprise, the man had only impacted the glass front of the subway. It's windshield was shattered as the lightweight body of the antagonist went through it, sending shards of glass flying throughout the tunnel. Daryl clutched his arm in pain, as a small shard grazed the top couple layers of skin. The wound had begun to bleed, the scarlet liquid dropping slowly to the ground. Not a single one had reached its destination when the young man was nearly caught in the front grill of the contraption. He had flung his eyes closed and crouched, then pounced up at the windshield of the approaching underground machine. In his leap, he had gone through the hole left by the previous object that had flung through the glass. He tumbled in, and cut open a few lacerations on his legs. The wind had been knocked out of him for the second time in the last few minutes. He opened his eyes, to see the other man lying just a few feet away. Grabbing his head, he rotated his neck to peer around the cart. It was completely empty, save a scruffy man who had obviously seen better days, who was seating, sleeping in the back of the cart. The man's eyes flung open, and his mouth was agape to the ruckus. He quickly lost interest at the two men laying on the floor, and began to peer out the window. Daryl pushed up on his bloodied hands, and using all his might, managed to push himself up once again, only to fall down. He was in no condition to fight. His hands grubbed around on his torso, and he found that everything he had carried was intact. He managed to grab his axe, and made a half-hearted swing towards the man laying next to him. The only force propelling his arm was gravity, he hadn't the strength to swing it himself.

Bump.

I will be edit this post to continue the fight later.


Please don't give me a warning! I lurve you guys!