[b][h3]Charnud of Ingiros[/h3][/b]

[i]Gods, these people don't know how to fight.[/i]

That was the main conclusion that ran through Charnud's head as the bar erupted in a cacophony of mayhem. He had more than his fair share of such fights, though they had often been in the void of space, dodging security forces and privateers as his crew pillaged and looted. There was still a code, of course, and they tried their best to limit the bloodshed. Usually. Mistakes happened all the time. Or people were just idiots.

A man, a Dhasath by the looks of it, lunged for him, thinking that the spindly-looking Kiellar must be an easy target. While he was no match in an outright fistfight, he never engaged in such vulgar forms of combat. 

For the first time of the day, a smirk tugged in the corners of Charnud's mouth. It had been so long. He missed it, somewhat.

The charging man never reached him. Charnud side-stepped at the last possible moment, catching the drunken brawler by the wrist. Rather than attempting to hold him head-on, he simply redirected the man's attack. The man's charge carried him forward, and without the proper footwork a true fighter would have employed, he crashed face-first into a support pillar with a resounding [i]thud[/i] that rattled the glasses on a nearby shelf.

"Mmm," Charnud muttered as he looked down at the groaning man, who must have had a concussion at the speed he was going. "If you're going to attack me, must you be so uncivilized?"

The man groaned. Charnud looked over as Neri pleaded for the group of former convicts not to actually seriously hurt anyone. Well, very well. He never intended to. If they hurt themselves by charging like bulls into walls, that was their own fault.

A bottle sailed through the air.

Years aboard unstable starships had given Charnud excellent reflexes. He ducked, and the bottle exploded in the wall behind him into a shower of glass fragments and amber liquid. What a waste. Booze wasn't exactly the cheapest thing in the universe.

"Was that aimed at me?" Charnud asked the thrower with a tone that suggested he was personally offended, hurt, even. The man didn't even wait a few seconds before grabbing a chair. The poor bar owner is going heavy into debt soon enough. "I see. It was."

The chair swung sideways towards him. The improvised weapon missed by mere centimeters as the Kiellar bargoer wielding it became visibly frustrated at Charnud's look of contempt. "Are you even trying, my friend?" Charnud grinned. "I have seen children fight better than you!"

The chair smashed into empty air.

The momentum of the swing carried the Kiellar forward a step farther than he intended. Charnud stepped to the side despite his joints protesting against the planet's gravity and stuck out his foot, making the attacker stumble forward. The man yelped, lost his grip on the chair, and stumbled face-first across a table. Three mugs, a bowl of fried root vegetables, and someone's dinner launched into the air.

"That was your own fault," Charnud informed him.

The man answered with an incoherent groan and a face full of stew.

Charnud sighed and adjusted his stolen shirt. "Now, now, can't we settle this like civilized beings?" He asked the man, who was still on the floor. All he got in reply was a groan and another fist aimed at him from the left.

He sidestepped the drunken punch. At least they were trying to aim this time.