Jerry
Kuouo couldn't do much but stand there, watching the two squabble amongst themselves — Until he noticed a decay in Aatkei's garb that wasn't there before; he stepped back, watching the rot reach the skin on his chest and stop like a sharpened blade held against his neck. The decay-inducing girl quietly makes her demand towards Aatkei with dull-sharpness in both her eyes and voice. The ex-highwayman contemplates for a moment, looking at the bandit and the whiskey held tightly in his left paw.

```So whaddya gonna do now my guy? He liked her enough t' not leave her passed out in the wilderness but he's eyein' my whiskey pretty hard... It's gotta be like a 70-30 percent kinda chance.```

And then Aatkei spilled the beans.

```Ho-ho-holy shit, she's just like Shigaraki from BNH-```

Kuouo followed Kovrot's body with his eyes, watching her land a few meters directly in front of the man crying in pain as the necrosis spread even further across his chest. He willingly lets the whiskey out of his grasp, Aatkei fulfilling his part of the deal at the cost of being attacked by his peer - *Err, well, probably* ***Former*** *Peer anyways.*

It was apparent now, the bandit had another fight on his hands at the expense of asking too many questions. Information was a dual-edged blade. In the (criminal) underground in which Kuo resided in, it could be used for an advantage, sure... But ask too many and it might anger the wrong person.

. . .

Kuouo stepped in front of Aatkei, protectively unsheathing his dagger while blocking Aatkei with his right palm. A deep purple arcane energy screamed a malicious energy around her palm, the Bandit's monster body feeling the nasty aura permeating the air around her and weighing him down.

```fix
"Looky 'ere, I dunno much about whatcha guys do but it ain't worth killin' each other over just me wantin' t' know more about this place.```

Kuouo slashed his dagger through the air, pointing it at Kovrot.

```fix
"If yer gonna kill 'im over wantin' a bottle of whiskey, yer solely mistaken. Now, we can do this the easy way... Put down yer magic, let me and this dickhead go and I'll make sure t' not hurt ya like I did your goons back at the gate. Ya don't gotta warn no Thorn-Crown or whoever the fuck and you get outta this scott-free. Do it the hard way, and I might have t' do ya like I had t' do those knights in the tower.```

Kuo nudged his horns towards the tower standing tall in the opposite direction. He stared Kovrot down, tenseness hardening his stance. The bandit knew that one touch - a *Poke* - could induce a decaying effect across any part of his body as bad as the man behind him or *Worse.* He took a deep breath, attempting to loosen his body. 

**Kuouo knew had to do everything in his power to not get even so much as a graze from the necromancer in front of him.**
Dolores
Cumhall thought of a numerous things he could say in reply to the bandit but chose silence instead, the issue was solved, both sides got what they wanted, he had little interest in taking anything from the structure, his assigned drone was scanning any and every thing they passed, the drone that was, still missing as far as he could tell.
He sighed and began to walk forward heading for the village, but before he could make very much ground his attention was drawn to the "Fight" Between Aatkei and Kovrot he continued walking but much slower, watching from over his shoulder.
He thought of many witty remarks or comical phrases but bit them back, it did not matter, none of this counted towards his goal, he went to turn away and keep walking but then his ears were met by the shout of Aatkei and the sound of a body hitting the ground loudly.
He sighed.
```diff
- "Of course"-
```
He muttered under his breath, flicking the safety on his rifle **Off** For now he simply watched the scene unfold, he wouldn't act until he knew where things were going
Charles
The dark-elf gave heavy breaths following his yelled speech, his teeth still clenched as his upper chest flared with anger and breathlessness from its long-winded nature. With his dagger now firmly wielded and clenched tightly in his right hand, he stared at Kovrot as she prepared for battle, his bared teeth grinding against one another as he stared, practically seething — yet not reasonless — in reaction to her response. His brow was furrowed, yet strangely his eyes seemed saddened by the sight before him; as if he was regretful in some way or sort from either his or Kovrot's actions. 

***"Shut the fuck up."***

Aatkei turned over his shoulder, staring back at Kuouo and Cumhall as he spoke. His demeanor was aggressive, yet without intent to attack Kuouo himself, born simply out of a desire to silence him in his speech and threat against Kovrot. *`'Tsk'`*Ing in an audible and defined noise, he returned his gaze face-forward, inverting his grip on the dark dagger in his right hand.

*"I don't need you stupid blooded intruders botherin' on my business.*"*

Dismissing Kuouo's threatening speech against Kovrot, Aatkei's boots grit against the beaten surface-soil of the pathway, his darkened eyes focused with intent on the woman opposite himself. It seemed as though he had taken it upon himself to deal with Kovrot, likely due to whatever sour relations presided between the two. While unknowing of the tension between the two dark-elves, to the observers and intruders upon the Vektet, it was evident from Aatkei's response to Kuouo's display of aggression that there was a complicated, personal relationship between the two.
_ _

***Dash.*** A swift step forwards, and the ex-highwayman is fleet-footedly mobilized towards the dark-magicks-wielding elf who opposed the three on their trek across the path to the Exile's Watch, brandishing his dagger with a recklessness and wrath justified only by his familiarity and finesse with the weapon. **Stabbing the dagger from the upper-left quadrant downwards and inward towards Kovrot's chest**, Aatkei takes the first offensive between the two, initiating a short-lived close-combat sequence.
Matthew
The elven woman attempted to permiss no thought beyond her own duty, yet the subtle languish of the circumstances she was forced into could not be entirely hidden from her visage. Faced with unavoidable opposition, her lip pursed, ever-so-slightly, as she gave a slight sigh between her slow breaths.

Kovrot's enervated blinks became more and more regulated as time passed on, her tired visage waking slowly as the tension of the battle grew. The mindnumbing properties of the several taarei pellets that she had ingested earlier were still taking a toll on her stature, forcing her into a lazy, hunched, and off-balance posture; yet, fueled by both duty and adrenaline, her senses and reasoning began to sharpen, her now-attentive gaze locked on the form of Aatkei's oncoming dagger. Fatigue became solemnity, and drowsiness faded into a numbed, duty-driven dissociation.

***Check.*** She slams her fist-furled right hand into Aatkei's wrist, exploiting his usage of an inefficient icepick grip to check his stab, meeting the force of his swing and matching his physical strength, sending his arm briefly rebounding backwards. The malicious, purple energy of her necrotic magic briefly flared up upon contacting Aatkei's flesh; however, the briefened contact of her fist against his skin seemed to minimize the rot inflicted by the arcane blow, leaving no more than a slight, burn-like mark of necrotic damage.
Charles
Blow checked, Aatkei ups his pace, carefully eying Kovrot's weakened posture, as he simply brushed off the pain from the weak necrotic damage dealt to his greyish skin. He flicks the dagger into an upright position, dextrously shifting his fingertips to swap out of icepick-grip, which had once been proven to be ineffective. 

Tapping into his (somewhat) honed skills as an ex-highwayman, he utilized his superior footwork to his foe to aggressively close ground, pushing himself as close as he could to Kovrot in one, smooth motion. *Her senses and balance were muddled by the influence of the taarei she had consumed, granting Aatkei a significant advantage, in terms of posture and balance.* Lowering his center-of-gravity in a crouch, he guilefully trips up Kovrot in her messy backwards retreat, throwing her off-balance and following up with what would be a **Lethal slash towards her neck.**

*`...Damn it...`*

...However, upon seeing that it briefly went unchecked, the slash slowed, its intent-to-kill faltering, and its deep, lethal angle shallowing, **The blade missing her entirely.** Not even grazing the surface of her skin, he terminated the slash early, instead shifting the momentum of the swing to forcefully **Punch her in the jaw.**
Matthew
*`"—ugh..."`*

—she weakly enunciated, in a muted response to what was a harsh impact. The strike would not be enough to knock her unconscious in one fell swoop, yet it would serve to further disrupt her already atrocious balance, sending her stumbling backwards.

Yet, not to be beaten, Kovrot extended her left arm before she fell, **Grasping Aatkei's arm, still extended from the strike, and clenching it tightly.** The motion served to not only keep her upright, but also to allow her to channel the wicked, purple energy through Aatkei's flesh. The purple sparks of necromantic energy coursed across the surface of his skin, piercing deep into his flesh, which would, at full strength, serve to desiccate the entirety of his arm...

*`...Once, you were...`*

...Yet she relents in her anger and duty, albeit only for a moment, the inflicted, necrotic energy doing no more than marring the surface of his skin. Her tired composure sullied for a single moment, Kovrot scowled in surprise, anger, and remorse, her wavering irises settling for a split-second on Aatkei's visage. There was tension in the air. A tension of guilt.

Kovrot released her grip on his arm, balancelessly stumbling backwards, twice, placing her left hand atop her sored jaw.
Charles
***"You...!"***

Aatkei glared down at his arm, his gaze flaring with a seemingly unfounded rage as he stared at the *Lack of critical damage done to his own arm.* His already tight grip on his dagger tightened even more, in a manifold-blend of emotions that erupted throughout the entirety of his body. 

*`...Bitch! My arm... Would be fucken' gone...`*
*`If you...`*
*`Then...`*

*`...`*

***"AAAGH!!"***

Shaking his head, he cast aside the thought, and let his anger act for him. The multiplicity of the situation, its frustrations, its complexities, its effects on his future, and the forced thoughts it conjured, was all too much a burden to his psyche. *Damned be it all,* He would determine, as the molten sensation of pent-up rage coursed through every vein in his body. Fueled by passion, pride, rage, grief, and guilt, he forced his body forwards in another dash, casting aside his dagger. **He furled his right hand into a fist, and swung recklessly, once, then twice, then again, and again...**
Matthew
It had been a while since Aatkei challenged Kovrot to unarmed combat. A very, very long time.

The last time that she could remember...

*`Back when you were still insistent on that highwayman facade...`*

Perhaps he had forgotten why he had to cast away that title. Perhaps he had forgotten what she did against and for him that day, and perhaps he had forgotten *Every single one of the circumstances that led him to the position he was in now.* That day, not long after the Thorn-Crowned brought order to the Exile's Watch, when she met him again, not as family, or as a comrade, but as an *Enemy...*

***Check.***
***`THWACK!`***

—The lazy haymaker that he threw, lacking in the characteristic coordination he had built up until now, would not even be able to wind up in its entirety, before she thrust her elbow into his wrist. Without hesitation, she slammed her furled, right fist into his face, countering his flurry of attacks before it could even begin.
Charles
He locked eyes with her, an—

*"Phhfuck—!"*

—she punched him in the fucking *Nose!* *`You stupid bitc—`*
Matthew
Yes, indeed, it seemed he forgot.
The person who added the *Ex-* To his title as a highwayman...
*...Was **Kovrot.***

As he stumbled back, she pulled back her extended right arm, taking a step forwards — her balance restored. The taarei's effects had entirely begun to wane, her posture and stance now fully sobered and at-the-ready. Reestablishing two, stable feet on the ground, Kovrot takes a sharp breath in, before projecting a swift, powerful strike towards Aatkei. Her left arm plunged towards his lower-chest, and, unhindered, would strike him directly in the diaphragm.
Charles
*`Don't you fucken'... Pull punches... Against me, you stupid bitch...!`*

The blow to his noise, despite lacking in raw strength, was enough to subtly well tears in each of his eyes. Ruffled for a moment, he regains composure, only to find that she is winding up *Another attack,* Aimed directly for his stomach. Shifting his guard down, he manages to block the oncoming fist with his forearm. Her fight-ending attack had been weathered, and so it was time for him to strike back.

Lowering his guard, he hastily swung his right fist in an upwards motion, seeking to hit her square on the jaw with the uppercut. It was sloppy, yet not slow or weak in the slightest; indeed, if it hit, even someone like Kovrot would be knocked out, cold.
Matthew
Her irises divert down, and she clearly sees the oncoming form of the fist before her. Its motion is unguided, lacking in dexterity — easy for someone of her caliber to negate, in its entirety. As if unconsciously, she engulfs her left hand with the wicked aspect of the necromantic rot, its flesh-gnawing nature prepared to seep into Aatkei's flesh, as she went to grab his arm—

*`...You don't remember... Not at all.`*
*`even then,`*
*`you're still that same, naive child...`*

Kovrot bit her lower lip. Her left arm was extended to preemptively intercept Aatkei's crushing blow, and certainly, were she to do so, she, with the necrotic rot, could *Take his arm off.* But, in the heat of the moment, she hesitated. There was a moment of reminiscence, a tinge of guilt, and a petrifying aspect of *Sorrow.* The purple light fades, and—
Charles
***`THUD!!`***

***His fist connected square with her chin.***

...And, honestly, the impact was the last thing that Aatkei was expecting. His anger subsided, and he briefly stared in disbelief, as Kovrot was sent hurtling back, falling flat on her back, *Unconscious, in a single blow.* He saw it with his own eyes, felt it — she had blocked that, right? She could, she should have, and she had, before. The exact same, sloppy strike...

*...Why did it connect?*

The dark-elven man unclenched his fist, furrowed his brow, and stared down, in a moment of troubled unrest. He bared his teeth regretfully, and, growing conscious of his own actions, wistfully averted his gaze.

*"Tch...!"*

Turned away from the two behind him, his face remained unseen, yet his fists furled tight, and his posture hunched forwards. He was upset, yet not in the same manner as before — instead of rage, it was a different form of emotion, entirely. Anger, to be sure, but an estranged form of anger, as one who stewed in some strange form of emotional repression.
_ _

...The conflict resolved, Aatkei turned to view the two over his shoulder.

*"...Ain't something you two need to be watchin' so intently. Rotten pieces've shit are all you two are. Get lost. Fuck off. Go die in the forest."*

Aatkei weakly cursed the two mercenaries on the trail behind him, staring at them, not with anger, but a more composed sense of disdain. His voice lacked its distinct, scratchy growl, his words formed more direct and calmly then they had been before. The morose state he was left in after his victory in combat left his tone and nature sobered, lacking of its crude clamorousness that it once had. Indeed, it felt as though he had been emptied, to a degree.

...The man steps forwards, towards Kovrot's collapsed form, crouching down, softly lifting her by each arm over his shoulders. Standing upright, Aatkei stormed off without a further word, abandoning the two on the trail. Even with Kovrot on his back, his speed would be quite impressive — they'd be able to keep up if they sprinted after him, yet continuing to follow him in the first place would likely be fruitless.

His dagger remained abandoned on the path behind him. An accident to be sure; yet a symbolic accident, nonetheless.
Scott
With no further obstructions, the path to the  was left open to the two. Little could further be done on the trail, and the village was close enough that it could be reached in less than half-a-minute.
Jerry
```fix
"... What a fight. He laid her ass out!```

Kuouo glanced past the dagger left on the road, watching Aatkei make a beeline down the pathway their fight obstructed. Kuo felt responsible for having the ex-highwayman initially injured, but it seemed Aatkei's pride, anger, and guilt severly outweighed the bandit's choice to fight. In the end, the only thing he could do was step back and observe the two settle their pent-up vendetta.

With their clash settled, the tone in Aatkei's voice was settled, softer, and all the more somber. Kuouo attempted to speak but by the time he raised his voice, his trade partner had dashed away - Once more with the same unconscious girl upon his back, though for different reasons.

```fix
"Enjoy yer whiskey, friend. It'll help dull the pain, don't worry."```

Kuouo dryly smiles and walks along the trail path, seeing no need to run — That is, until he spotted Cumhall out of the corner of his eye. The bandit scowls and pools mana around his feet, he moves his leg forward, seemingly about to take step before appearing several meters ahead in a near-instant. Kuouo flashstepped once, twice, now three times leaving not a single cloud of dust in the air. He deeply exhaled, slighty winded by its continuous usage, but the distance covered should suffice. He advanced forward, finding himself steps away from the entrence of the village.

```fix
"Ya know, in hindsight it woulda been helluva lot easier t' just get my motorcycle out."```