• The man ran down the dark alley, water splashing every time his feet met the ground. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes wild. Like a cornered beast he fled with a determination to survive that overcame the fact that he was exhausted. He could he the steps of those behind him, they were closing in and he couldn't keep his current pace. Thus he put his back to a wall and turned to face the horror that followed him.

    How had it come to this? Where did everything go so wrong? The questions raced through his mind even as he prepared himself to fight. He knew that they did not seek him because of anything he had done, but rather for the blood in his veins, and that he dared not scrap his knees and ask for forgiveness that it wasn't pure. Had his pride not kept his head held high he might have been able to keep it a while longer, but thoughts such as this helped him little at this late a time.

    He was a creature that had grown up on the streets, he had grown up tough because it was either that or die. His green eyes and tapered ears always gave his blood away, and on the streets it's not long when the kids go from yelling halfling to slinging rocks to beating with sticks. So he learned how to fight, how to win, and how to hurt them so hard that they never wanted to come back for more.

    He survived, that had been his motto for all these years, and yet he let his pride bring down fire on his head. In a city such as Verasia anyone can survive if they follow the rules, even the undesirables have a place in the big cities. So he had grown his hair out and learned to look at the ground as he walked, and nobody seemed to notice he wasn't quiet normal for a human.

    Then he had decided he wanted more in life than stealing and mugging, he was tire of living at the expense of others. So he decided to put his talents to better use, he entered an illegal Arena, a place where two men prove their worth with the simple elegance of the fist. He entered, and was soon recognized as one of the best.

    He had no formal training, but he knew what it took to win a fight. So he raised in the ranks of the Arena, and then that fateful day came that doomed him to dying in some dark alley in the forgotten districts of Varasia. He was approached by an Elf who wanted to place a large bet on my opponent who happened to be an elven brawler, so he told me to lose the fight and he got to keep on breathing.

    The fight began and the two entered the Arena. He didn't know what to do, he certainly didn't want to challenge an elf, but for some reason deep inside he felt like he couldn't do it, he couldn't let this proud elf beat him, he would prove that a Halfling was just as good as an Elf. Thus the fight began in earnest, and the Halfling brawler fought like never before, with a ferocity that excited and repulsed that watching crowd. The Elf fought well, he was not a bad fighter, and he was fighting for his life. However he was no match for the Halfling.

    Not only did the Halfling defeat the Elf, but while he watched the blood pool around his opponents head he realized he might have gone a bit too far. Death was a part of the Arena, as natural as breathing air, but no one had ever dare kill an Elf. The Legalistcas would come down hard if their was an Elf death, and the Arena would be finished. However now one was dead, at the hands of a Halfling no less, and someone was going to pay.

    Now the Brawler stands in the alley, while two fully armored Watchmen approach. Their smiles tell the Brawler what's coming, and that it isn't going to be pleasant. However the Brawler isn't going to let them simply kill him quietly, no he will make them earn their kill. His fists fly as they approach, and he jumps at them. He manages to avoid their swords and reach one of them. His arms quickly slide around the Watchman's neck, and a quick crunch ends that Elf's life. However while snapping the Watchman's neck his partner has regained his bearings. A quick hot pain is all the brawler feels as the sword quickly slides into his side.

    The world becomes dark, but before he goes the brawler grabs the dead Watchman's sword and before the other knows what has happened he finds a blade sticking from his throat. With this the brawler falls to the ground, and closes his eyes for the final time. He wonders if anyone will even realize, or care that he is gone.