Open Chronicles Mad Dog vs. The Wandering Champion [Match Fight at Annuakat]

[Fieravene]

MATCH FIGHT
Toruuk Stoneheart VS Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk

The Wandering Champion tests his might against the God-King's Mad Dog!

No weapons - all skill in this fight to mercy-call!

Bring your children, bring your wives for this astonishing spectacle of battle-hardened warriors!

​

The arena floor was empty, the evening braziers and firepits lit, and the seats were filling by the hundreds. Annuakat had heard the call for a match-fight of the God-King's Vizier against the beastly Minotaur and it responded in kind with eager masses. The smells of passed and vended food wafted through the air as a clear summer night drew a dusky sky overhead. Even the stars were beginning to appear for what promised to be a match to remember.

Clad now in her usual array of black leather armor, the dark elf known as Fieravene waited atop the steps just below the King's veranda to greet the warriors as they arrived.



OOC: All are welcome to join and spectate. Place your bets, get some grub, find a seat, and have fun!

 

[Severan]

Amidst the bodies filling the Arena he'd taken his seat.

When word circulated amongst the masses of Annuakat of a match being fought between Warriors he had heard the excitement in peoples voices. As the people of Annuakat filed into the arena and began filling the seats he sought out one of his own.

Seated among the people of Annuakat he found it easy to blend in with the rest of them, he became one face in a sea of countless others. As the aroma of food wafted through the throngs of people it caught his senses but he didn't react. Looking down at the arena floor his eyes seemed distant, like he was somewhere else and as people filed in around he he remained motionless except when he needed to direct someone elsewhere. A sweep of the hand to redirect an overzealous patron around him, a tilt of the head to see an object or limb pass within inches of him rather than make unplanned contact and so forth.

If movement was not required he kept it to a minimum.

Severan sat neatly, dressed in dark colored attire befitting the environment. The burnoose was tailored to allow for air flow and freedom of movement but insulated to retain a comfortable amount of heat. He sat with hood drawn back revealing his features and hands folded in his lap, hidden inside either sleeve.

Now he only need wait until the combatants appeared and the contest began.

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar had heard of the match just a short while ago, and despite the pressing matters at hand he decided to attend the event. It seemed only appropriate that a fellow Vizier be present to witness his victory. As well as a contingent of Empire soldiers in and around the arena, as well as a fair number of his Sipahi. More or less spectators all of them, but each with a keen eye on their surround. Ashuanar had felt it prudent to secure the arena - his fellow Vizier would be in the wide open with his attention occupied, surrounded by a sea of anonymity.

The perfect opportunity for an assassination attempt.

It was of course no small task in Annuakat, but he felt it a possibility all the same. Jerik's abilities were not exactly beneficial for a great many people - especially those opposed to the Empire. So, Ashuanar being the paranoid sort that he is did quite a bit to mitigate such an attempt. And in doing so he was left to watch the impending bout with a relative peace-of-mind.

And exclusive seating, of course.

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

As spectators piled into the arena Toruuk moved to stand behind a gate leading to the arena, just out of sight of the crowds. He could hear their volume increasing with their numbers, the dull drone of the mumbling crowd slowly rising in pitch and intensity. Toruuk's every fiber felt like a burning symphony of energy. The anticipation welling in his gut, the energy in the air, the prospect of a new challenge...this was perhaps the champion's second favorite feeling. There was no denying it: Toruuk Stoneheart was fired up.

The bull stretched, warmed up, and ensured his armor was properly equipped while within his alcove, then watched as a lone man clad in elaborate, colorful clothes and an enormous hat jogged across the ring to its center and held a metallic cone to his mouth. Ahhh, the master of ceremonies had arrived to build the hype.

"LLLLLADIES AAAAND GEEEENTLEMEEEENNN! ARE YOU READY FOR A BRAAAAWWWL???"
The MC cried, and the crowd positively erupted. With it, so did Toruuk's excitement. He clenched his fist and found himself cheering right along with them.
The MC laughed heartily and flourished his megaphone, smiling wide as he spoke.

"In the northern corner! Hailing from the far east, the savage land of Candenord! Heee's a Minotaur without equal, a fearsome behemoth the likes of which you've never seen! Crown victor of the Serahana Tournament of Warriors; devastator of Clan Earthhide; the unstoppable whirlwind of pain and punishment! It's the Wandering Champion himself: TOOOOORRUUUUUUK! STOOOOOOOOONEHEEEAAAAARRRRT!!!"
With the MC's conclusion of his announcement drums and cymbals began to thunder and the crowd erupted anew. No sooner than the cacophony of ceremony began that the sturdy gate in front of Toruuk raised up, creaking noisily within its track. Toruuk charged out immediately, a barreling, heavy gait that would've shaken the seats nearby his entrance if the crowd had not already begun stomping in anticipation.

As Toruuk made his entrance he threw his fists in the air and shouted along with his apparent fans, wheeling about to make sure that each and every one knew that Toruuk had seen them.
"YYYEEEAAAAHH! COME OOOONNN!!! MINO-MADNESS IS TAKING OVER!"

The bull waved a beckoning motion to the spectators as he slowly spun. The crowd ate it up. The cheering hit a fever pitch. If there was one thing besides fighting that Toruuk knew how to do, it was put on a hell of a good show.

 

[Halul]

Word of a great match between two warriors spread like wildfire through Annuakat. The Imperial Palace was no exception to the building excitement that manifested itself through the rest of the great city. As a matter of fact, those that tended to the God-Emperor's personal bathhouse showed particular interest, and through them, the Captain of the Immortals had learned of the match.

Uvogin had been surprised to learn that one of the esteemed viziers would be a participant of the match- the mage Jerik, no less.

The Captain went not as a member of the Imperial Divan, but instead as a mere spectator. He shed his notable armor and went to the arena dressed in a simple tunic and shawl. He wore a gold bracelet with the symbol of the Imperial Divan decorating the metallic band, and gold cuffs shone on the single braid of hair that hung by the side of his face.

Only a select few had seen Uvogin's face. The Captain hoped to actually enjoy the sudden event, and he soon found himself standing in a relatively secluded spot above the pit. As the minotaur burst out and riled the crowd with his theatrics, Uvogin could not help but clap with a small chuckle.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Am I stupid?

When the spar was suggested in the bath, surrounded by wine, cheese, meats, hot air and hot women, he thought it was a fantastic idea. But when the alcohol had begin to leave him, and he'd fastened himself in Immortal armour, the reality of what he'd agreed on finally set in.

No magic.

When it came to magic ability, it was a widely accepted fact that, at the very least in a one-to-one confrontation, there were very few people or creatures in the whole of Arethil that could content with him. Imamu had granted him powers that made him edge on being a god among men. Then again, without it, what was he?

A man past his prime, average height, with no arms. Not great. Not great at all.

Then again, he had been formally trained as a martial artist. He knew how to harness life energy in order to improve his speed agility and power. Moreover, Imamu had granted him additional vitality, stamina and strength. Maybe he did have a chance? Whatever it was that sat in the pit of his stomach, he prayed it wasn't fear. Even an ounce of fear could be a contribution to his failure, and possibly even his accidental death.

In any case, he'd been meditating behind the southern entrance for almost 2 hours before the match started, partially to work off the alcohol he'd ingested, but also to focus himself. If he couldn't use magic, he had to make use of his own energy reserves. Against a 10 foot Minotaur, he needed all the help he could get.

Once he'd heard Toruuk introduced, he began to slowly walk out, his mask proudly worn. Though the screams for him were not nearly as loud as for his opponent.

Not surprised.

The elaborately dressed man turned to see him enter, and bellowed once more to the crowd;

"AAAAAAaannnnd in the Southern Corner - the challenger to our mighty Minotaur! A man that needs no introduction, The Potent Pyromancer from Cerak At'Thul, The Fire God Imamu's champion on our mortal plane, the God-Emperor's fiery fist! The Vizier of the Imperial Navy, The Fire Of Lions, and the most powerful Pyromancer in the world, I give you, JERIIIIIIIKKKKKK!!!"

The Announcer shouted to the crowd through his equally elaborately sized megaphone.

Clearly there were far fouler things he could've said. But on his payroll, he'd be a fool to do such a thing. He simply bowed to the spectators, removing his cloak, tying it to his side. He cracked his neck, and went to crack his knuckles, before remembering his hands were made of soft-stone, and not bone.

 

[Ye'svonne Airileth]

Ye'svonne needed to be frank with himself...

He had no idea where the hell he was.

Annuakat was not a place he'd ever been to. What drew him in the first place was a passing trader who'd told him of various plants and the like that didn't grow anywhere else but here. And now that he was a tourist he'd become completely lost. The sound of celebration now brought him to this stadium where, something, was happening.

He almost felt forced to go in as people kept running into him in their drunken stupors and all the shoves pushed him forward towards the entrance. His awkwardness also dragging him to conform to whatever was going on around him in an unfamiliar land. Some zealot had screamed in his face about someone called 'The Fire of Lions' and how he was going to 'mop the floor with that horned guy' and proceeded to push a goblet of wine into Ye'svonne's hands before running off hooting and hollering incoherently.

Well, a drink would at least calm the nerves.

He found himself a seat in the midst of far too many others, shoulder to shoulder with a rowdy crowd. He was visibly anxious and overwhelmed by the masses, but he wasn't going to be able to leave for a while. The alchemist looked down to see a minotaur and a man in an arena together. Ah, a duel. Sporting events always had this effect on people. It made much more sense now.

He drank from his goblet. At least that which didn't spill from all the jostling.

 

[Severan]

From where he sat Severan had a good view of the arena. As the people around him rose to their feet, applauding, cheering and howling for the fighters he remained seated, motionless as though he was apart from everyone. A solitary island in an ocean of chaos. Even as those around him were set into motion he remained still.

The Minotaur was announced first. A large creature and boisterous too from what Severan could see. As Toruuk Stoneheart threw his fists into the air the crowd erupted with cheers, those near Severan were chanting the name of the humanoid. Severan never moved but from where he sat he could focus on the Minotaur, staring at him amidst a multitude of faces however he wasn't watching for the sake of fanfare. He watched, he studied.

Next, the Vizier of the Imperial Navy was introduced with all the pomp that one might expect. The Fire of Lions, the most powerful Pyromancer in the World, etc. At the end of the tirade the mans name was announced. Jerik. He'd heard his name, in passing when others hadn't thought anyone was listening but a name was inconsequential to the Disciple of Merke. Around Severan there were other spectators that called out their support for the Vizier, cheering and applauding yet he remained motionless.

As his gaze stretched out between both men Severan made calculations, he studied them the way they looked, the way they stood. He would judge their combat style from the distance. At this point, first impressions made he would have imagined the Minotaur was a pugilist; either a grappler or someone who relied on his obvious brawn to carry the day whereas the Vizier, in this case anyways would likely need to rely on the exploitation of openings left by his opponent and the potential of superior movement. Of course, this was only what brief observation told him.

When Severan finally did move it was beyond notice. Unfolding his hands from the sleeves of his attire he brought them up, clapped exactly a half dozen times then resumed his motionless state after his hands had returned to his lap and disappeared inside one anothers sleeves again.

 

[Harrier]

Up in the cheap seats, conversation washed over Harrier like a lukewarm breeze that wavered between pleasant and not. The metaphor was drawn from life: right now she was experiencing just such a breeze.

"Most powerful whassit?"

"Pyromaniac."

"That's ones that go off, yeah?"

"No, that's just maniacs."

"Youse're both wrong. He said pyroflamiac."

"That's not a word."

"And pyromaniac is?"

"Well..."

"Anyways it's about fire."

"We getta see some fire, lads!"

"No, Jerik's not doing his magic."

"Why not?"

"Because he'd stomp the minotaur."

"Then the minotaur's gonna stomp him."

"Maybe he wants to get stomped for a change. Like Bill here and how he likes Gerta to step on his neck and all."

"Ain't the same, is it?"

"Sure it is. Just gotta imagine Gerta with horns and-"

Fisticuffs ensued. Harrier kept her distance and silently cheered Bill on. If he liked getting his neck stepped on by Gerta, more power to the both of them.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

It was pure luck that Míriel was in the city when the news of a fight started whirling around the people in a frenzy. She had been with a client who was silently checking over the stud horse he had brought from her and the young mare he hoped to sire its children from. Both animals were doing Miri proud by behaving against their hot-headed nature - Destriens were known to offer even their lifelong masters a nasty bite or bone breaking kick. The two chestnut beauties in front of her were more interested in their hay than the man poking and prodding them - a little too hard in some cases. She could tell he was looking for an excuse, some little flaw, but eventually he stood back and huffed out an impressed grunt.

"Ya have yourself a deal," he spat into his hand and held it out to her. Miri returned the gesture and their hands clasped with a grin. She had done business with Jono before, back when he had purchased a fine legged Sleithry from her, whose long limbs were bred for jumping and sprinting. As he had grown older, and a little wider, it seemed he wanted something more like an armchair. Destriens were a good choice, stocky and broad, they weren't the tallest but they were perfect for lounging on long journeys or turning to the battlefield. He was setting himself up the start of a nice little herd here.

"Should I be worried my clients are going to be coming to you now?" but before Jono could reply after his hearty laugh, one of the young stewards appeared at the door.

"The Vizier is fighting A MINOTAUR!"

"What now, boy?"

"Jerik! He's fighting Toruuk Stoneheart - with no magic!"

The boy sped off shouting his message through the stables. Miri and Jono exchanged a surprised glance.

"What on earth has possessed Imamu's Champion to agree to a fight against Toruuk without magic?" Míriel shrugged. It seemed like a death sentence. A death sentence she was definitely going to go watch right now.

"No idea, but I'm definitely not going to miss watching the Gods chosen one get turned into pate," Míri winked. She was stabling her own precious Thorlion with the man whilst she was in the city, so with no other jobs that required her attention, she made her way to the stadium.

She was one of the last few through the gates, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Her ears were still sore from her run in a few weeks ago with the young Autumn and her crazy powers, so instead of heading to the stalls she tried to find a more quiet spot to watch the match in relative peace. It was as Jerik appeared that she finally happened on a surprisingly empty space above the pit itself. A few others were gathered there but she paid them no mind as she stepped up to the edge of the railing and braced her arms against it. She hadn't had time to change since arriving in the city so she was glad for the cool breeze that pushed the hair back from her face. She still wore her riding attire of tight black rough leggings, a white short sleeved shirt which she had unlaced at the neck to allow her skin to breathe, and a leather jerkin over the top which hid a few small blades amongst her person. Around her upper arm the golden band representing her cavalry unit glinted in the sun.

Míriel eyed up both warriors and her lips twitched up at the corners, dimpling her cheeks.

"I wonder if they'll use a spade or a mop to remove Jerik from the arena floor," she mused under her breath. In truth, she had no idea how this might pan out, but at a glance everyone had to be thinking the same - how was the God-Emperor's fiery fist going to get out of this one.

 

[Ashuanar]

Well now, this is really something...
​

Ashuanar sat comfortably above the pit with both feet planted and his hands rested one over the other in his lap. Where he sat was cordoned off, restricted to only the upper echelon of the Empire and their company. He was the only one of the upper court present as of yet - at least here - but several lector priests and other lower level elites had taken an interest in the match and joined him there. From what he heard from their conversations around him he discovered that Jerik would be testing his mettle against the Minotaur, without magic.

The Abtati was no stranger to fighting without such means, his own abilities in that area being far from his forté - at least until recently. But he had always heard Jerik's strength lay solely in his magic. Perhaps that supposition was wrong.

As the fighters' entrances were announced and the stadium exploded, one of Ashuanar's men came to his side, leaned down, and said something to him - nearly inaudible over the roaring cheers around them.

He lifted his arm and pressed it to his temple. As he did, his sleeve drooped and the Band of Serqet gleamed in the sun. It grabbed his attention, and he examined it for a moment.

Aside from where he sat now, the armband was the only marker that clearly set him apart from any of his warriors - all robed in white, identical to his garb with their faces covered.

He looked at the armband for a time and pondered, seemingly forgetting all about where he was or what the soldier had mentioned to him.

"Thank you," he said as his arm once more fell to rest on his lap and he looked out into the ring, "that will be all for now."

 

[TTamark]

Steve sat in the audience, having cleverly disguised himself with a giant potato costume. He sat there munching on a fried potato, cut open with some mayo used as a condiment, as well as some spices to give the whole thing a bit of a kick.

Beside Steve were a number of smaller potatoes that were actually his chickens in disguise as well. They sat there like a little exited potato family.

As they announced Maho, Steve getting caught up in the excitement couldn't help but shout out,

"WHOOOO! GO MAAAHO!!!! I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!"

 

[Fieravene]

Regarding the entry of the two warriors from the top of the staircase just below the God-Emperor's private veranda, Fieravene smiled as she watched them parade out into the arena. Their arrival heralded but an uproarious crowd, she deemed a quick start to the match to be the best way forward.

A black, gloved hand lifted to her neck, pointer and middle fingers pressed at her throat and there a soft glow of red emitted from her fingertips.

Ladies and gentlemen,​

The elf spoke without raising her voice but somehow the sound of it echoed grandly across the Colosseum grounds.

are you ready to bear witness to the evening's spectacle? ​

The masses roared in response as she made her way down the steps.

Tonight we dine on a visual feast of might the likes of which Annuakat has not seen in some time.​

Reaching the bottom and ground level the dark elf strode out onto the field to stand between the two warriors each.

Two warriors test their skill and strength and there are three simple rules:

No weapons.

No magic.

And no death.

Annuakat are you ready?​

The people yelled and hollered, thundering their feet within the stands to send a rumble across the entire stadium. Fieravene smirked, turning to gaze up at Toruuk, far taller than she recalled from the bathhouse now that there was nothing to contain his behemoth self.

The Wandering Champion is ready.​

And then to Jerik she approached, reaching for the man's chin with her free hand and leaning up to plant a kiss on his mask. With a wink she stepped back and gestured.

The Fire God's Champion is ready.

Gentlemen ... let the match begin!​

Her hand left her throat and pointed to the sky, sending a brilliant red flare skyrocketing into the open air above the stadium where it exploded in a shower of vibrant, sparking light.

 

[Gerra]

“Hmm,” rumbled the Emperor from atop his viewing box. He reclined in a chair, a goblet of wine in one hand, struggling and failing to mask his displeasure at this turn of events.

Plans already in motion required his Vizier alive and hale. Maho didn’t seem to understand that, but then he’d always thought with his heart and not his head.

Gerra hoped he dispatched the Minotaur quickly so they could resume their work on greater affairs of state.

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

Gentlemen ... let the match begin!

Toruuk let loose a bellowing warcry that put even the crowd's roar to shame. The champ threw all caution to the wind. The hype was simply too strong for him to resist. His horns went down and began charging headlong at Jerik, snorting wildly. His goal was simple: get Jerik to believe that he was about to be gored. A feint, of course; slamming his horns through the vizier's abdomen would surely kill him, and that was not the goal of this match.

Pounding rumbling hoof beats rapidly approached the Fire of Lions. Toruuk saw the man's hands come up, his stance shift. Timed slowed down. Toruuk's eyes darted rapidly about the sight in front of him. Jerik's stance was flawless and he used his earthen prosthetics as though they were his true limbs. Every motion, however slight, was brimming with purpose. Jerik was well trained. Perhaps too well to see what was coming.

Time hit its normal flow once again. Toruuk lowered his head further and angled his horns low. The moment he saw Jerik move to make a counterstrike, Toruuk saw his window. He slammed his left leg into the ground, hard. He swung his whole body upright in an instant, using the force of the motion and the momentum of his run to launch his right knee forward. With a yell of exertion he slammed his knee into Jerik's ribs, right past the man's defenses. CRACK!

The crowd erupted once again, the spectacle of the blow assuredly delighting the masses. The bull could hear the air being forced from Jerik's lungs as he flew back from the sheer force of Toruuk's strike, but he immediately knew something was amiss. The mad dog had shifted his weight at the last second to cushion the blow; he had taken nowhere near the damage the bull had meant to inflict. It was a desperate move, but truly a mark of a warrior to be able to react so quickly and so effectively.
"THAT ALL?!"

Toruuk wasn't finished with his opening onslaught yet. He closed the gap between the two once more and began launching a relentless flurry of jabs, hooks, and palm strikes. He saw Jerik recover from the knee almost instantly and watched as he put up a very competent defense, using his false arms to absorb much of the damage. But for every strike Jerik blocked or dodged, the Wandering Champion connected with two more.
"C'MON, FIRE LION! SHOW ME YOUR FURY!!!"

 

[Severan]

Predictable.

Fighting a humanoid was different than fighting a man. A Humanoid, such as a Minotaur possessed different strengths which required of one a certain amount of adaptability from the onset. As Toruuk Stoneheart threw his head down for the charge Severan replayed a half dozen stratagems in his minds eye but he already knew it was a ruse. After all the match had been advertised as being a test of skill, not to the death and this was a precursor of things to come seeing as how for Toruuk to gore his opponent would surely kill him.

From where he sat Severan watched as the match began. He didn't seem impressed at this point. When Toruuk raised out of the charge, lifting his knee in the process he would tip his head envisioning how an agile man might avoid the blow entirely and when the Minotaur followed with a flurry of blows Severan studied his technique. It certainly was a relentless flurry of blows but the problem was it relied on sheer strength, brute force and if the majority of those blows missed Toruuk might exhaust himself quickly.

"Disappointing."

Severan's gaze had shifted to the one known as Jerik then, awaiting his reaction while the Minotaur erupted in onslaught. He felt secure in the idea that he would know the victor of this contest within two exchanges of the combatants while envisioning how he might counter this first attack. A single strike, perhaps something that would bruise or rupture the testicles seemed appropriate in this case.

It was then that he saw him at a far distance, the God-Emperor of Amol-Kalit in his private box and Severan took an interest again. All he needed to do was see him once and then Severan's eyes returned to the contest in the arena, he hadn't even turned his head.

 

[Fieravene]

The match began without so much as a heartbeat of pause. Feeling smartly accomplished for the day, Fieravene made her exit of the arena and mounted the staircase that would bring her upwards, back to the private box area of the God-Emperor and his inner circle. She hadn't the mind to join them, but to sit in the section just below, but the two harem wives from the bath house had spotted her and waved her up to join them.

"Did you set this up?"
"How in the sea of sands did you get them to agree to it?"
"Hardly," Fiera smiled, "I was merely the facilitator to the inevitable. These two meant to have their throws, I simply helped them into more agreeable conditions."
"Maybe we left the bath house too soon," one of the wives smirked.

The dark elf arrived at the box platform with one wife at either side, patient while they chatted at her. She paused at the entrance, red gaze sweeping across those already seated, and intended to bow in greetings to Gerra before entering - but had a glass of wine pressed at her instead.

"Sit with us Fieravene."
"We promise not to leave you with the Viziers again..."
Fi eyed the glass of wine in her hand, giving it a gentle swill while her gaze lingered briefly over the figure of Ashuanar, "Oh, they're really not so bad."

 

[Halul]

Uvogin hadn't ordered any Immortals to stand guard at the tournament grounds. He was aware that their presence would bring down the cheerful atmosphere within the arena. What he was unaware of was Gerra's plans to attend, especially attend unaccompanied by any guards.

It appears that he would not get a break that evening.

The Captain circled the fighting pit and climbed the stairs under to the platform. He silently entered the box. It was a decision he almost immediately regretted after giving the present company a once-over.

 

[Medja]

Medja held little interest in any of this violent nonsense...or at least, she wouldn't have if Jerik hadn't been the fool to climb into the pit. With a half-ton wall of muscle and horns, no less. She had actually found herself getting strangely excited at the prospect of watching him be trampled, though the news that this was not a death match was disappointing, to say the least. Still, the event had afforded her an opportunity to get out of the palace and away from its venomous occupants.

She currently sat among the God-King and his many "wives" within the arena's private box. She had oft sat in among the ladies' gossip sessions. They made for a surprisingly generous source of information, loose-lipped as they were. The court sorceress had enjoyed the start of the match thus far, but mostly found herself entertained with fine wine and conversation. Fieravene's entry, however, shifted her interest almost immediately. She had seen the woman make her announcement below and was impressed by her presence, though not so much by her act of affection towards the Mad Dog.

Medja excused herself from her current company and had her ever-present artifacts pour her a new glass of wine. They could be unexpectedly gentle and articulate for devices designed for crushing men. After, she began her meandering approach towards the dark elf woman. Gerra's wives had already begun to swarm over her. A popular one, this one was.

"Oh, they're really not so bad."

"They really are." Medja chimed, casually drifting in to join the small crowd that had surrounded Fieravene. "Most of us, anyway. I am Medja. Charmed to meet you, miss..."

A polite formality; of course, Medja already knew the she-elf's name as well as her business with Gerra. Her informants had made sure of that.

 

[Ye'svonne Airileth]

The fight began and those around him still made no effort to give him any space. This was bad for two reasons. The lizard was beginning to hyperventilate, he never understood the overwhelming desire to be so rowdy during a competition. He was also fearful a good portion of his potions might shatter.

Wait.

Rowdy and drunk patrons? Two fighters about to suffer serious injuries from one another? People throwing coin at drink like their lives depended on it? Ye'svonne can't believe he hadn't thought of it before. This was all coming together. Why he was brought here in the first place, what FATE had chosen for him that to day. This was a perfect opportunity for a

SALE.

The alchemist stood up quickly, jostling his way passed the fans who bombarded him with their elbows and body odor. He left his glass of wine behind because now he knew he had to be clear headed. He made his way to the staircase that had led him here, and tried to find a quiet place. Not easy. There were people stumbling all over and it would be rough to find some privacy. Not impossible though.

As luck would have it he DID find a spot underneath the giant seats where no one was lingering, save for a few drunks making out or throwing up. He doubt they would bother him. He unfolded his backpack and went to work, crafting healing potions and even some less complicated stomach medicine.

Being able to get drunk and not regret it tomorrow? All he could smell now was sweet, sweet coin.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

Gentlemen ... let the match begin!​

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. But before he even had a second to determine what his course of action would be, Toruuk had already began a stampede, his heavy hooves crushing the floor underneath him, shaking as he ran.

He can't be serious!

At that speed, with horns like his, it didn't matter what kind of armour he was wearing, steel was no match for the penetrative power of Minotaur horns raging at high-speed. But Jerik wasn't naive, he knew that - above everything - Toruuk was an honourable warrior, or at least that was the impression he put across. He wouldn't dare kill him in front of Gerra anyhow, he'd be incinerated on the spot, likely tortured first. Jerik took a deep breath, and thought back to the months he spent training on that damn beach.

He slowed his heart, feeling the energy as it travelled through his body. Although magic was not allowed, there was no rule on personal reserves of energy.

Thank the gods for that strange, Martial-arts hermit...

Shifting his feet, using his arms to his advantage, their sturdiness would surely soften any blow that came from the Champion. As Toruuk lowered his head, he turned his heels, preparing to grab his horns, and hopefully make a counter-attack, delivering a blow to his head. However, before he had a chance, Toruuk suddenly stopped in his tracks and, as he felt the vibrations from the behemoth slamming his hoof agains the floor, he just barely caught sight of his colossal knee, that was heading straight for his ribcage.

He knew he could not dodge such a blow. All he could do was absorb some of the impact; he dropped his knees, and let his weight shift into Toruuk's attack. Despite this, his armour was no match for the Bull's might, the attack cracking several of his ribs, the force pushing out all the air he had in his lungs, the crackle and pop of his chest ringing in his ears.

He was sent flying back, but landed on his feet, continuing to focus on his breathing. As the hermit had said, as long as he kept breathing, he knew he wasn't dead. But before he had any time to focus on that notion, Toruuk had continued with an onslaught of attacks.

For all the good his training did him, he could only stop so much of the barrage. One after the other, another of Toruuk's crumblingly potent fists made contact with his chest and face, the force of them crushing.

Keep breathing, keep breathing.

BA BUMP... BA BUMP... BA BUMP...​

Another of Toruuk's attacks blew past his face, knocking his mask a fair distance away. He felt blood running down from forehead and nose.

Keep breathing keep breathing keep breathing.

BA BUMP BA BUMP... BA BUMP BA BUMP... BA BUMP BA BUMP​

He felt his blood begin to steam, as the violent pounding of his heart started an angry symphony in his ears.

Any opening...

BA BUMP BA BUMP BA BUMP BA BUMP BA BUMP BA BUMP
​

"C'MON, FIRE LION! SHOW ME YOUR FURY!!!"

He could hold it in no longer. His calm was broken. In that arena, in that moment, the lights blaring, the sound of his heart and of cheers in his ears, the sensation of hot, wet blood dripping down his face, of the heart-wrenching pain he felt in his ribs. That was it.

"ARGGGGGGHHHHH!!!"

Jerik let out a blood-curdling war cry. He felt energy surge into his right hand, pulsating with intense energy. Everything seemed to slow-down in his mind, as he saw the slightest opening in Toruuk's defence, likely an ounce of fatigue from the countless punches he had thrown. He clenched his fist, pushed himself forward, working his way past Toruuk's arms. And, in one swift, sudden movement, he felt his arm unable to hold in its strength anymore, as he let his rocky-fist fly towards Toruuk's solar-plexus.

Even he had to admit, it was a beautiful punch, his whole body turning in to its impact. As it made contact with Toruuk's lower-chest, he realised he'd made a precision attack, the stone of his hand making its way past Toruuk's armour, and embedding itself within his chest. Toruuk let out a wheeze, the punch so directed, that it didn't seem to push him back at all. No wasted movement.

My chance.

He began to let loose a seemingly never-ending series of punches - placing them in the same place he had delivered his almost-fatal blow - the kicks being directed towards the Champion's legs, hoping to slow him down some, pushing him backwards, forcing Toruuk to be on the defensive.

I've never felt so alive.

 

[Gerra]

“Fieravene, your presence is as delightful as ever, what do you think of the Vizier’s odds?”

The Emperor winced as the Minotaur slammed into Maho with a thud that resounded throughout the arena.

 

[Ashuanar]

He would have to lie to say Toruuk's opening move hadn't made him slightly uneasy. True: if Jerik had percieved a true threat he could use his magic. But what if it all went wrong and he trusted too much, and the Minotaur had indeed intended this all along, bound by some oath or by honour that this act be done, comforted in some promised paradise.

Unafraid.

But alas, both with relief and cringe he was glad to see Toruuk's attack to be but an unnerving distraction for the onslaught which followed.

His attention was drawn, and stood to regard both Fieravene and Medja with a cordial nod as Gerra spoke. He motioned for a couple of servants to refresh their beverages, as well as the Emperor's before turning his attention back into the pit.

He too measured the fighters, gauging their skill. He was quite certain he knew who would win this bout, but nothing - he'd learned - was ever truly certain.

For at one time he never imagined he would be who he was where he was now: Surrounded by nobles; priests; and even a God. To be a Vizier no less, and as he stood there high over the masses at the Emperor's side, he felt strong. He felt powerful.

And a smile crept across his lips.

He liked it.

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

Finally, Jerik had thrown his first punch. Toruuk had known if he pushed hard enough, if he truly started backing the Mad Dog into a corner, he get what he wanted: a conversation. Not one that could ever be spoken with words, but one which could only be shared between two warriors. As Jerik's stone fist connected with the top of the bull's gut he felt the wind get knocked out of him. Never a pleasant feeling, of course, but the champion couldn't help but smile. The broken man's roar spoke volumes, as did the precision and force of the punch. To be able to make Toruuk feel such a blow through all the muscle that lined his body was no easy feat.

Unfortunately for the bull, he was so focused on learning what he could from Jerik that he had neglected to put the level of thought he normally would into any sort of winning strategy. Jerik was now answering Toruuk's onslaught with one of his own, one far more precise than the restrained flurry the bull had launched. He felt the bruises the vizier's stone fists were creating begin to take their toll, and yet...the bull was entranced.

Having knocked Jerik's mask away, Toruuk could read every emotion on the man's face, see every word his attacks meant to speak. The champion saw a story. A long, sad story of struggle and suffering. He saw a broken man who refused to let himself fall, yet had become an empty shell in the process. He saw a man who had done something in fear and been betrayed in turn by someone who had been close to him. Toruuk began to understand: to be Jerik was to suffer.

Even so, Toruuk saw something else. He saw a man enjoying himself for the first time in a very long time. He saw a man who hadn't been able to truly cut loose in what must have been years. In some small way, the pain and relief he saw and felt in Jerik reminded him of his battle with his brother so very long ago...and this brought Toruuk back to reality. What sort of warrior would he be if he simply let his opponent pummel him into the dust?

Under the duress of this relentless hail of punches and kicks, Toruuk tightened his muscles. He planted his hooves firm, refusing to let himself be pushed back any further. An inherent flaw of any practiced martial art was that many warriors had a natural rhythm they would fall into when delivering a combination attack. He felt the rhythm of Jerik's attacks right as naturally as one might feel the rhythm of one's own breathing, and as soon as the bull had synced himself to it, he took his shot.

Jerik's fist flew up to strike the bull's face, but Toruuk rolled with preternatural grace, letting Jerik's arm glide up across his own. He caught the man's wrist as it reached his shoulder with his opposite hand and gripped down like a vise. Toruuk grinned. Momentum was a bitch.
"Not bad."
The bull saw Jerik's eyes go wide as he began to roll, pulling the vizier over his shoulder in one fluid motion. No sooner than Jerik came free of the top of Toruuk's shoulder he used he planted his other hand, open palmed, on the Fire of Lion's chest. Finally, the bull dropped to one knee and slammed Jerik into the ground with such force that a cloud of dust rolled out from beneath him. Jerik's expression now was one of pure shock and the man could do little but croak in pain and cough up blood, the damage Toruuk had done with his initital strike no doubt compounding with the impact.

"But I'm better."

As the dust settled, Toruuk realized something: deafening silence had overtaken the arena. The crowd had gone totally silent at the sight of the bull's throw. He wasn't certain whether this was because the maneuver was so unexpected or if they were all waiting on baited breath to see if the fight was already over, but it didn't much matter. The cheering came back in gusto the moment the dust had settled and, more importantly, Jerik was still conscious. Pinned and battered as he was, Toruuk eagerly awaited the Mad Dog's next rebuttal.

 

[Fieravene]

"They really are." Medja chimed, casually drifting in to join the small crowd that had surrounded Fieravene. "Most of us, anyway. I am Medja. Charmed to meet you, miss..."

“Fieravene, your presence is as delightful as ever, what do you think of the Vizier’s odds?” The Emperor winced as the Minotaur slammed into Maho with a thud that resounded throughout the arena.

Oh, new faces, how novel. Fiera fixed the woman called Medja with a drawn smile, taking a half step back to offer a short bow to the Vizier. Red eyes shifted briefly toward Gerra where he sat and flicked a brow his direction, "As the God-Emperor speaks, so am I Fieravene. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Medja...nice hands." The elf's gaze studied the floating artifacts with piqued curiosity.

"She's a Shadowmancer," one of the wives said excitedly to Medja.
"Lore Master," said another.
"Far-Rider," a third that had joined them, giggling, and turned towards Uvogin who had just arrived in the box, "oh, well it's about time. We're nearly out of wine, bring us a fresh barrel!"

"Ah," Fi straightened herself and eyed her glass as Ashuanar motioned for all to be refilled. Her own was quite full but truly one could never have too much, "I've accrued skills aplenty over the years, yet far-seeing is not one of them, Your Eminence." She smirked, raising her glass to Gerra before taking a drink, "I would wager the odds are he will be quite sore by the end of the evening."