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

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar turned back to the gathering. This elf, he was not familiar with her all too well. But, he had heard talks in passing of an agent of the Emperor who had procurred some valuable assets from the east. He was uncertain of thr details. He surmised this could be her.

As for Medja...

He looked at her with a scornful contemp he did not betray - not yet. She would have to prove herself faithful to Gerra, extensively, if he were to find her trustworthy. She was not the only one who held this esteem - most assimilated nobility or otherwise he looked upon in the same fashion.

But as taught by his closest confidantes, he maintained an air of neutrality and cordiality.

As he'd turned back to the group he then noticed another in their midst. It was only by the way he carried himself that he had an inkling of who he was without his usual attire in court.

Is that...?

His eyes shot back into the pit as all the spectators' voices were joined together in a sustained "ooooooohhh..." There was Jerik, laid flat on his back with the Minotaur looming over him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

[Ye'svonne Airileth]

Oh, how he wished he'd stacked up on vials for this trip. Well, he had but. He needed potions for his journey and now was lower on supplies than he'd like. Luckily for the alchemist when it came to bringing empty potion vials, he was utterly neurotic! Aha! Take that moderation! Violetta would be nothing short of ecstatic
when he was flush enough to have her and their child eat at Alliria's finest restaurants for days in a row!

At last he finished, holding about fifty or so potions. Forty in a dark green hue, intended to cure any normal hangover symptom. Headache, vomiting, the works. Ten crimson ones for healing actual wounds. Though his quantity low they were a must have in any situation such as that. He set two crimson potions aside for the warriors to try when they finished their bout. Sometimes a lifetime customer was better than several all at once.

The only thing left to do was to announce to the crowd that he had them, and

JACK THOSE PRICES.

He pulled his shops sign with a chain attached to it and wrapped the chain around his neck, the sign snapping into place as a little stall pressed against his chest. He set about ten of his stomach medicines on there and went to rejoin the crowd.

He started walking amid the crowd, calling out.

"STOMACH CURESSSSSSS FOR ALL! DRINK ALL YOU WANT AND REGRET NOTHING! STOMACH CURES!"

 

[Halul]

The match was going about as expected so far. Uvogin found himself oddly attentive of the bout, hardly taking his eyes off of the two down in the pit.

"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!"

Uvogin looked at the wife that spoke. She was looking his way. The Immortal checked over his shoulder, following her gaze and expecting to see a servant behind him, but there was nobody. In a state of disbelief, the Captain's stoicism broke for a moment as he absent-mindedly looked down at the seated woman.

He got mistaken for a servant and did not know how to react. The man blinked once and glanced at the Dark Elf.

"I am no servant," he said to the wife in his characteristic monotone.

 

[Severan]

When the Vizier made his move, landing a powerful counterattack Severan took note. According to him Jerik may have landed the single most potent blow of the exchange however he followed his success by committing the same cardinal sin as the Minotaur. As the Vizier let loose with a series of punches compounded with several kicks Severan actually took note, leaning forward in his seat briefly until it happened.

Severan had seen the Minotaur brace himself, learning the rhythm of his opponents blows until it appeared he had them timed. When he synchronized himself with the Vizier's timing he'd slipped a punch, grabbed his opponents wrist and transitioned into a slam. Severan adopted a comfortable pose where he sat on the benches lining the arena again. Replaying the exchange between the fighters in his mind he would tilt his head, focusing on them in the distance.

Apparently both combatants had a similar flaw. They overextended themselves. A trained fighter never threw a flurry of blows until the time was right, a combination of three strikes one leading into the other was practical but anything more and you risked leaving yourself open to a reprisal, a counterattack which could be of devastating proportions. This fight had been a prime example in which Severan seemed to deduce and conclude his own theories.

Watching from where he sat, back straight and arms still folded together with hands hidden inside the sleeves of one another Severan remained posed, almost unmoving except for those brief moments when he might lean forward to take a better look or tilt his head in minute fashion as though he were considering how something might play out or affect the outcome of the fight.

His peripheral vision focused on the private box where he'd seen the God Emperor. There were more people who had joined him. At this distance he could make out the silhouette of several, perhaps even basic features but he didn't know their names and he couldn't tell one apart from the other beyond the fact they likely held some rank or role. When his attention settled completely on the fighters below again though Severan did know their names and he had commit their likeness to memory, perhaps one day soon he would make their acquaintance.

 

[TTamark]

Steve's attention was pulled from the fight a vendor calling out. What was this? Stomach cures? Drink all you want with not regrets!?! Steve had to try this. So from within his giant potato disguise he pulled out a large vial of potato moonshine and began downing it, until he realized his mistake, after he had recovered adequately he continued trying to drink it as fast as he could.

As soon as it was finished he called out to the vendor,

"H-he *Hicc* Hey potion man, do you uh... Can I start over? Potion seller I am going into battle and I require only your strongest potions. I mean, potion seller I am watching the stongerest of battle and I need only your strongest potions."

In his hand he held gold in the shape of a potato, probably worth a large sum more than what one might offer for a potion.

While he waited for the potion seller to reach him his gaze fell upon Gerra. Oh yeah Gerra was super grumpy last time I talked to him. Maybe I should find a chance to talk to him. It is like super duper important to have good inter-inter-inter peopler relationships between peoples, and who better than that guy he has only actually met like two or three times, but has been in closish proximity to him at least like five times. There is no way that the guards currently guarding their god king, nor his entourage, would have a problem with a potato, and if the currently inebriated Steve had his way, known necromancer walk up to the god king. Before Steve could kill himself however the minotaur's collision with Maho pulled his attention back to the fight, causing him to completely forget his previous thoughts... for now.

"Errrrr, you go slap his butt there Maho! Show him... OH I know punch his horns! It's like punching his head but like... MORE! BROOO! Mind blown, HEHEHE, kind like his head's going to be because you punched his horns."

The potato swung his fists all over, horribly mimicking him punching an unseen enemy, nearly falling over, still holding the golden spud.

 

[Medja]

An uncharacteristically friendly smile grew across Medja's face. Gerra had a habit of attracting living trash, but for once it seemed the God-King had gotten involved with someone worth knowing. Polite, proper, elegant, yet not abrasively insincere like so many of her compatriots of the court...she liked this one.

"...nice hands."

Excellent taste, too.

"The pleasure is mine, lady Fieravene." Medja dipped her head and willed the Fists to make a polite bowing gesture. "They are, aren't they?"

The sorceress' eyes followed each wife as they spoke. They certainly seemed to like Fiera as well, for whatever that was worth.
"An impressive résumé, dear." She praised, swirling the contents of her own glass gently with a bandaged hand. "But please, just Medja is fine."

Medja scanned the room as the wives continued to chit chat. She spotted General Ashuanar glaring at her, to which she responded with a sickly sweet smile. What truly caught her attention, however, was an unmistakably familiar, droning voice.

"I am no servant,"

Medja twisted to see the armored form of Captain Uvogin but was instead greeted with the sight of a remarkably handsome man, devoid of any imperial pageantry.

Were she a teenager she would have squealed. This alone made the trip to this barbaric event worthwhile. Not only was she getting to see the target of her teasing sans mask, but he was...attractive. Medja jumped at the opportunity.
"My stars, if it isn't the good Captain Uvogin! Please, sit with us!" A straightforward strategy: alleviate the pressure the wives were surely about to put on him while simultaneously pulling him into conversation. Medja couldn't help but simmer with smug self-satisfaction.

 

[Ye'svonne Airileth]

Ah yes, a tale as old as time.

A lizard selling potions and a fiscally irresponsible potato.

He knew his potions worked however! He would never deliver someone shoddy product the alchemist had far too much pride to be a cretin who ripped off his customers... entirely... He would make his way to this poorly disguised man. He wasn't sure what the man was on about though. He thought perhaps Steve may be referencing something. Something lost to time and legend. But Ye'svonne would not be able to decipher whatever it was.

"Yessssss my friend!" The lizard called back. "Headaches, stomach pains, irrational bowel movements gone away with! One potionnnnnn should be all you'd need for such a miracle to occur. Through science and magic I have honed my craft and if you're offering..." He looked at this giant gold nugget that would be worth at least ten if not fifteen of what he had made, post his price gouges of course.

"...this, then I cannot let you off without a deal! Why not TWO potions! Not only will you be able to drink for the whole fight with nooooooooo physical side effects but you could find another day to do so! Perhaps tomorrow! Why let the party stop nowwwwwwwww? What say you friend?!"

TTamark

 

[Gerra]

Gerra arched a brow. “Your words are like a desert mirage, promising distant water, but in the end empty as air.”

He sipped his wine, then smiled.

“Are you quite sure you don’t want a place in the court?”

More thuds from the arena. The smile vanished.

 

[Fieravene]

"Oh?" Fieravene shifted her attention to Gerra, offering the half-giant a mild frown, "Well I am a pragmatic woman and not a betting one. Pragmatism is but the empty air of reality, I fear."

Seeing as how Medja was now enthralled with the newcomer to the box, and so - it seemed - were the wives now that they had an inkling as to who it really was (Fiera could not begin to comprehend what the fuss was all about), she moved to stand by the King.

Her own brow lifted at his query, her own smile appearing as his drifted away, "And what would you do with me in your Court?"

 

[Gerra]

“Do?”

A thumb idly traced the lip of the goblet.

“I can think of a few matters which might require your... attention.”

 

[Fieravene]

Red eyes left the King to regard the ongoing match in the arena below. Jerik seemed to be holding his own, so far as she could tell from there. The deafening rumble of the yard and the reactions of the crowd were rather telling on their own. Good thing they'd both agreed to no killing.

Fiera sipped her wine, considered his words, lofted a brow as the gigantic minotaur pummeled Jerik into the ground, "...I'm not convinced my presence in your court is required for matters you would deem partial to my skills."

 

[TTamark]

Ye'svonne Airileth

Wow what a deal! Two for the price of ten Steve could not allow this opportunity to slip away.

"You my good sir have got yourself a deal!"

Steve excitedly traded goods, before downing the potion once he received it.

 

[Ye'svonne Airileth]

Wow.

That was almost so easy it wasn't any fun. Steve was in good hands, and Ye'svonne knew his stuff but the lizard had to worry about his safety considering his willingness to cough up gold in exchange for mysterious substances from strangers. And his equal willingness to down said substance once it reached his hands. Maybe he was just a better salesman nowadays than he'd ever been.

It didn't matter in the end. Ye'svonne had coin and this spud was going to have a wonderful evening. Can't put a price on that. The lizard put a daisy between his teeth and raised a scaly eyebrow at Steve the potato patron.

"I-I'm thrilled at yourrrrrrrrrrr enthusiasm sir! I hope you can enjoy the fight without worry for your health now!" He said with a mixture of joy and confusion before he turned back to the stands. Steve was very, VERY helpful just now.

"AS YOU CAN SEE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, EVEN THE VEGETATION OF THIS LAND CRAVES MY ELIXIR AND WILL SNATCH IT FROM YOUUUUUUUUU IF YOU DO NOT ACT FAST! STOMACH CURES! STOMACH CURES FOR ALL!"

 

[Ashuanar]

Ashuanar's attention was caught, and his eyes shot up to Gerra and Fieravene - briefly. His eyes raced away toward Uvogin, who appeared to be...detained. The women had taken a liking to his chosen façade it seemed. He smirked.

He turned his attention back to Fiera and approached them, bowing cordially as he drew close to the Emperor, "My lord, if I may," he said humbly then regarded Fiera, "perhaps then if not a member of the court, my lady, then an agent of the Imperial Army. We would have great use for someone of your talents, and I can assure you a great deal of esteem."

 

[Achates]

This world was something else, and Achates found herself becoming more adapted to it. Had she given up what her life mission was already for this land? It haunted her in the beginning, but she had decided to let it go. The hunt for knowledge was outweighed by her need to be here. She entered the box but remained silent, wanting to gather what faces had made their appearance here.

Several were new, but then there were some that she had seen in passing. She moved to speak to Gerra but stopped herself as it was better to observe the others and figure where their place was. Watching, it was what she did best and remembering their scent.

She took in a deep breath and examined the display that as happening. Maho was to fight, and she had concerns for the Vizir, yet Gerra trusted him with much. Pondering, Achates figured there had to be more to him. Garnet eyes closed as memories of his rescue flooded her mind, it felt like a lifetime ago, but here they were.

They were such an eccentric group, that surrounding the God-Emperor.

Gerra Fieravene Uvogin Medja Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk Ashuanar

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

"Ooooooooooooh."​

Miriel couldn't help being one of many in the crowds to issue the drawn out collective sound that was a summary of what everyone was thinking: that must have hurt. The sound Toruuk made Jerik made, by using the mans body as what could only really be described as some sort of toy, was not a healthy sound. She wanted to say it wasn't a natural sound, but then she personally hadn't had the pleasant experience of throwing a man into the ground from 10ft high with the momentum of the his own punch. One of the women sat in a seat close to where she was covered her eyes and, after an apparent moment of thought, decided to exit the stands. The elf watched her go with a little pity - this really wasn't going to be a pleasant fight. If it wasn't to the death, it was going to be until one of those men could no longer stand being in pain or was rendered unconscious. The fact that Jerik was already hauling himself to his feet already prove that it was going to take a lot for this fight to come to an end.

Miri took the opportunity to pinch the seat for herself - at least it was still relatively quiet in this section compared to the cheaper seats further back. People were discussing the match between one another and she could see the subtle exchange of money between hands. She couldn't help but smile a little. It was nice to see people being people sometimes. Out the corner of her eye she examined her neighbour. He seemed to be watching the fight with quite an intense gaze, as if he was attempting to commit the mistakes to memory so he could learn from them himself. Not a bad idea, if it were the case. But, perhaps he was critiquing them instead? The slight downturn of his lips showed he wasn't pleased either way by something.

A cheer went up from the crowd when Jerik appeared to recover.

"I think Jerik might win on the simple fact he appears to have an incredibly high tolerance for pain," Miriel commented to no-one in particular, though she gave the man beside her a quick smile afterwards. It was a gesture that invited conversation if he so wished it.

Severan

 

[Severan]

When a young woman sat next to him Severan remained with back straight and hands resting in his lap, hidden within the sleeves of one another. Until that moment Severan had largely been aware but indifferent to those seated around him as his subtle motions had allowed him to blend with the crowd from where he sat. His peripheral vision focused on her from the corner of his eye, making a mental note of the way she dressed herself and her features then he noticed it, her ears blending with the subtle intricacies in the way she moved however she seemed a bit thicker, more muscular than regular which threw him briefly. She was an Elf. Perhaps she wasn't so young after all.

Conversation was not a forte of his, Severan would have been content to continue observing in silence. By the time she had commented, offering a quick smile to him his gaze had focused almost completely on the arena floor again where he saw the two combatants brawling however such close quarters necessitated some conversation.

"Tolerance for pain can push most men beyond their limits."

Whether or not Severan had agreed with her was difficult to surmise however the statement he made seemed blunt, born of experience rather than observation. His voice was quiet, he never raised it so she might have to strain to hear him when the crowds cheered.

"They are Brawlers, the Minotaur more than the Vizier. Their moves are meant to impress and intimidate, playing to the crowd rather than truly test one anothers capacity for pain. If the Minotaur wins it will be due to brute strength, he will beat the Vizier down until he can no longer physically stand. It will be vulgar display without much finesse. For the Vizier to be victorious he will need to land another blow that borders on perfection and another after that."

It should have been clear to Míriel that Severan had been critiquing, learning the styles of either man with an eye trained observation. Now he divided his attention between the fight and indulging her in conversation. His observation of her would be more subtle, judging how she responded, how she reacted.

Míriel Fëanorna

 

[Halul]

"My stars, if it isn't the good Captain Uvogin! Please, sit with us!" A straightforward strategy: alleviate the pressure the wives were surely about to put on him while simultaneously pulling him into conversation. Medja couldn't help but simmer with smug self-satisfaction.

The expression that Uvogin wore was telling enough of the distress felt from being recognized. However, he did not ignore Medja's offer and sat where the lithe dark elf had just moments ago.

"Medja," he warily glanced at the sorceress but paid little attention to the concubines on the other side of him.

He found the position unenviable, and anxiety broke his normal stoicism.

 

[Gerra]

“Hmm, perhaps eventually, Ashuanar,” he mused, “But I have another matter in mind for the time being. Do you remember, Fiera, those rings you took such a great interest in? The full set are said to still remain in the Forbidden City. Richly would I reward the one who brought them to me.”

Gerra took another sip of wine as the crowd suddenly roared.

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jerik felt a smile run across his face. He hadn't felt like this since he still went by the name Sparhawk. As each one of his punches and kicks met with hard opposition, he could feel his heart pounding that much harder in his chest. He could feel his knuckles crack against the strength of Toruuk's armour, and his blood pump with each breath he took.

He couldn't get enough of the feeling. This was better than him burning down a dozen cities, defeating another Sorcerer, or capturing some fort. This was real. Every single bead of sweat that fell off of his brow and onto the dusty floor was replaced by two more, the sheer exertion written on every inch of his body, the veins popping out of his forehead, his shoulders clicking with every hard punch he threw. Never had he tried so hard, and felt so rewarded.

But of course, like the amateur he was, he became complacent. And as the excitement entered his heart, he couldn't help but aim for Toruuk's head. He couldn't help but imagine landing that one decisive blow, to send the Minotaur crashing to the ground, the applause coming to a crescendo. But as his fist flew with all the energy he could muster towards Toruuk, he could see the Bull's eyes light up, and the smirk appear.

Uh oh.

He grabbed him by his wrist, and - as if he weighed nothing at all - lifted him above his shoulder, and by placing his palm on his chest, sent Jerik crashing down onto the hard, cold floor. As his back crumpled underneath the force of Toruuk's arms, all the air was sent straight out of his lungs, a splatter of blood spat itself out of his mouth, his armour shattering, leaving his torso naked.

Oh... god... I- oh... oh...

He could feel everything became blurry and dark and bright all at the same time. He felt confused. He could feel the air cease to enter his lungs, the blood struggling to rush to his head. He suddenly felt very tired, his eye-lids labouring to keep open.

maybe i'll just... rest...

Get up.

All of a sudden, he heard a familiar voice. He knew immediately who it was, The Fire of Lions. He didn't want to believe it was his voice. He hadn't heard it in such a long time, not since he'd completed the contract. But with those words, he felt something arise inside him. It wasn't Imamu's magic, but for some reason, he felt his eyes glow greatly with that familiar bright red. His heart began to pump wildly. He could feel his body envelop in energy.

He felt his muscles tense up, his chest puff out, his eyes light up, and he felt his fatigue melt away. It was certainly there, but something spurred him on, something inside him was telling him to keep going- to keep fighting. His fists became sheathed in red, glowing hot.

He lifted his legs, and whipped them down, lifting him up from the indent in the ground that Toruuk had made with Jerik's body. He entered a fighting stance again, and looked at Toruuk in the eyes. Although he felt naked without his armour protecting his upper body, he'd never felt so ready to fight.

He felt like there were words he wanted to say, but he simply couldn't find them. He let out a scream, and he felt his body explode as he rushed towards Toruuk with almost superhuman speed, letting a flurry of punches crash forward. Toruuk was indeed the better fighter, letting many of the blows glance by him, countering most of them with his own attacks. But each punch that Jerik did land, did so with far more force than they did before, the fiery glow crashing through the armour on Toruuk's grand musculature.

He could feel himself become tired, but didn't let up an inch, blocking a fair share of Toruuk's blows also, but still sending his barrage of magma-charged punches crashing into Toruuk's abdomen.

He felt alive.

 

[Míriel Fëanorna]

The roar of the crowds made her wince, as Jerik began another flurry of attacks on his larger opponent. People loved an underdog and it appeared as though that was now Jerik. Ironic, given who he was and the stories that surrounded him. Miriel thought quietly on the mans observations of the fight: it had been a long time since she had had someone to have this level of conversation with. Her critics of her fellow sisters had been a big part of her lifestyle back home, and in the forge when you wanted someone to buy one of your weapons you were scarce likely to tell them their foot position was dire. She agreed with him on all things apart from one.

"I don't think they're doing it to impress the crowd at all," Miri glanced briefly to the man beside her and then back to the arena. Only Toruuk was really playing to the crowds, but that was his job. It probably came naturally to him. "I think they're honestly just having fun." It seemed blindingly obvious to her this match had nothing to do with entertainment: this was two warriors who knew that one another was a talent in their own rights, and had very different styles, but still wanted to experience that adrenaline rush that came with just having a basic fight with an equal. "They've removed any real purpose or drive to the fight, there's no monetary gain by winning, they're removed the to the death part that usually stands in the ring. No, these are two men who are just enjoying that rush you get from fighting a challenge and as such they've reverted back to the playground school of fisty cuffs," her lips twitched in a smile. It was, for her, a joy to watch. So rarely was there a fight where you could see two fighters actually enjoying receiving a punch.

It reminded her in a way of how siblings fought with one another.

Severan

 

[TTamark]

Steve cheered as loudly as the best of them until he saw Maho receive such a mighty blow, one that shattered armour and likely much more, only confirmed by the blood that he spat. The sight was sobering to say the least. Steve nearly hurled himself into the ring to save him, but before he could properly leave his seat Maho was already on his feet again.

There was a new concern now: those fiery fists looked a little magical. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say the concern was a two parter. Maho using magic might very well be against the rules of this fight. Second many others might not be aware about the trouble this magic had had on this man's heart in the past. To see it now and again... was very concerning indeed.

 

[Fieravene]

"My lord, if I may," he said humbly then regarded Fiera, "perhaps then if not a member of the court, my lady, then an agent of the Imperial Army. We would have great use for someone of your talents, and I can assure you a great deal of esteem."

“Hmm, perhaps eventually, Ashuanar,” he mused, “But I have another matter in mind for the time being. Do you remember, Fiera, those rings you took such a great interest in? The full set are said to still remain in the Forbidden City. Richly would I reward the one who brought them to me.”

Fiera regarded the man wrapped in linens before her pondering the offer with a glint of mirth in her gaze. It was perhaps best that Gerra answered for her - she'd hate to offend the man who seemed so eager to bring her aboard. Her gaze shifted from Ashuanar but not before offering the man a silent cheers of gratitude for his thought. Jerik seemed to have found his second wind and it was glowing like hot embers. The elf's brows lifted into her hairline as the warrior darted from his shallow grave into an invigorated barrage of heated pummeling.

Just look at him go.

Fiera took a long sip of wine.

"You and I have done this dance of riches before," she answered the King, reminding him of their first discussion at the vineyard estate. Gerra already knew she couldn't be bought with gold and jewels and riches. The man was a half-giant, not a half-wit, surely he had already lined up several options of riches to offer her for such a reward, but they needn't talk about it now.

"I shall require a new horse to make the journey. My own met a rather hideous end just this morning in the merchant district."

 

[Ashuanar]

"Some other time then, of course," he said, bowing to both Fiera and Gerra, "my lord, I shall depart to rejoin the army and continue preparations."

Once the Emperor's blessing be given, he would turn to leave. He looked over at the gathering about Captain Uvogin, most specifically Medja. There was something about the way she floated about that made him... uneasy. Those hands she carried around with her by some unseen force, well... those were something else. Fiera too had thought so.

As he carried on he narrowly avoided bumping into someone, seemingly unaware of how ensnared his attention had become. He huffed and then turned to make his way down the stairs and out of the arena.

He'd forgotten all about the roars of the audience around him.

 

[Toruuk Stoneheart]

An unseen force pushed Toruuk's hand off of Jerik's chest and forced him back. The bull huffed in surprise. Had the vizier cracked and resorted to his magic? That would certainly be an unfortunate turn of events. The bull wasn't certain that he'd be able to restrain himself if Jerik went completely berserk, and the death of a local legend likely wouldn't sit too well with many in the crowd. More so, Toruuk didn't like the prospect of getting a good chunk of his hair singed off since he was fighting without Pomp and Circumstance.

There was little time to really consider the options. Toruuk watched as steam began to roll off of Jerik's body, and the man did a quick kick up to get back on his feet. He saw the glowing fists, the subtle aura...and then he saw the look in his opponent's eyes. No, this was no magic. This was fighting spirit made manifest, pure and raw. This was everything the champion was waiting for.

"YEAH! YEAH! OH, YEEEEAAAHHH!!!"

Toruuk surged forward to meet his friend in battle, excitement coursing through his veins. He met the man blow for blow, howling in laughter with every punch. Each strike from Jerik hit with the force of ten men and burned the skin beneath the bull's fur, but the champion positively ate it up. Toruuk's armor even began to slough off his arms and waist, the metal spent from the punishment it was receiving. But the bull's body complied with his spirit, and refused to give out.

Quick as the rapid exchange of blows between the two warriors was, every single strike was calculated and precise. Both were moving at a rate so fast that the average spectator would hardly be able to follow their movements, but in Toruuk's mind all was clear. He was having the time of his life.

The champion could feel his blood rushing through his body, a fervent symphony of resolve. His muscles screamed. His soul burned. His teeth shown in a never ending grin of absolute enjoyment. He was a whirlwind of martial prowess and sheer grit, enough to give the God of Battle himself pause from on high.

Not enough. Not enough! More! Push harder!

Toruuk was fully prepared to keep going until his muscles sheered from his bones or his lungs exploded, whichever happened first. But something began to nag at him as he continued exchanging blows with his comrade in combat: Jerik's movements were slowing, the heat of his blows cooling. The man had already suffered enough damage to put the average human in an infirmary. It was clear to the bull that his fellow warrior was exhausted, and his second wind was quickly running out. If the pair kept fighting like this, Jerik would likely die...and that was unacceptable to him.

As Jerik wound back for one more particularly heavy handed swing, Toruuk simply caught the punch in his massive mitt and held down. Both fighters gave pause and panted. Jerik reeled back with his left, even slower now. The bull caught that one as well. The bull lowered both of their arms and hunched forward, his chest heaving. Fatigue was setting in hard now. He wanted to speak, to commend his new friend for fighting so damn hard, but all he could do was give him a tired smile and a breathy laugh.

"Haaahh....haaaahhh..."

The crowd's roar simmered to a dull hum, but Toruuk couldn't hear it over the sound of his heart hammering in his ears anyways. In all his years of fighting, the Wandering Champion had never had a brawl quite like this.