Nestled just outside of the Inner City wall of Alliria, as close to the docks as it could get, tucked away behind Al's Smithy and Ed's Leathers, was a decently-known establishment called the Red Roy's Rum Ring. A great mixture of alcohol, mostly rum as the name suggested, and a section of empty floor in the middle that was sectioned off by rope tied around different load-bearing wooden columns. It had once been a small warehouse for storage with crates and barrels stacked high to the tall ceiling, now even the light barely reached high enough to shed light on the cobwebs left up there. After all, the smarter spiders knew to stay closer to the action.
Away from the tables and chairs that spotted the floor, closer to the bar shelves lined with alcohol, where food and drink got wasted and brought their food a little closer. Roy, the owner of the establishment who typically the bar as he could hardly trust most people to mind the booze without partaking of the product, usually tried to swat small bugs closer to the spiderwebs to, as he put it, "Get some use out of the little freeloaders."
Roy had once been a sailor, now an old human in his sixties, retired from the seafaring life and inspired by the brawls that would break out between drunken seamen, he opened the place to inspire that violent behavior and make a little extra money from the fighting. Hence the ring, run by Rude Relgar, (Previously Gorbak, who had changed his name to better fit the alliteration for the sake of aesthetics and entertainment,) a somewhat short orc at around the height of a human with bright green skin, a missing left eye and a missing left tusk to match.
The orc, as most nights, gleefully stepped first into the ring before anybody else. His voice was large and took advantage of the acoustics that came from an open stony floor and high ceiling, making sure to get all the excitable patrons who had come from a long day of work, and the guards who came to "Keep the peace" as they bet and drank along with everybody else, to, "Shut up and listen up ya lily-livered lightweights!
'It's another night, and that means another set of fights by drunkards, with drunkards, and for drunkards! First we've got ourselves a nice little warm-up to get this brutality started, an age-old grudge match revisited once again here at the Four Rs between dwarf and elf! Is it friendly sparring that keeps bringing these two back into the ring, or is it simply pride that won't let them accept defeat?
"Who cares?!
"Welcome back to the Ring, the shin-punching dwarf you know for probably beating you in a drinking competition, and the muscle-headed elf who prefers talking with his fists, Gavroul the Anklebiter and Astenial the Daggerfist!"
With that, a dwarf with sun-kissed skin sporting a big red mohawk and an elf with a shaved head that was just starting to grow hair back entered the roped ring from the same side, each one getting themselves pumped up for a proper fight as they went to opposing sides of the cheap arena, guided by the orc pointing to two pillars for them to not get comfortable at.
"You know the rules! No biting, no weapons, no gouging, no killing!" The orc shouted as he began to march his way confidently to the edge of the ring, not even bothering to look at the two fighters while he left to the safety of the crowd, ready to check in on the bets and tonight's planned roster, "Now get at it, boys!"
On cue, and without hesitation, the elf and the dwarf charged at each other to begin the fight. Here, they had some regulars, most people only stayed for a few nights before setting back off into the world, but Gav and Asten were always chomping at the bit for another round.
Of their newer regulars, for however long he stayed though he always seemed eager for another fight, was an orc that was an orc among even orcs. A mass of muscles and olive skin that towered over most of the fighters who came to the Rum Ring, who showed a habit for brute-forcing his way through fights against enemies who kept trying to strong-arm a man whose arms were almost as big as they were. Luckily for Relgar, the orc also came with his own name to hype up the crowd, the crowd loving titles and nicknames more than they cared for who the actual people they bet on were.
Bloodshot, on account of both of his eyes looking like they were filled with blood. An intimidating name to go for an intimidating figure, but people usually got a chill or two from knowing there was a guy with "blood" near his name. In the case of this orc, he was a spectacle, a real attention-grabber on account of him being hard for even a halfling to miss in a dense crowd. It was all fine by Relgar and Roy, for when the absolute beast of a being was not in the ring trying to either catch a zippy little dwarf or getting slugged by a different orc, he was spending his cut of the bets on booze at the bar, a place where, not coincidentally, he was usually given some room while he barely fit on the stool, getting a good look at the arena and taking in every punch.
Either somebody would want to fight him, or else he would just find the toughest or most ready-looking guy out of the crowd and see about getting him into that ring! Maybe even a woman if she looked tough enough, but he always to question if he was really ready to take that loss against some stranger in a drunken crowd.
Oh well, something to worry about if the time came. For now there was alcohol and a fight. All Bloodshot really needed was food and a chamberpot and he could stay quite happy there for a long time.
Away from the tables and chairs that spotted the floor, closer to the bar shelves lined with alcohol, where food and drink got wasted and brought their food a little closer. Roy, the owner of the establishment who typically the bar as he could hardly trust most people to mind the booze without partaking of the product, usually tried to swat small bugs closer to the spiderwebs to, as he put it, "Get some use out of the little freeloaders."
Roy had once been a sailor, now an old human in his sixties, retired from the seafaring life and inspired by the brawls that would break out between drunken seamen, he opened the place to inspire that violent behavior and make a little extra money from the fighting. Hence the ring, run by Rude Relgar, (Previously Gorbak, who had changed his name to better fit the alliteration for the sake of aesthetics and entertainment,) a somewhat short orc at around the height of a human with bright green skin, a missing left eye and a missing left tusk to match.
The orc, as most nights, gleefully stepped first into the ring before anybody else. His voice was large and took advantage of the acoustics that came from an open stony floor and high ceiling, making sure to get all the excitable patrons who had come from a long day of work, and the guards who came to "Keep the peace" as they bet and drank along with everybody else, to, "Shut up and listen up ya lily-livered lightweights!
'It's another night, and that means another set of fights by drunkards, with drunkards, and for drunkards! First we've got ourselves a nice little warm-up to get this brutality started, an age-old grudge match revisited once again here at the Four Rs between dwarf and elf! Is it friendly sparring that keeps bringing these two back into the ring, or is it simply pride that won't let them accept defeat?
"Who cares?!
"Welcome back to the Ring, the shin-punching dwarf you know for probably beating you in a drinking competition, and the muscle-headed elf who prefers talking with his fists, Gavroul the Anklebiter and Astenial the Daggerfist!"
With that, a dwarf with sun-kissed skin sporting a big red mohawk and an elf with a shaved head that was just starting to grow hair back entered the roped ring from the same side, each one getting themselves pumped up for a proper fight as they went to opposing sides of the cheap arena, guided by the orc pointing to two pillars for them to not get comfortable at.
"You know the rules! No biting, no weapons, no gouging, no killing!" The orc shouted as he began to march his way confidently to the edge of the ring, not even bothering to look at the two fighters while he left to the safety of the crowd, ready to check in on the bets and tonight's planned roster, "Now get at it, boys!"
On cue, and without hesitation, the elf and the dwarf charged at each other to begin the fight. Here, they had some regulars, most people only stayed for a few nights before setting back off into the world, but Gav and Asten were always chomping at the bit for another round.
Of their newer regulars, for however long he stayed though he always seemed eager for another fight, was an orc that was an orc among even orcs. A mass of muscles and olive skin that towered over most of the fighters who came to the Rum Ring, who showed a habit for brute-forcing his way through fights against enemies who kept trying to strong-arm a man whose arms were almost as big as they were. Luckily for Relgar, the orc also came with his own name to hype up the crowd, the crowd loving titles and nicknames more than they cared for who the actual people they bet on were.
Bloodshot, on account of both of his eyes looking like they were filled with blood. An intimidating name to go for an intimidating figure, but people usually got a chill or two from knowing there was a guy with "blood" near his name. In the case of this orc, he was a spectacle, a real attention-grabber on account of him being hard for even a halfling to miss in a dense crowd. It was all fine by Relgar and Roy, for when the absolute beast of a being was not in the ring trying to either catch a zippy little dwarf or getting slugged by a different orc, he was spending his cut of the bets on booze at the bar, a place where, not coincidentally, he was usually given some room while he barely fit on the stool, getting a good look at the arena and taking in every punch.
Either somebody would want to fight him, or else he would just find the toughest or most ready-looking guy out of the crowd and see about getting him into that ring! Maybe even a woman if she looked tough enough, but he always to question if he was really ready to take that loss against some stranger in a drunken crowd.
Oh well, something to worry about if the time came. For now there was alcohol and a fight. All Bloodshot really needed was food and a chamberpot and he could stay quite happy there for a long time.