Ral's opponent was a respectable warrior of orcish wiles and strength - under any other circumstances,
Ralene would have given her credit where it was due. Standing against sheer natural brawn and savagery, even if she wasn't beautiful by human standards, the orcess was beautiful in terms of being an absolute green unit. Ral on the other hand was, comparatively speaking, smaller and more compactly built than her.
But Ral was never going to be that delicate damsel. She'd been built like a tomboy since her youthful days before
Walter Banick had handed he over to the Academy. Regardless of where she'd grown up, she'd always been destined to be more bulk and less beaut. Years spent under the knife of the Proctors, having enhanced strength and durability cut and inked into her body had left her with an ungodly amount of strength for someone her size.
Head on, it seemed the two were evenly matched for the first few long, roaring, cheering, straining minutes of the match. Jaw set, teeth grit and bared as she stared down her opponent over their clenched fists, Ral braced against her with a fair amount of effort and a larger amount of alcohol swilling about her brain. The sounds of the crowd echoed like the din of a storm in her ears. She couldn't even feel the pounding of fists on the table.
Ralene's eyes pinned as she felt the fire of a sudden flare of aggression bloom from her chest down through her limbs. Fingers curled a little more tightly, the rigid brawn of her match arm drawing even more taut under the pressure. She let her bared teeth gap open in a snarl and leaned into the tension.
The clenched hands began to move in Ral's favor. It started in small, jilted increments as the orcess began to struggle to hold against her, and then the win happened with a sudden jolt of envigored strength from Dreadlord Initiate. Cheers, yells, groans, and hollering exploded across the table and throughout the tavern as Ralene stood from her bench, snatch the nearest tankard of ale and began chugging it in victory.
