Completed [Anthoniuos Fighter's Pit] The Beast Vs the Monster

[Kreig Messer]

25th of summer, 16th bell, 13th chime Conflict….that was what made Kreig’s being, born in a city of that weeds out those not cut to survive its treachery and condemns them to being lower than the feces they spew. Sunberth bred the foolish in order to reveal the wise; it bred the oafish to reveal the ones with cunning; it filled it with those who rely all too often on numbers size to reveal the monsters with instinct and skill. Kreig somewhat a monster…. Battle was in his blood, it was his being …..but the city had decided he was worth his spit and played a nasty trick that eventually sent him out of its confines. That summers day he went to the fighter’s pit…… he sought a worthy challenge but it seemed to be lacking in those who’d be willing to fight him, too few strong enough to present him with a challenge. They wouldn’t offer the same amount of entertainment he so craved….the amount needed to make him forget the memories that push themselves full force from the back of his mind. He looked ragged and tired, like a cat had decided to serenade him with songs but so tone deaf that Kreig had wasted all his energy throwing his belongings to shut it up. But the hunger was there…… it was always there. His clothes cheap, gauntlets dented and not worth pig’s shyke. But the animosity was there. His shirts sleeves were slight torn, his pants filled with holes and the leather of his boots mangled with teeth marks from one winter ago. As he rested against a wall and watched as the instructor and proprietor of the so called pit taught some halfwits who never saw a proper bout how to wield a sword, he could not help but feel weak and behind on his training, his own damn fault. He looked at the other part of the area and saw few that were sparring, looking too tired for him to fight once they finish with their session…. The rest, the little who were there were just far too uninteresting….. Not worth the energy. ‘Is there no one proper?’ He thought to himself as he raised a fist and slammed it against the wall in frustration, he thought as a look of frustration crept upon his face. His bloodlust and frustrations needed a release, and there was only one way to release such a thing…..

[Razkar]

The Myrian had become familiar to those who frequented the Pit. At first he was an exotic and much-discussed figure, as all outsiders are. But a half-naked savage, clad only in breeches and sandals, flesh pitted and festooned with scars, ink and weapons? That was something special for the gawkers.

Moreso when they saw him fight.

Now when Razkar stepped through the archway into the main floor of the Pit, where a half-dozen sunken holes in the ground lay ready for fighters, his quality was known. The novices whispered among themselves in envy and conjecture; the veterans regarded him warily, minds turning over how they'd defeat the master of blades.

Razkar paid them little heed, however. Face stoic but eyes constantly moving, he hitched up Mrrko and swept his cloak of scalps of his back and across his mount's instead.

"Hot day, my friend," he muttered in Myrian to those gentle brown eyes, "Best to keep as much of you out the sun as we can..."

Then he began his search, eyes flitting over the crowd. A handful of squires who were proving their manhood by sparring with the scum away from the Knights' training ground. A group of sellswords who'd be looking to gleam some gossip as well as train...

... but neither group approaching him. The Myrian was half-glad; most wouldn't be worth his time, and until he found someone who-

-then a flash of movement caught his eye, a fist slamming into a wall-

-and his black orbs flickered to the figure standing there.

Tall. Lean. Sunken cheekbones and hungry eyes, reminding Razkar of those lone and hunger-maddened wolves he'd hunted sometimes in the jungles of home. Bereft of a pack, partners or purpose, they were a plague on the northern clans, bordering Kalea where such beasts came from.

They lived only to fight and never knew peace.

Razkar's eyes sparkled briefly as he saw the same quality in the frazzle-haired human across the way, and powered his way towards him. His training session over (and gratefully so - petching gods, how hard is holding a sword, I mean fucking really?), Gerard noticed to... and smiled.

"Human?!"

The Myrian's harsh, guttural accent caught Kreig's eye and the two regarded each other for a long moment, weighing each other up. Then Razkar silently unbuckled his weapon harness and jumped into the nearest empty pit. There was a heavy, metallic thunk as all six of his weapons were dropped to the sand.

Flexing and stretching his muscles in sweet anticipation for what was to come, Razkar barked back up at the wild-eyed human.

"Come or not?"

And Gerard grinned widely beneath his straggly beard, as with the unerring instinct of city-dwellers the multiverse over, a muttering crowd of onlookers, rubberneckers and gamblers began to gather around the Pit.

"Gentleman! We're takin' bets...!"

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig at that small, miniscule, moment of time nearly left the pit. But then came the true beast….. “ Human?! ” It spoke as Kreig stared, a Myrian male whose height a couple of inches or so above Kreig’s own height. His form riddled with tribal markings, piercings and numerous scars….yes, the scars were most interesting. He could feel the emotion of excitement, anticipation, building up within him. Kreig wouldn’t have thought twice if any other myrian challenged him…but this……this beast, this monster whose body told many tails…..this was a gift wrapped in gold. His presence commanded attention; it wasn’t just his appearance, the way he held himself spoke volumes of skills many dreamed to hold, but only few ever grasp and fewer keep. He felt like a child, despite the nagging sense that they were of similar age, staring into the eyes of a grown man who’d seen much. Yes….his presence commanded instant respect from those who could recognize the cloth from which the Myrian was cut….. cut from the raiment of War herself and given mortal flesh. ‘Yes……this shall be a glorious experience’ “ The Myrian unbuckled his weapon harness and threw it into the pit, the sound of metal hitting metal as the weapons bumped each other as they landed on the sand resonated throughout the area before the Myrian himself jumped into the sandy pit Then Flexed, perhaps in anticipation as he looked back at the Brawler. “ Come or Not?” Came the barking question, or was it perhaps demand? Kreig found himself unfastening his Guantlets as he tossed them into the pit. A wild grin on his face as he jumped down and stared at the beast before him with awe….eagerness…..hunger. His adrenaline building up and ready to unleash itself once the battle truly started, to raise his fists and ‘BASH HIS FACE IN’ “So, the pleasantries of names, Or should we just go on ahead?” Came the question, did they truly need to know each other’s names? Is it not enough that they just want to battle? Kreig cracked the joints of his knuckles and moved his neck to elicit similar popping sounds, then raised his fists slightly over his eyes as his eyes looked at the Myrian’s own. The hungry grin had not left his face once….and it didn’t look like it will be leaving any time soon.

[Razkar]

“So, the pleasantries of names, Or should we just go on ahead?”

Razkar's lips quirked in a moment of amusement. The grin, the shock of hair, the attitude and rapacity in those eyes... this one couldn't have been more different from Ximal, the iron-fisted master who'd handed him his arse days before. In that dark-haired human he'd seen little else but fierce control and discipline as hard as the iron gauntlets covering his hands.

But in this human, he saw the wildness and unpredictability of a brawler, a reaver, a... barbarian.

Fittingly enough.

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls." Razkar spoke quickly, stalking forwards slowly with his knees bent, fists coming up. "And I not care what you name is. Not yet-"

His right arm cocked back as if to swing a punch to the smiling head behind Krieg's raised fists-

-but instead the Myrian sidestepped to the human's right, left leg jerking up and forward as he did-

-aiming a quick, sharp blow just under Kreig's left kneecap.

[Kreig Messer]

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls." Said the myrian in a quick tone as he took a fighting pose "And I not care what you name is. Not yet-" Ended the sentence abruptly as the myrian brought back his fist for a punch…. Kreig was anticipating eagerly, to just see how strong his punches were. But something about the punch he was preparing seemed off ‘It looked half as- SHYKE’ Came the realization as the Myrian side stepped to Kreig’s right ‘A petching feint’ cursed the brawler, but only reflected the joy he felt inside. Kreig Raised his right leg to block the Myrian’s own, he would then grab the offensing leg and turn his own block into an attack. He aimed for the Myrian’s face, he suspected that the myrian might catch his foot for which Kreig had a little surprise in store. His Boot was a bit….loose, all Kreig needed to do was pull his foot out and strike at the Myrian’s abdomen. If the Myrian simply blocked Kreig would pull the Myrian’s leg as he brought his own foot back and force the Myrian off balance and in turn tackle the beast to the ground, ready to pound the Myrian’s face into oblivion.

[Razkar]

The human was faster than he looked, and despite the wildness in them, his eyes apparently missed nothing. His right leg was already moving up to block Razkar's blow to his knee, before jerking upwards to aim at the Myrian's face-

-as Razkar moved to catch it-

-with both hands.

His hands didn't snap around Kreig's foot; they grabbed around his shin, a much more stable target, body twisting to the left as he brought both hands to bear-

-and as soon as the leg was stopped and immobile-

-Razkar's right hand snapped out and straightened in a fist towards the human's face-

-his left leg, caught in the human's grip, pushing down hard as he did so with the momentum of his punch, the Myrian seeking to rip his limb out of the human's grasp.

If the human managed to block his blow he'd follow up his fist with a shattering headbutt, body already moving towards with his head and upper body Kreig as he bought his foot back down. If the human tried to tackle him Razkar would just throw his blocked and grabbed leg higher up, grip around his shin not lessening and throwing off Kreig's balance as much as he was Razkar's.

[Kreig Messer]

'there goes kicking off my boot and relaxing by causing him to return his lunch back through the front door' Thought the brawler as his shin was caught in the myrian's two hands, causing for the both to look like the most awkward dance pratners during this very breif but tense moment. The wrong movement could spell the end for Kreig's leg if he tried to pull it out from the Myrian's firm grasp. He was forced to let go of the Myrian's left leg as he raised the back of his left hand to knock away the incoming right fist.But then came the the Myrian's forehead at binecrushing speed and Kreig couldnt't been happier as he forced his own forward to try and negate some of the impact. Blood dripped from his forhead as he saw the Beast's eyes up close, his grin so wide it could split at the seams. He didnt know whose blood it was that flow down their heads, likely his own, but it was inconsequental at the moment as he spoke his words " So Razkar.....care for the courtesy of my name, or should I till you once my sleeves are around your neck?"

[Razkar]

His right hand thudded into Kreig's forearm and his blow was stalled, but Razkar's head careened onward-

-and slammed into what appeared to be a thick, bony and grinning brick wall.

Growling like some stymied hound, eye-to-eye with the smiling human. For a moment, Razkar was genuinely surprised, amazed to see an all-too-familiar Myrian fire in a weakling human... but there it was. He could feel his pulse begin to speed up, the gnosis on the back of his neck ache and burn to be released... and then the human went and spoiled it by talking.

"So Razkar.....care for the courtesy of my name, or should I till you once my sleeves are around-"

Before the last words are snarled from those smirking lips, Razkar pulls his forehead back, drops of scarlet oozing down his face-

-and jerks his right knee upward towards Kreig's breastbone, left leg propelling him up. "Bursting", he'd heard it called, giving his already hardened knee bone yet more force for when it slammed into his target, and now Kreig had relinquished his leg, he had both to use.

But Krieg did not, and Razkar kept a grip on his shin as he rocketed upwards, right arm hammering down sideways in front of the human to smash his fist onto the human's exposed thigh, numbing his leg.

If he blocked that chop, so be it, but it would keep him distracted, and either way, he had a fast-moving knee to worry about.

"Pit for fight." The Myrian managed to bite out as he moved. "Not for talk."

[Kreig Messer]

As what he thought was a fine boast was interrupted ‘How rude’ Came the thought, no one appreciates a good playful banter anymore. But there was no time to complain about such a thing as the Myrian’s knee seemed to be making a beeline for his chest while one of his fists was about to dig itself into his thigh. In that brief instant he mused about blocking the knee strike but then he would lose function of his leg temporarily, then again if that knee struck the center of his chest he’d stand a good chance of dying thanks to th So he did what seemed reasonable….he dropped to the ground, changing the angle of his held leg to brush most of the chop while also avoiding a very dangerous knee to the chest. Of course this meant the myrian had a good chance of stepping on him while held his leg so he wrapped the free one around Raz’s other leg, hoping to trip to the ground. Not considering that perhaps that Raz could , intentionally or not, twist and dislocate Kreig’s foot as he fell, therefore losing function of his leg more so then it would be when numbed. “Really? Personally I like a bit of banter in my fighting…. You fight like a cow by the way” He joked with no malicious intent if the Myrian could catch that.

[Razkar]

Razkar's target vanished as the human crumpled under him, but through effort of his own. Krieg dropped like a stone, right leg in Razkar's grip almost jerking out of it as his entire body went very vertical to horizontal, other leg trying to wrap around the Myrian's right-

-and failing, since at that moment it was rocketing upwards with the rest of his body.

But while escaping Razkar in the air, the human had now put himself on the ground... right before him... which made him an even better target. Razkar let himself fall back down to earth, tucking his leg back so his thrust knee would smack first into the sand-

-or would, if Kreig's chest wasn't in the way. Which it would be.

The blow to the human's leg missed completely, though, Kreig's sudden fall moving it out of the way. Razkar tightened his grip, aiming to slam the limb onto the sand when the rest of his body hit it, sending tremors of impact from Kreig's ankle to his pelvis.

If the human managed to roll or twist out of the way of his knee, Razkar would jab out with his right fist at the side of his head... and then roll away himself, getting a few feet of distance between the two.

A blur of words came out of Kreig's mouth that Razkar just barely caught. Something about a cow, and Razkar fought the urge to roll his eyes as he fell down onto the prone human.

Why must everyone talk so during a fight in these lands? Do they think it requires narration?