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(Open to Scars Members) Put a price up and see who can hit the hardest!

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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Noven on June 4th, 2014, 8:11 am

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Nov shook his head to clear his eyes of stars. It stung like hell, but it was worth it to see the look on Black's face.

Then of all things, his opponent, being at least a whole head shorter than Noven himself, tried to return the face slam. The cook wasn't sure whether to laugh or scoff at the very attempt. He did manage to at least use his one free hand to stop Black's momentum by covering and pushing down on his entire face, but the sneaky little bastard broke free and began his former tactic of throwing as many blows per chime as possible.

It was getting to be tiring, but Nov kept up his defenses. Maybe it was the growing weariness, or maybe it was the fact that this guy had just tried to head bang someone at least six or seven inches taller than him. Whatever was the case, the cook's attention slipped and Black managed to hook a foot around his leg. Two ticks later he was going down.

Shyke.

Unfortunately for both of them, their hands were still connected by the shirt. Which meant as soon as Nov hit the ground, Black would come tumbling after. Straight into Nov's gut.

Whatever came next he struggled with wild ferocity to combat. If Black did land on top, the cook would do everything he could to free himself from the shirt trap and regain his bearings. He was bigger than his opponent and shouldn't have much trouble disengaging himself from the mad scramble. Nov kept his face shielded as best he could and made to grab for Black any chance he got. It seemed to be a matter of who pinned whom first now, and it wasn't a game Nov wanted to lose.


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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Buras on June 4th, 2014, 8:14 pm



'Shyke, forgot the shirt.' Buras thought as he was pulled down with Red.

It worked out rather well in the end, a little. He did land on Red, got him right in the gut, but that is about it. As soon as they hit the ground, Red fought like his life depended on it. One of the blows knocked Buras off, with the shirt still in his hand, but not Red's. 'I didn't need it anyway'

Quickly rolling away and getting up, Buras studies Red. He was tired, but so was Red. If he was able to last just a little bit longer, he might get it. He will have that gold, one way or another. Buras waits for Red to get up, before once more rushing at Red. Same tactic, hit hard and fast a lot of times, why change what isn't broken.

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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Noven on June 11th, 2014, 2:14 am

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He'd barely gotten back up when his fiesty little opponent began throwing punches left and right again. The guy seemed to be made entirely of stubborn will and inexhaustible energy. Nov wasn't sure he could keep up with such a tireless routine. Even the tiny fortune promised to the winner was growing somewhat hazy in appeal, as was his initial excitement in entering the fight. Clearly, Black was playing to win that gold, even if it required him to throw punches till dawn.

This was no longer about a pitting of skill. It was a pitting of will, and the cook was finding less and less reasons to be goaded on in this fashion.

Except, that is, for one, immutable fact:

He was one of Krysus's favored.

Red veins burned and throbbed all across his left hand. On the opposite side, his right fingers twitched in anticipation, as if he were an opiate addict itching to reach for a pipe. Nov's symptoms hadn't quite started yet but he knew they would. They always did, one way or the other, and if he hurt the little bugger now he wouldn't have to worry about the headaches and shooting pains later.

It was agonizing, the pain of denying himself that choice, of turning away from such a temptation. His life could be easier. So much easier, if he just gave in. Let it take over in its thirst for infliction of the most brutal, sensory torment imaginable. Let her will be made into reality through his blood and flesh and bones, her twisted delights become one with his as they plundered and plotted against life itself. To maim...to hurt...to cut up and slice and dig hilt deep as we feast on their pitiful, bloodied screams...so much pleasure in their pain...after all they've done to us...to Nona...and as their desperate cries fill the air we'll join them! Join them with moans of our shared ecstasy, together and inseparable, like two lovers entwined on a bed of--

"STOP IT!!" Nov roared, right before he shifted out of his defensive stance. The merc had his left elbow raised high enough that it's eventual point of impact would have been Black's face. But it was feint, as beneath it came a vicious kick, backed by the momentum of his spin. Normally, such a move would be aimed for someone's legs or gut, but Black was short enough that the arc of Nov's foot came straight for the side of his head.

He was done with keeping her sodding voice at bay. Done with her ceaseless whispering and enticing and prodding. He was going to end this fight just so he wouldn't have to hear her for another tick longer. Nov might not have been keen on earning the goddess's ire, but he felt he had the right to at least shut her out for a bell or two if he was already trying to beat someone to a pulp.

Not one for wasting time, Nov followed up with another punch aimed for the head. It was difficult, fighting a man and a demon at the same time, but he grit his teeth and forced himself from enacting any fatal blows.

This meant no smashing in of the nose, no strangling, and no snapping of the neck. But he held onto this small shred of defiance, even as what could only be construed as a ghostly peal of feminine laughter rung about his ears. Maybe Krysus enjoyed tormenting him this way. Maybe that was why she kept him around at all.

Petching gods and their meddling powers, Nov swore, right before he threw his whole body toward Black to try and knock him down.


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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Buras on June 11th, 2014, 8:00 pm



Buras thought he had the upper hand. Red was forced into a defensive stance, and didn't seem to be leaving it any time soon. And that gold seemed to gleam brighter by the second. He could live off that for a while. Get some actual food, buy something good for Teddy.

As he thought of what he would do with that gold, his swings slowly began to come faster. They bean to be aimed anywhere he could land a clean hit. He didn't go below the belt though, this man deserved better then underhanded tactics. Well, he didn't deserve to get hit in the stones.

Suddenly, Red yelled and shifted out of his defensive stance. That caught Buras off guard, enough to slow his next hit. The feint caused Buras to flinch away, the kick caused his head to snap around. The punch that followed felt like it split his head open. The fact that he was on the ground and Red most likely taking advantage of it didn't help.

And just like that, his chance at the gold began to slip from his fingers. The way he landed, he could just turn his head and see the girl holding it. It was so close, yet getting farther by the second. Blows rained down on Buras, and he couldn't do a thing about it. He wanted to keep fighting, to win that gold, to show them that a few hits weren't enough to finish him. But his body wouldn't allow it. His head felt like it was being struck by a hammer, his sides hurt, his legs were going numb for some reason.

With the greatest regret, even though he was being pummeled and would keep being pummeled if he didn't do it, Buras raised a hand, and dropped it. Twice more he did this, and each time he did he could almost feel the gold slipping through his fingers. It was over, he couldn't do anything about it now. The only thing he wanted now, was his hat on his head, and his shirt back on. Maybe he could steal that much, if he had a few free days to do that. Who was he kidding, he was making excuses to giving up, to make himself feel better. Well, it worked. 'Girl better have not done anything to my hat'

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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Fallon on June 12th, 2014, 7:50 am

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Fallon was watching alright, lips curling into a wolfish grin, her eyes ablaze as the men gave their brief pleasantries and then begun. Eyes gave a dart back and forth, observing, slinking and working her way round. The crowd came together, growing in size as the once silent voices picking up into a mumble and then into the cry of amusement. The cheers and the jeers, the routing of either side. Black verses Red, both pulling back the punches and the blows, a step round as she watched the men swing their fists and the whip crack of bone upon knuckles sounded forth. The fingers silently turned the hat she had caught, the Lykata prickling beneath her glove and urging her to be used. Information, knowledge, what could she learn from him?

Turn round so she faced the crowd with a broad grin upon her lips, she focused on wriggling her left hand free and curling the fingers around the rim of his hat. A deep inhale, she cleared her thoughts and begun to speak, "And so the fists crunch and fly, the red and black do battle! Watch as the red brings the fist round, straight onto the nose! And here the black takes up his left to give a big broad kick!" she raised her own foot then, balancing upon the other with a wobble and toed the air in a mocking mimicry. There were a few snorts of approval, her right hand holding tightly onto the glove now before she gave a gesture back.

Fast and slow, patience and absorbing of blows. A true dance of combat with an aimed prize at the end - it was surprising to see how quickly one would be taken by the moment and would fight for coin. Another whip crack, her lips continued to move and give a narration over their taunts, "Red comes round and he's coming up for a fast strike, Black is just guarding himse- What's this? Black's taking off his shirt! A mid fight strip tease? Well, looks like things are about to get interesting now!" A hoot sounded out in the crowd, she could hear the faint sound of coin being exchanged somewhere behind her, but the words continued to be spoken with zeal," "Who will make the next move? AH! Black makes the next move and Red hits back trying to throw the other off balance."

Focusing herself, she nestled her bare hand into the hat. Fingers traced, those few slow, careful steps around the main fighting. Eyes narrowed, a deep inhale as she focused herself. The world tuned out, the faint beat of blows acting as her point of concentration. The rhythm of hits, the strikes and steps as they worked their ways round each other - learning and feeling out those weak spots. A deep inhale, followed by an exhale as she hung onto the edge. Knowledge, understanding and information to gain the upper hand. Every little helped in Sunberth after all. There was a whistle in her mind, the faint hum of what lay upon the edge before everything muted out.

Caws, crows. Fluttering and greed. Temptation, snagging... Blood, there was a broad step to the left, her gaze seemingly focused on the two men but really the eyes were looking at something else, Crow, flying. Flight. Sharp, harsh. Hungry. She gave the slow shake of the head, Bird. Why does the bird appear? Look beyond, look deeper. Closer. Man to Bird, shifts and changes. Who...? She pulled herself out, a firm blink as the fight reached its climax. Noven roared, a loud cry of frustration and before she knew it the Black was on the floor in a heap. Wetting her lips, she watched the tap out occur, and quickly wriggled the glove back onto her hand. Presenting the hat down to the other, she turned her gaze to Noven.

"And there we have it Sunberth! The Little Red Robin has taken down the Black! What a fight that was indeed, and quite a show I must say!" A broad step, she lightly grabbed his wrist then brought it swinging upwards into the air, "Are we not entertained?" The crowd gave a cheer in response. She released the wrist and gave Noven a firm clap upon the shoulder, her other hand wriggled about inside of her coat and fished out the prize that had long been promised, "And to the victor of such a prestigious fight, fifty golden Mizas! Don't spend it all at once now." Backing away with a broad grin she gave only a glance down to Buras, "So, when we going to peel him up off the floor?"

ooc-50gm from ledger
+50gm to Noven
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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Noven on June 12th, 2014, 8:50 am

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He stood there, heart thumping in erratic marathons and breaths heaving out harsh wheezes, only half aware of what Wolf Girl was saying.

The fight...was over?

Nov got back up on his feet and blinked slow. On the ground was Black, looking around already for his things with no intention of jumping back into the fray. It took a few more moments for the cook to gain his bearings before he realized more or less what had just happened.

I turned straight fucking nuts, is what, he cursed, shaking his head in disbelief. This was a bad, bad sign. It had to be from all those nights without sleep, on top of the nightmares and bloody jobs and...

Gods above, it was time he admitted he really needed to pay that harlot a visit.

As he watched his former opponent pick himself up, Nov felt a twinge of uncharacteristic guilt. He hadn't cheated. Not technically, at least. But in some sense of the word he felt he had. Noven had won because Krysus seemed to have yet again driven him to it. It was more than a little disconcerting, not just that she could do such a thing, but also how often and easily he was willing to believe she was behind it all. What if the goddess of murder wasn't? What if they were his own thoughts all along?

Petch it all. Just take the money and be done with it.

And that was exactly what Noven did. At first. But then he looked at the small fortune in his hands. Then he looked at Black, who might've had family, or kids, or who knew what else? Nov, on the other hand, had nothing. Just him and a shabby apartment and a well nursed vendetta.

With a giant sight, he counted out the coins and pocketed half, keeping the pouch in his left fist. With his right he reached out to offer Black as close to a friendly hand as he could manage.

"It was a good fight," Nov admitted. "You had me going there for a while."

It was completely out of his comfort zone, to be so soft with the guy. With anyone, for that matter. But it felt like the right thing to do. Or something similar to it anyway. Once Black was back on his feet, the cook held up the remaining mizas and nudged them in the man's direction. "Go on, take it. I wouldn't know what to do with so much money anyways."

That was partly the truth. He could have done something outrageous, like book Brega for a whole five chimes, or buy a horse. But why on Mizahar would he be bothered? Only more hassles to follow, was how he saw it.

"The name's Noven, by the way," he added as a final touch. "Don't want you thinkin' I'm Little Red Robin forever, ya know?" The cook slid Bitzer a wry glance as he said this, knowing all too well her act was still up and running.



oocA mid fight strip tease hahaha
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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Buras on June 12th, 2014, 6:05 pm



Grabbing his hat, Buras props himself up on one arm, but doesn't bother to get up. Gods his head hurt. That was some swing.

He was a bit Surprised Red helped him up. He was even more surprised that he gave Buras half of the pot. Dumbfounded at the man, he shakes the arm that helped him up. "Thank you, Noven." Buras says, still a bit winded from the landing. He couldn't just accept all the money though, Noven won it. But that gold would be very useful. So, as a kind of compromise, Buras says "I appreciate this. And in return, I offer you my services. If you need help getting something done, find me." 'Hope I didn't sound to much like a harlot.'

Pushing his hat firmly onto his head, Buras looks between the two people in front of him. Noven, he had a very hazy image of. But this girl with her dog. "Thank you for keeping my hat out of the dirt." She was still a mystery, and he had no clue how to begin to unravel it.

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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Fallon on June 13th, 2014, 12:43 pm

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Fallon gave a grin, broad and full of thought as she looked between both men as they came to terms with what just happened. Her hands went to her pockets, a testing inhale as she felt her ribs give a twinge. The fighting was over now, that much was apparent with the way Noven seemed to fondle the coin pouch with careful thought. Still there was good sportsmanship in the end, a hand extended down to pull the other up and the awkward mumblings of admittance. Around them the crowd begun to break away, the mumblings of having seen a fight of entertainment.

Still, that momentary torn expression made her raise an eyebrow, if it could even be called that. Coins were split, the prize divided and half given down to the 'Black'. Of course, she had no doubt on what he would have rather done with them - whored them away no doubt like a majority of men in Sunberth. Her lip curled in amusement, her fingers snapping to Orvin who remained lounged upon the earth. He lazily lifted his head, ears pricking and his tail swishing as he regarded her. She gave a point down to her feet, "Come on, to heel now."

Bringing himself up he padded his way over, a large yawn as he lazily looked upon the two men. Her gloved hand scratched his crown, her eyes once more lifting up to them both. Noven was still stumbling over his words, or more correctly introducing himself officially. Fallon quipped, "So, shall we call you Noven, the Little Red Robin from now on? Or just Noven the Red?" She let that thought rest there, before her head wheeled round to the other. That dumbfound expression, that look of confusion upon his face. There was another flicker of amusement, and then she promptly nudged Noven suggestively in the ribs, "Looks like you have a new play partner."

Taking another glance round, the mercenary gave a stretch. Fingers were flexed, and then fell down onto the tulwar pommel once more. She was done here, she knew that. So taking a step away and a pivot round she let the expression simmer down behind a neutral mask, "Well that is that. Nurse your wounds and your heads, less you want me to send you off to bed." There was a tease within her tone, the mocking of a bow as she stepped away, "I believe, I am done here gentlemen. Glad to see someone took the wager, and gave a show to us all how fists should fly. So, unless you need my immediate attention..." she paused then waiting to see if either of them would speak up, "Thank you for the show."
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Fallon is a Master of Intimidation, "At this level, a Master intimidator often unconsciously intimidates their target unless the intimidator monitors their stance, tone, and actions to prevent this. Master intimidators will nearly always have a reputation that precedes them unless they have taken special care to prevent it."
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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Noven on June 15th, 2014, 8:41 am

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Nov narrowed his eyes at Wolf Girl's suggestion. He couldn't decide whether this was a trick question or straightforward speculation, but he could see he had little choice but to accept the less castrating nickname of the two.

"I'll take Noven the Red, any day of the season, thank you very much."

Then Bitzer nudged him in the ribs as his former opponent spoke. He winced as her elbow poked a few sore spots he knew would turn into full blown bruises come next morning, but the cook did his best not to let his discomfort show. Krysus smite him right where he stood if he couldn't handle a little bit of pain in front a girl, lethal and wolfbound as she may be.

Ignoring the soreness, Nov's brow rose a fraction at Black's offer. The man proved to be full of surprises, his earnest and sound intentions not withstanding.

Such a trait was hard to come by in the Berth and Nov took their impromptu trade seriously. Favors were as good as a gold around these parts, assuming the one providing said favors could be counted on. This fellow had proven himself well enough, before, during, and, most importantly, after the fight. Nov was willing to take a little risk for a greater gain.

"Offer accepted, Black," the cook nodded and grinned. "There'll be trouble enough for us soon I'm sure. Always is, always will be."

As Bitzer made her tactful yet characteristically teasing exit, Noven briefly considered following her. He knew next to nothing about who was effectively his boss within the Scars and the local blood in his veins dictated most of his curiosity. But that was another problem for another day. Besides, he didn't think he'd get very far with that wolf glued to her side.

"We owe it to you for setting it up, Wolf Girl," Nov responded in kind before turning to Black. "Be safe, mate."

And then he too took his unusually amiable leave, eager to nurse the dozens of wounds he was sure to feel within the next bell.


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[Slag Heap] Tournament of Fists

Postby Buras on June 15th, 2014, 9:45 pm



"When are we ever safe in this city?" Buras yelled back to Noven, meant mostly as a joke, but it did have some truth to it. 'Well, today certainly turned out to be rather interesting. Met a good chap and got some gold in the process. Nothing can be better.'

Buras then turned to Wolf Girl. "And thank you for making my day much more interesting. Tell me if you organize anything else like this. I got a few ideas of my own I can tell you about if I see you again. Well, until we meet again, Wolf Girl." And with that, Buras left. 'Well, at least now I have a name to that girl. Even if it isn't a helpful one. And if I am right, a few allies never hurt.'

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