Crowded is an understatement tonight, with bodies filtering by and only the most known, dangerous, or those with heavy entourage, able to truly get the throng of denizens to part without some jostling. For the majority, the crowds consist mostly of the common people it pays tribute to, but the lure of escapes, coin and blood occasionally rally people from all walks to slip into the underground ring. Whiskey and ale abound, with small short-lived skirmishes occasionally breaking out when drinks are sloshed or spilled. There's only two places which seem relatively untouched by wildness-- the elevated section and the healers alcove.

"Get your bets in!" There's no ticket holders, just a well-guarded bookie who accepts the bets on the fighters, with a mounted sign bearing thin metal plates tallying the current odds, before people are permitted entry. There's no niceties at the door otherwise; no gifts of welcome or souviners. Just a systematic ushering through the door that has coin leaving pockets.



OOC: Please page or messenger Acacia with silver + fighter name(s).
Freja arrives.
Freja has joined the A Curved Stone Bar.
Ida has joined the General Standing Room.
Isolde arrives.
Moira has joined the An Elevated Section.
Alrec has joined the General Standing Room.
Hammar has joined the The Shallow Arena Floor.
Alrec has left the General Standing Room.
Alrec has joined the The Shallow Arena Floor.
Freja has left the A Curved Stone Bar.
Freja has left the game.
Freja has entered the game.
Freja enters without fanfare and heads straight for the bar, the tall woman not really standing out in her weather worn leathers and lack of jewelry or anything spectacular.
Freja has joined the A Curved Stone Bar.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
Kima arrives.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
There is a wide smile on Ida's face as she glances around the arena. Taking it in a few quiet moments, the smile remains. She even inhales deeply and holds it a minute before sighing it out. She tugs out a small coin purse, counts and the hands the silver over with her apparent bets. That done, she makes her way toward a part of the steel fencing that the smith apparently feels will be good for viewing.
Walking through the door into the Hollow, Hammar is easily a head taller than most of the people that are crowding around just inside. The large man begins to push his own way through the crowds. "Hammar excuse... Hammar Excuse..." Though his words are polite, he is using hands to bodily shove people aside before hopping into the arena. "Hammar hi, Alrec."
Jessamine arrives.
Alrec smiles to the large man, himself having arrive a bit earlier. "Hey buddy." He says to Hammar and pats him on the shoulder, walking with him towards the sand pit.
Finding a cozy place above the rest of the Lower Boroughs rabble, Moira idles in the elevated section of the Hollow, folding her arms and studying those within the general standing space. She dispatches a waif to Acacia with a purse of silver, humming a soft tune as she waits.
The unwashed masses of the common folk don't part for the fairly short Torian as he makes his way into the building. There's an easy gait though, and while they don't part, they don't manage to stay in his way, sliding through them with idle greetings, and some loud calls to others as he moves along. His steps take him towards the bookie, standing in line with the others as green eyes search about the place. There's only a short observation given, and then he moves to the bookie, leaning low and speaking quietly. Eventually a few nods are exchanged, and the grizzled man gives him a clap on the shoulder before moving back to slip into the general throng for now.
Marcas arrives.
Walking into a place she has literally no right to be, in her ridiculously decadent clothing and mirrored mask, Princess Isolde Velenosa looks around, followed by her very not happy with her life choices guard, Jaxon. She sends off a runner with two pouches of silver to Acacia, then looks around for a good place to watch the fights, amused with herself, and darkly so, a mood upon her that seems to have urged her to watch visceral violence. She spies Freja and makes her way toward the woman. "Princess Freja, might I find refuge in your company? I would be honored."
Niccolo enters The Hollow, wearing leathers and a cloak that easily covers most his outfit and him. The hood has been pulled over his head, perhaps making it hard for the man to be recognized by a simple look, but certainly not holding under close inspection. There is no retinue of anything following the duke today, although walking not far from him is a man, also dressed in leathers, minus a cloak.

The cloaked man puts in his bet, then walks over to one of the tables, claiming a place for himself. His companion doesn't sit right away, and instead heads to the bar.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Niccolo before departing.
Moira's interest in the higher ground fades when she spots Torian, and she slips from the elevated space to stalk his steps into the throng, slipping around other bodies with the ease of someone small and unobtrusive. A pleasant smile forms on her lips once she catches him, loitering at his back long enough to prod him in the spine with a finger.
Niccolo has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Acacia had only been loitering near the entrance long enough to ensure everything was in check, gaze brighter when it lands upon Hammar, which leaves the bookie with the thief-quick hands in charge of gathering up all the coin. Each pouch is weighed within the palm of her hand, before it's passed over surreptitiously. The sighting of Moira steals her focus, with a respectful nod granted towards the female through the throngs in the crowd. As silver is passed along, she frees herself, with squabbles over who is currently betting against who breaking up all over the place the moment people walk in. It isn't until Isolde walks in with decadent clothing that she spots Freja, her lips quirking when she forgoes the formal bows for the time being.

Seeking and finding Torian, she moves to clap the man on the shoulder, eyeing him for a bit and then mentioning, "You remember Moira Grayhope, aye, love?"
It's probably not the best idea to taking care of blood and bruises in such a pale blue dress, but here Jessamine is, prepared with a kit of bandages and healing salves. The bag is slung over the crook of her arm, and she's smiling so brightly in such a dark place. Blonde curls have been pulled up halfway, out of her face with the rest left to spill down her back. "I made it!" she tells Acacia with breathless excitement, smoothing her fingers over the fabric of her dress. "Where should I sit?"
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
Torian has joined the General Standing Room.
Arriving on her own, Kima enters the Hollow with an expression upon her face denoting amused curiosity. Upon spying the bookie, the blonde knight approaches the man and places her bet. Afterwards, Kima ambles off to find a good place to situate herself for the upcoming event.
Moira has left the An Elevated Section.
Moira has joined the General Standing Room.
Kima has joined the General Standing Room.
As Alrec and Hammar are talking back and forth, Hammar's eyes seem to be locked onto Jessamine, that is until Alrec elbows him and the large man grunts. "Hammar thanks, Alrec." He nods his head. "Hammar not hurt Alrec eye."
Alistair arrives.
Turning effortlessly towards Jessamine, Acacia grins warmly at the woman and then scans over her from head to toe. She adjusts her stance a bit, apparently working to try to elbow people away from her as she upticks her chin towards the healers alcove, "That alcove over there is for you-- and whoever it is that you can help, love. I appreciate you extending your services for this, really. Feel free to grab a whiskey or something while you wait though. If people start cutting themselves to have you tend them, be sure you charge them an arm and a leg, aye?" Scanning the crowds has her locating Ida, just before, a firm nod of her head provided in acknowledgement. Someone in the corner, Niccolo - with his cloaked state of being - draws her focus for a beat, enough for her head to cock to the side and a smirk to be relinquished.
(OOC) Marcas says: Alrec "Not The Face!" Magaldi
Talen arrives.
Esera arrives.
(OOC) Alrec says: hey, this face is insured
(OOC) Kima grins.
(OOC) Ida has the same thing about her nose!
Isolde has joined the General Standing Room.
Isolde has left the General Standing Room.
Isolde has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Alrec having walked away from Hammar, shouts to the man, "Don't forget your stretches!"
Ida smiles and inclines her head to Acacia, lifting a hand in a wave as well, though she doesn't try to engage her currently. Clearly the Culler woman has much to handle this evening.
"I hope they don't intentionally hurt themselves! That would be so sad," Jessamine tells Acacia in such a mournful tone, eyes wide in horror at the thought. "Thank you, it's not a problem. I'll be right over there, then!" She breezes off to said alcove, supplies in tow, and snatches a drink along the way.
The standing room gets shuffled through rather easily, and Torian finds himself near the edge by the ring itself for a few moments only, quiet chatter with a few of the other patrons there becoming forgotten as Acacia finds her way to him. That clap on his shoulder, and the prodding at his spine have the man pushing upright and turning away from the center to glance over the redhead, then Moira. There's a tilt down of his jaw, and eyes take in her prodding finger as lips curve into an easy grin. "Moira huh? Hard to catch. Remembering girls is easier than other things though." He decides with a quiet laugh, shifting slightly aside as elbows shove, pressing people away to open some room up next to him, his other arm extending to display the open place as one might a chair at the edge of the crowd. "Been sone time, hasn't it? Wanna stand with me and watch the fun? I don't find much occassion to stand with pretty girls of late." He explains, before turning his eyes back to Acacia and giving her a nod.
Freja is holding up her corner of the bar, offering polite nods to the few that pass her but otherwise keeping to herself and her whiskey, eyes on where the fight will take place.
Jessamine has joined the A Gritty Medical Alcove.
"Michal would be aghast, knowing that I'm forgettable!" Moira mock-wails, looking exasperated and then so terribly distraught - though it's soon eradicated, as if such emotions were never there to begin with. (And perhaps they weren't.) Leaving talk of her father's being aghast in the past, the diminutive leader of the Grayhope family sidles up to Torian's side where he made space available, tilting forward toward the ring. "This ought to be fun. Such a good way to spend the night, hmm? Acacia's done so well, keeping people entertained..."
Calista arrives.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Hammar before departing.
A man in charcoal and blood red arrives on the arm of another garbed in black, dread panther hide. The pair wind their way steadily towards the sidelines in the midst of the motions. The Lenosian man present wears a neutral expression but his grey eyes, those are sharp. This man, Talen, looks to the Grand Duchess in his company and murmurs a few words before he finds her a seat and accompanies her there in relative silence. "I won't be very long," he promises.
Watching as a messenger makes their way down into the pit, Hammar listens to the message and arches a brow. "Hammar get kiss!" He looks almost excited. "Princess kiss Hammar..." He turns then toward Alrec. "Hammar need hurt Alrec now."
It starts as merely a thumping of boots to get attention; originating from strategically placed denizens to call attention until it begins to ripple through the crowds and quiet things to only anticipatory murmurs. And elevated on the side platform, within the center of it, is Acacia Culler, one foot hiked up on a wooden crate and the base of a nursed bottle of whiskey anchored to her hip. "Shall we begin??" Dark eyes briefly swerve over to pay tribute to Torian's presence.

The heavy, circular bronze medallion is rolled between her fingers, then spun precisely three times -- a deliberate play to those superstitious in the Boroughs -- before it's tossed in the air, caught, and laid flat upon the back of her hand. A protracted pause is granted to build tension, before it's revealed, only to her, tucked deftly into a pocket as she announces, "The first fight is Admiral Alrec Magaldi of House Pravus, Captain of the Setarco Bullsharks, winner of the Decathalon Gold in the Brawling--"

"Just let 'em fuckin' fight already!"

She's cut off by a gritty shout in the back, one that brings an agreeable bit of laughter along with it and has her exposing teeth to pair with her roguish grin until it settles down, "-- Facing off against Hammar Ulbran-- a towering giant of a man you're all familiar with by now with the Cutthroats' known tactics for being ruthless and violent when business comes to mind. Fighters enter the Pit! You know the rules-- No permanent maiming, no armor, no weapons-- That means no throwing fucking swords or sieves or whatever you're lugging around with you this evening for them to use, folks. Fight ends only when someone's unconscious or must yield via submission. No changing bets during the fight! Fighters-- when you're ready!"
Esera's boots click as she strides into the Hollow, at Talen's side. She does not wear a gown, does not wear any sort of crown, and her hair is left down in waves that tumble shadow black over one shoulder. Her eyes, lined in kohl, are bright as flame, as she looks around with sharp interest. She murmurs to Talen, and though he was good enough to find her a seat, she leaves it as soon as he walks away.
Esera has joined the General Standing Room.
Good old fully cloaked Niccolo lets his eyes linger on Freja briefly, from under the hood of his cloak and he inclines his head in her direction. Seeing Isolde approach, he dips his head at her. His companion, returns with two glasses of whiskey and those familiar with the dukes's guards would recognize him as Lydus, although the man is dressed in simple leathers. And good old Lydus glares at Acacia briefly, before he claims a spot at the table.
Freja has left the A Curved Stone Bar.
Calista arrives to The Hollows a little late but not as late as she was to the tasting the other day. It appears the woman is dressed down in something scandalous as per the norm. Her long hair is swept back into a sharp pony tale, exposing her face and those feline features for once. She glances around the room, tossing a way here and there and goes off to find Isolde.
Talen may or may not have seen Esera's blatant disregard for where she is encouraged to sit, but he does march down to the pits and stand not far from Marcas. A few quiet words are given even as his hard eyes are upon the sands, steely focus unbroken from its purview of Hammar and his soon to be opponent.
Alrec flashes a thumbs up to Hammar with a grin, "That should have been the case from the get-go, friend." He says removing a silk gown and letting it drop on the ground. The Admiral makes his way toward the ring in his pugulist shorts and rolls his shoulders. He smacks his hand in a bit of chalk and pads under his arms. When he is introduced, Alrec holds his golden trophy high for all to see and then turns to Hammar with a roar, "I'm going to destroy you!"
Where the heck is Marcas? Oh! There he is. What is he doing? Is he... meditating? Sure looks like it. Maybe he is taking a nap? Seated on the dirty ground, a large bear fur is tossed over his head, bare shoulders and chest. He looks to be only wearing a pair of dark brown linen pants at the moment. Revealing a scarred up, muscled chest that is littered in tattoos of knotwork creatures like bears, ravens and wolves if one had the eye to tell what one is from another.
Freja has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Alistair would fit right in with the dredges of society, the man having forgone the cloth of the Inquisition for the ruddy and torn outfit of a commoner. He wears the clothing well, though considering his circumstances of birth, he could do far worse. He hangs around the back, as despite shedding his clothing of occupation he hasn't shed his habits.
Hammar is clad in rag-tag clothing that looks near to falling apart, and the shoes he wears have a loose sole that flip-flops with every other step he takes. As Alrec disrobes and moves towards him, Hammar clenches fists about twice the size of a normal mans and gives a yellow-toothed grin. "Hammar whack!" And then he moves with speed that is usually seen in men half his size as he moves toward Alrec. "HAMMAR!"
The general standing room might be crowded, but Torian easily gives people soem rough elbowing to keep them shifted aside from him and Moira, keeping the area relatively clear. His eyes still are looking towards the new arrivals, thick brows tugging upwards a bit before he looks back through his own general throng. Ida get's a nod from the grizzled man before he turns in full, looking down to his side to the diminuitive woman there. "Forgettable? Hardly. Just been some time is all." He counters with an easy chuckle towards Moira. "But, aye. Best entertainment I could hope for, and I'm pretty sure.." His voice trails away as he looks aside, and another filthy mongrel comes dragging his way through the throng, holding two large glasses. One of which Torian snags straight from his hand with an affable grin and a nod to him, "Another, will ya?" He mentions, before his attention turns back to Moira. "It comes with whiskey. Want some?" He asks, offering the mug towards her as his attention drifts towards Acacia, and his voice falls quieter. When she begins to talk, his mug does get raised in salute for her. Once it's back down and he's fallen a bit quieter his eyes turn back aside to Moira, and he offers her a shrug. "She's got a natural talent for it. One I'm afraid I lack. Crowds." He complains with a gruff grunt.

But Torian's voice falls a bit quieter, brows tugging down when Esera finds her way to him, amidst the general throng, though most probably scurried away from her. He offers a nod to the woman, not drawing his arm back in the slightest. "Ello, I'm Torian. And feeling a bit flattered at the moment." He decides then, one brow raising as he observes her. And then the glass gets shifted in her direction, "Uh. Whiskey?"
Talen has joined the The Shallow Arena Floor.
(OOC) Alrec says: Okay, we doing two rounds and then pose alright Hammar?
(OOC) Hammar says: okie
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
(OOC) Acacia says: For those unfamiliar with the system, you can also type: @spectate_combat to view the rolls/current score of damage/fatigue.
Freeing herself up a bit after notes were tallied in a tiny book to the side, Acacia ventured towards Jessamine for long enough to issue one of the guards in place and then beckon towards the female with her hand. "Let's get you down and gritty with the rest of the folks, eh? We'll have Clay watch your things and ensure no one touches 'em. Don't want to be stuck to the side and bored while you're waiting for people to cut themselves. Doesn't sound like such a bad deal at this point, does it?" Flashing her a quick grin, as the noises from the fighting begin to ring out, so too does the energy expand within the arena itself, quickly elevating to an expanding tension which has the acoustics tested.
"Father was always excellent at those things," comments the dark-skinned Grayhope, her mother's foreign roots showing as she studies Torian and the fighters with oblique eyes. "He could have taught you, I'm sure. He would have charged you--" There's a pause here, as if she seeks to indicate it would be quite a fee. "--but he would have taught you." Without answering verbally, she takes the whiskey from the Culler she stands beside, sniffing at the rim of it before drinking down a couple mouthfuls of the contents.



The presence of Esera causes her attention to wane on Hammar and Alrec, and she curtseys with the grace and schooling that would put any noble in their paces if one were going to try and scrutinize the movement. "M'Lady," she greets, attention drifting back now towards the ring.
Alrec turns to meet the wall of a man rushing towards with a fist against his cranium that misses but he then connect on the end of the charge with a hook against one of Hammar's side. Sucking on his tooth, the Admiral chuckles and nods.
Acacia has joined the General Standing Room.
Niccolo accepts the glass of whiskey brought to him, and drinks. His eyes linger on Acacia as she introduces the fighters, but once that is taken care of, he turns his attention to Alrec and Hammar. The mean seems to be engaged in a quiet conversation with Isolde as well, and once Freja joins the table, he offers a small incline of his head to her in greeting. He spots then Calista approaching in her search for Isolde, and dips his head to her as well.
Coming at Alrec, Hammar does not move with his usual berserker rage, perhaps he's a bit nervous with so many people watching him fight, but instead he seems to be testing Alrec's ability with the first couple of hits, one large hand whacking out like a bear swipe and connecting before he is given nearly as hard of a hit back in turn. "Hammar." He mutters before shifting to circle in an opposite direction from what he had been, and moves to attack.
Alrec inflicts moderate damage to Hammar.
Esera takes the glass Torian offers, knocks it back in a long swallow, and returns it to him after, offered to him in one gloved hand. "Thank you," she says, with a bow of her head. She smiles to Moira, as she raises her head again. "Forgive me," she murmurs. "I would not demand a curtsey here, or any formality." Her hold upon Torian's arm tightens, to pull him closer. She murmurs in his ear.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
(OOC) Alistair says: brb
Alistair has left the game.
"Down and gritty? That sounds like such fun," Jessamine beams at Acacia. Her things are settled off to the side of the alcove, then, her fingers dropping them very carefully. "Not a bad deal at all," she agrees, grinning at the redhead. "I think I've finished almost all my whiskey already," she muses, peering down into her now half-empty glass.
Alistair has entered the game.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Marcas before departing.
Alrec growls at the giant man, "Don't be a pussy." He says through clenching teeth and he socks the brute on the nose, hoping to shake the beserker out. Alrec spins to elbow Hammar but he misses which forces him to step back and realign himself.
Isolde looks disappointed at the last exchange, sighing. "Perhaps no kiss for Hammar after all."
(OOC) Alistair says: If someone posed, paged or whispered something to me I missed it.
Getting a pretty decent hit to his nose, a trail of blood begins to slowly dribble down out of the man's nose. "Hammar whack!" He growls at Alrec and moves to do a rush on the man, fists going cray-cray for a moment or two.
"Ah, there you are!" Calista says to Isolde as she finds the woman, thanks to her father, Niccolo. She slips into a seat and turns her attention to those fighting. "Sorry, I'm late." She flashes a smile to the others and introduces herself quietly to Freja.
Calista has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
(OOC) Kima says: Cray-cray. Hammar wins.
Marcas has still been seated with him and Talen seemed to have been engaged in a bit of back and forth whispering. Marcas, well, he continues to sit there with his eyes closed underneath that bear fur. At one point his upper lip curled into a faint sneer but it was quick. A nod of his head and he goes silent again.
Talen looks skyward, staring a hole in the heavens. Why, gods. Why.
Jessamine has left the A Gritty Medical Alcove.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts moderate damage to Alrec.
Freja has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
Freja has left the game.
Alrec rides the avalanche that is Hammar, blocking his face with his arms to midigate the damage. When he does strike it is weak and design to get himself out of Hammar's way.
Going full rage, Hammar manages to connect with two hits and then backs off a bit with a sniffle at his bloody nose. "Hammar." He growls at Alrec before then eyeing the man's stance before moving back in after him. "Alrec lose."
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Alistair looks utterly bored. And grumpy. Then again he often looks like that. One of the low born viewers yells out, "Someone smash a chair over someone's head!" Alistair seems to slightly approve of this recommendation. Of course it didn't say who would do the smashing. Maybe someone in the crowd will toss a chair into the ring as an impromptu weapon! Spice things up.
Freja has entered the game.
Freja has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Calista catches Alistair's voice in the crowd and tips her head in the man's direction.
(OOC) Calista says: Oh not his voice.
(OOC) Alistair :P
(OOC) Alistair says: He wouldn't be so uncouth!
Alrec laughs and spits to the side, his body having taken a beating under the giant man's fist. "It'll take more than that to beat me, cockroach." And Alrec rejoins the fight by taking his fist into Hammar's chest, though not as strong as he would have hoped.
Freja has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
Freja has left the game.
Audric arrives.
Jessamine has joined the A Gritty Medical Alcove.
Getting a light hit to his chest, it allows a bit of a grunt of exhaled-breath from Hammar before he then presses forward once more, fists coming up and he jabs a left out to catch Alrec in the nose, hoping then to follow it up with a big upper-cut.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Late is better than never, Audric supposes as he arrives quite a bit later than he'd intended. The mercenary arrives, looking a little harried and maybe like he just finished up some business or other.
Alrec is having a hard time piercing through the big man's thick hide but he continues with a pattern of minors hits here and there, hoping that, that would eventually add up.
Apostate arrives.
"Fuck him up!"

"Throw sand in his eye!"

"He stole your honey cake, Hammar!"

The last quip receives a mixture of grumbling and laughter from the crowds.
Apostate is leaving Arx - Lower Boroughs - The Hollow - Underground Arena, heading for Apostate's Work Room <OOC ROOM>.
Following up the combination like he had wanted, Hammar the goes to bull-rush Alrec, going to give him a bear-hug to crush some ribs and then in the clinch to do some body-hits. "HAMMAR CRUSH!"
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Audric before departing.
Audric has joined the General Standing Room.
Watching the fight does not necessarily mean that Kima misses Audric's late entry. The mercenary gets a wave from her - if he were to notice, of course.
Freja has entered the game.
Freja has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Alistair converses quietly with Acacia, a glass of whiskey being held between his fingers as he watches the fight.
Audric does, indeed, notice, making a brief stop to pick up a glass of whiskey before heading for the general standing room area, giving Kima a grin on the way.
Alrec is famous for a lot of things, but his most prized ability is in turning the tide. and when Hammar comes at him, the Admiral attempts to shake him with a roll over the giant's back and then a serious kick into his spine to send him forward before coming around him and smacking him with a curved hook. The admiral steps back and turns to the crowd, offering kisses to his fans.
Kima for her part, blows kisses back at Alrec. One should never pass up such opportunities.
With a grunt as his decided moves did not work out all that great for him, and Alrec suddenly gets two good hits in. "Hammar hurt you." He comments to Alrec and spins to try and catch the man in a group of people spectating that might hold him in one spot just long enough, he raises both fists up to hammer them down on either side of Alrec's neck.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts moderate damage to Alrec.
Ida may appear visibly torn watching this fight, wincing when both Hammar or Alrec get hurt, but also cheering when they have their respective successes. A smile is always at the corner of her lips, however, as the bout continues.
Freja has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
Freja has left the game.
Freja has entered the game.
Jessamine holds a hand over her lips as the fight gets a little rougher. "Oh my! Be careful!" she blurts from the healing area, looking on with concern for both men. Realizing how silly she must sound, she sinks back down into her chair with a sheepish smile.
Freja has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Alrec side steps Hammar initial attack, laughing at him. He turns to meet the beast and nods, "You keep saying that but I feel fucking great." And Alrec, using his feet more snaps a kick against Hammar's thigh that lacks the force the Admiral was hoping for.
"Why you use feet, your fist too small to hurt Hammar?" Hammar tries to do some talking back at Alrec, but he's just not intelligent enough to come up with anything. Hammar just presses forward to try and finish this fight strong.
Alrec inflicts moderate damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec chuckles at the man, using his footwork to keep Hammar on edge. There is nothing left for him to say but Alrec radiates a confidence when facing this giant. He raises his knee and brings it down on Hammar's leg with a hard crunch.
"Hammar still crush with hammer." The large man informs Alrec, probably speaking of an earlier fight between the two. Hammar takes in a deep breath, he is beginning to sweat now and he pushes to continue the fight, his arms are moving slower, so defense and offense are both hurting.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Alrec inflicts moderate damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec shakes his head, spitting some blood that collects in under his lip. He motions for the man to come at him and when Hammar is close, Alrec brings a punch to the side of his neck and connects with another, more dangerous smack, against Hammar's temple, "Anyone can buy a nice pair of armor and steel. Focus on this fight!"
Freja has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
Freja has left the game.
Done talking, he is bleeding good and he has sweated himself a bra in his shirt. Hammar rolls his shoulders when he breaks from the clinch. He eyes Alrec and seems ready to just go balls out and either win or lose. He charges, shoulder first in after Alrec, moving to lift and body slam him.
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts moderate damage to Alrec.
(OOC) Marcas says: I will forever see Hammar as Meatloaf from Fight Club now.
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts moderate damage to Alrec.
(OOC) Kima snorts.
(OOC) Calista says: Aww.
Alrec matches Hammar's ferocity and comes at him with the bloodlust of a shark. Abusing the large man's build, the admiral spins around Hammar, hitting him twice with the back of his fist against the head in a dervish whirlwind that betray any attempt in hiding his place of birth, Darkwater Watch.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Esera before departing.
Its as if Hammar's head is swimming in the pond that ALrec is attacking him in, his eyes seem to have difficulty focussing as Alrec continues to whack him into the head over and over. Hammar gives a shake of his head and a gutteral growl before swiping at the Pirate like the bear of a man he is. "Hammar not quit..."
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts minor damage to Hammar.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
Alrec is relentless against the walking dead, knowing full-well how easy it is for things to change. He comes at Hammar by grabbing collar of the giant's shirt and pulling him forward and into multiple fists to the head, "If you quit, I'll kill you." He grows beneath clenched teeth.
"You talk Hammar too much." Hammar complains, growling to pull away from the man and do a quick swat upwards at his chin. Hammar's beard is dripping blood that has collected there at this point. "Hammar not think like Alrec." He gives a spin and an elbow toward Alrec's nose.
Hammar inflicts minor damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
Audric calls from the crowd - "KICK HIM IN THE BALLS." Who this is aimed at, it is anyone's guess.
Hammar inflicts moderate damage to Alrec.
Alrec inflicts serious damage to Hammar.
Hammar falls unconscious.
Isolde shakes her head, clearly disappointed.
Alistair starts clapping as the giant goes down, the man clearly impressed with Hammar's stamina more then anything. Quite the beating the man took, to the very end.
Alrec grunts as he flicks Hammar's attack to the side, he brings his knee into Hammars face and then reinstates his hold on the brute by wrapping his arm around Hammar's throat and choking the man until his body goes limp. The second that happens, the admiral lets go and steps back raising both his arms in victory!
Likely ending up with further brain damage from all the hits to his head, Hammar manages another couple of hits before Alrec gets in one more decent hit and he staggers and falls backward to the ground, a literal cloud of dust rises up around him when he drops, the air escaping his mouth when he hits with a groan. Hammar is likely dragged off toward the healers by two or three large men, so as to allow the other fight to begin, since his and Alrec's took so dang long. Kisses from Princesses if he won is likely forgotten and probably will never be remembered.
"Aw, Master Hammar. You fought well," Ida yells toward the sands and sounds genuinely upset for the man. Then, "Well fought, Admiral," is called over to Alrec, which is followed by a bit of a guilty expression. "Dragonballs, this was the hardest fight to watch."
Calista claps for the participants from her seat where she is thoroughly enjoying whiskey.
Healing time. Jessamine is ready with all sorts of fun things: creams that sting! Bandages! And more booze to hush people in too much pain. As Hammar is brought over, she clucks her tongue a little and busies herself to get him all patched up.
Kima, beside Audric, lifts her hands to her mouth to cheer along with a good many others within the crowd to cheer for the winner.
(OOC) Alistair needs to Afk-arino for a momentino.
There's already a tizzy at the bookie for bets and it scarcely happened after Hammar had fallen, people complaining about the fight being thrown while others insisting that they had it coming and chortling anew-- typical gripes from those who lost and won coin rather than anything serious. A half-assed effort to sweep the blood-stained sand in the pit is made by a lone man with drawn-features, resembling something closer to a crypt keeper than anyone necessary in a place like this -- and the job performed was lacking, as well. Once that's complete, Acacia slips free whilst adding to the applause, on the edge this time rather than from an elevated platform, after winding around Torian and Esera. "Quite an upset when Admiral Alrec puts the infamous Hammar down with a battle of bare fists-- Tch. Mistress Jessamine will be tending those who need it-- both from people pissed at their losses and the fighters themselves. Gotta give the Ulbran credit for refusing to go down though. But let's get on with it while the blood is still wet and the appetites are still hungry."

"Our next match-- and for the final fight of the night." Acacia's focus carves a path between Talen and Marcas, announcing for the rest of the people there once her dark eyes filter across them and she presents a lopsided grin beneath the glow of the torchlight. "We have Talen Artiglio of House Velenosa, the Sword of Lenosia, known throughout much of Arx already for some of his-- memorable displays even upon the Silk-strewn tournament fields-- squaring off against the well-tested Marcus Aodh, Captain of the Redrain Guard and still serving under the Hungry Wolf himself. We're fully expecting something bloody and savage and for you to unleash any pent up animosity that you may or may not have for each other within the 'ring'. Fighters-- when you're ready!"
Niccolo glances at Isolde with some amusement, before setting his glass of whiskey. He joins the others in applause for the fighters. His gaze lingers on Alrec from under his hood, as the man claims victory, but after a few moments it drifts off him, his hand claiming is glass once more.
Alrec has left the The Shallow Arena Floor.
There's a raise of Torian's glass as the big man falls, and he shifts the hand, his only free one, to his lips for a loud whistle. "Good brawl, but bit too clean for my liking!" He yells out, lips settled into an easy grin as he watches the men drag the big man away. His attention draws back around, voice mixxing with the crowds. "More hate! More throwing shit! Lets get a real brawl!" He calls out, a laugh following with as the crowds cheers and jeers erupt, awaiting the next fight, and the grizzled man settles back down into his bit of it, returning to the more calm conversation he had.
Alrec grabs his silk gown and covers his sweating and beaten body. He moves towards the spectator's bench but in passing he gives Talen and Marcas a nod in greeting, before spitting blood to the opposite side. There was an uneasiness in Alrec, perhaps a bloodlust that has risen but he is angry and he turns to the bar wench and growl, "Where is my drink?" He says in a demand.
Alrec has joined the General Standing Room.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Calista before departing.
"Beautiful," Talen emits to Alrec as he passes, stopping just short of the wad of blood-spit that hits the sand. As he makes his way from the sidelines and bench around the arena, he seems to enjoy the exercise after having sat so long. Pausing briefly, he wanders over to the edges and makes conversation with one of the crowd, Audric, waiting for Marcas to strip of his armour. When he seems ready, he returns to the pit, taking his stance. Charcoal hues and sanguine reds make up his outfit, a light attire, far from his usual steel and leather. No small talk.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Alrec before departing.
Marcas shrugs off the bear fur pelt he was wearing, legs pushing himself up to his feet. A few side to side bobs of his head, the Northman slams a fist against his scarred and tattooed chest. He gets intot he ring, rolling out his shoulders, flexing his chest and back. Making his pecs dance: left right left right. Don't act like you aren't impressed! The Captain pets back his messy mop of a mane, petting down his beard as he waits for Talen to get into the ring as well.
(OOC) Alistair says: Baack
As smelling salts are put under his nose, Hammar wakes and looks up as Jessamine is doing her work on him. "Hammar think pretty..." There is a pause and a tilt of his head. "Hammar know you?" He asks curiously, his head is still cloudy from all of those head fights. The man isn't a known brawler, granted he is scary enough he usually doesn't have to go that far in a brawl, but this time he did and only his stamina kept him going, he's no Muhammed Ali, with fancy footwork. Hammar groans and moves to sit up.
Esera cheers for Talen, as he enters the ring, and her cheers rise above the crowds. They are hardly lady-like cheers, but whole-hearted, impassioned.
"If you want tits," Talen finally issues to Marcas, "eat more cakes. Soon you'll be as beautiful as Eugine Grimhall himself." This offer of words is given in low, yet soft bass before he takes a stance, low and fluid. A southern style, promising unpredictability. "Master Marcas, let's play, shall we?"
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Esera before departing.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Alistair tilts his head towards Acacia as she introduces the next round, "Always a pleasure. Hopefully the ropes aren't too tight." He says in an almost teasing tone as he pushes away through the crowds, the spectators surging forward to watch the next fight and the next blood sport.
Marcas inflicts serious damage to Talen.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Hammar before departing.
(OOC) Marcas says: oh wait, guess I need to take off my boots!
(OOC) Alistair says: Combat booties.
(OOC) Marcas says: There, nekkid.
(OOC) Talen says: Anything leather is armour.
(OOC) Marcas says: Right?
(OOC) Acacia says: Yeah. Remove gloves/boots.
(OOC) Marcas says: New to this whole like.. system.
(OOC) Calista is okay with nekkid fighting, too.
(OOC) Talen says: Talen'll not think twice, it's cool.
(OOC) Kima says: S'how we do it in Southport.
(OOC) Esera says: THE HORROR
(OOC) Isolde chants. "Naked. Naked. Naked. Naked."
Talen's first strike barely touches Marcas and the crutal reply that eventually comes serves to put the initial scuffs to shame. A solid, powerful punch staggers the Lenosian male and he clutches the wounded spot with a gloveless hand. When he rises again he knits his brow, the southerner steps forward in a determined march to bridge the gap. "You punch is worth notice."
(OOC) Alrec says: you savages, get some silk shorts!
(OOC) Moira likes those tattoos. Naked please.
There is just a wolfish smile from Marcas when Talen talks about tits. "Ye'd fancy a lad with tits on 'em wouldn't ye? Ye wee fairy." and then it begins. The large Northman moving in, trying to establish a grapple hold on Talen, "Agh, ye smell like a woman, yar skin is soft as one too." he is battered in the nose for his troubles.



"If I wanted a kiss, I'd go to yar mother!" and Talen is rewarded with a massive fist being thrown into his solar plexus after the compliment is paid to him.
Talen inflicts moderate damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
(OOC) Alistair says: Lewd.
Calista rolls the edge of her glass slowly over her bottom lip and sighs. "Who is the other man? Fascinating.." Obviously chatting with the folks at her table, but yeah, she said it out loud, Marcas' savage display is entertaining.
"My mother is dead," Talen says with abrupt reply, "if that is how you prefer them." The reply isn't much mindful of the taunts, a man built to outlast them. The punches, however, those are harder. Every collision seems to find him further bruised and he sinks in accordance with their demands; breath lost, head bowed, fingers clenched. When he tries to lash out in reply he is only marginally successful, the Redrain man's crunch of fist to his rib causing an abrupt shout. Stumbling backward he then leans darts to the sidelines, getting ever closer to being boxed in.
Calista shouts from elsewhere, "C'mon Talen! Don't be such a pussy!"
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Calista has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
Marcas's fists are like hammers when they strike. The solid slap of flesh and bone against flesh and bone a familiar noise in these halls. The scarred up Captain takes Talen's fists with minimal display of unease about it. "I was wonderin' why she was so quiet." he grins at Talen darkly, moving in to try and snatch him him up in a grapple. Redrains would know the stance, the steps. Starting to initiate the Northern bear wrestling fighting style.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Calista has joined the General Standing Room.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Taking a cue from something Niccolo mentioned, Calista rises from her seat, she grabs her whiskey, maybe even the bottle and sashays to the General Standing Room.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Niccolo rises at his table, and when he does, Lydus tries to do so too. The cloaked man puts a hand to his companion's shoulder, encouraging him to stay where he is. He glances at Calista, before he walks over to the general standing room, looking for a spot to claim for himself.
Niccolo has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
Niccolo has joined the General Standing Room.
Esera cheers for Talen again, a full-bodied cheer, all her voice in it.
Torian raises that empty glass of whiskey to his lips to take a drink, and finds it empty. There's a short observation of it, and he looks to the pit, then to the glass, before tossing it into the pit. "We need more viewer participation!" He calls out to the throng amidst cheers and jeers.
Esera throws a handful of coins (a large handful, at that -- thousands of them) at the edge of the ring; some scatter into it.
Alistair has joined the A Shadowy Back Table.
Marcas, at some point, wraps up Talen's left arm. Teeth bared, taking punches into his face, a few slapped to the side before he tries to twist the man off balance. Driving a knee into his stomach. Letting go of the arm to rush in with a glancing blow from his elbow to Talen's jaw. Taking a few short steps back with his fists raised. This psychotic smile spreading across his face. What was that about Northmen and blood rages or blood frenzies? That look in the Captain's eyes is a touch on the unhinged side.
The shattering of the glass had brought sharp shards abruptly into the ring, burying themselves amid the sand that the two fighters had brought. But a handful of silver coins glittering on their descent in the Borough arena is enough to stir chaos, bodies suddenly abruptly clamboring over each other in an attempt to score coins with neighbors shoving neighbors to try to claw some of it over watching the fighters. Hands are upraised by those who didn't dive for them immediately, with a few extra punches and elbows abruptly thrown.
Calista finds Esera making it rain and she slips in beside her liege. "Here you go, your grace, take it straight from the bottle." offering up the whiskey to the leather clad Grand Duchess.
Talen's ability to reply to the taunts of someone well designed to provoke are somewhat hampered. The Sword of the Velenosa is far more injured than his counterpart but he does not give up-- far from it. Some of the cheers from the audience are absorbed by the southern male in dark attire, causing him to glance up only briefly. As if in answer to their call he leans over the railing and looks sharply to the audience, spotting one of the lit torches. "Give me that," he growls to the audience, waiting patiently as Marcas does his moment of show; fists raised, psychotic smile in place.
"We met a little while ago. At the card game?" Jessamine reminds gently, giving Hammar's arm a gentle pat before she begins to wrap it up. "Here, hold veeeery still. This will make it feel better soon." She dabs away at any blood, and cleans off her hands once she's finished with her medical work. "How are you feeling?" Her gaze flicks up to look toward the ring, watching the two men fight vigorously.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts serious damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Rules are rules, but it's hard to dictate who is doing what with the current commotion offering ample distraction. If someone grabbed a torch and flung it into the center, only a handful of people might notice how it got there and who the culprit was.
"Hammar not happy he lose" He tells Jessamine when she responds to him, but then he shrugs his shoulders. "Hammar fight good, not good enough." As she does her work, Hammar winces a little and nods as she finishes up, moving to stand slowly. "Hammar go lay down. Home."
Lit torch? LIT TORCH?! FIRE BAD! Marcas rushes Talen, roaring LOUDLY as he does so. A fist reared back that connects with a solid crack against the man's jaw. Marcas is rewarded with a few hits from the hot torch but that torch? Only seems to piss off the Northman more.



Marcas grabs Talen by the shoulder and spins him around. Bringing Talen's back to Marcas' chest. The Redrain Captain didn't even buy the man dinner first! Another roar that is likely to deafen the Sword in one ear as Marcas picks up Talen and bends backwards.



A GERMAN SUPLEX FROM OUT OF NOWHERE!



Slamming Talen back on that broken glass and coins and some of the spectators. Leaving Marcas pounding a fist on his chest and howling out in a battle rage. Living up to the expectations of just about every imagery of a Northman to be one could guess.


It's rather clear that Acacia defers to Torian, and if it weren't, the glint in her eyes when she pitched her darkened gaze up towards him and then the way it deliberately strayed aside to fend off some of the clamboring rabble, or rather, her people, was proof enough. Her hand had tucked aside the head of one of the skinnier folks, a shove almost protective for a bit, but it had them stumbling head on for Niccolo. It's only then that her focus flicked up towards him, stillness in the roving for a time, before she smirks wryly. A flash of the fight in the crowds drew her attention back to the commotion in the pit before she could give it much notice though.
Torian draws in a sharp breath, a wince and a shrug of his shoulders as he watches the big man slam the Lenosian down atop the crowd and glass and coin. "That was unexpected." He admits, a faint chuckle coming from him as he watches, before giving another patron scrambling nearby a kick aside, rather than further into the pile as the spectators who got crushed begin to kick and thrash as well. He looks about, canting his head as he seems to gauge the area, and begins kicking and shoving further people from going for more coins. "No riots, Lads." He calls out, before his voice falls a bit quieter, for Esera and company nearby. "I think I bet on the big one, admittedly. Lets see if the torch can lose me some money, aye?"
Talen is not about to hit Marcas with the torch but he certainly waves it in an effort to buy a few moments, to keep him at bay. The embers, they flicker and drift, the cinders that float upon the air a moment of distraction. Marcas' rage sees through it, the northman's effort to slam into him not escaped in time. A low growl, violent sound, the crimson and black of Talen being merged into the brown hues of the captain. Wrestling moves he's unused to grip him, lift him, then throw him into the crowd. As he clutches at Torian, using the man to propel him upward as he steps out of the general standing room and back into the pit. Marching forward, he glowers, inhaling sharply and exhaling as equally rough. No words, incapable, he breathes heavy, sweats heavy and then charges in sudden reckless effort; a last stand.
"Oh my," Jessamine looks up, her eyes filled with such worry. "You'll get it next time, I'm certain," she murmurs to Hammar solemnly, with a gentle pat. "Home is a good idea. Sleep well. Make sure you change that bandage, or it will hurt before you know it."
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Niccolo's attention is mostly on the fight, although there is a hint of a smile that touches his features when he catches Esera's glance. However, when he turns back to the fight, he becomes serious as Talen gets slammed against the ground. Movement happens to catch his eye, and that has him moving out of the way when he sees the stumbling his way, using his hands to catch and deflect as necessary. His eyes linger on Acacia then, and another hint of a smile touches his lips. It is a brief quick thing, quicker than the time his gaze rests on the woman. He looks back to the fight as Talen recuperates, his head lifting while he continues to watch.
Esera watches the fight, and if she'd been distracted by conversation before, she's all but unblinking now. She does not cheer, but there's little doubting that every breath and each beat of her heart is given toward the outcome of this fight -- whatever it might be.
Torian doesn't stop or falter at all when Talen uses him to help himself up, actually offering an arm to aid him back to his feet, and a hand swipes from glass from the mans shoulder as he moves back into the ring. "Burn'em up." He calls to the man, voice raising in a hoot as the other moves back into the pit, before falling quieter, and looking aside to the others nearby to continue speaking.
Kima can't help it, she shouts out to Talen, "What, does Lenosian brawling call for honor and integrity or are you going to fucking fight to win!?"
Talen is able to lift his arms, block and prevent the most simple of hits but he's breathing with a certain exhaustion plain to the audience. Marcas' barbaric, brutal collisions are just eating away at his frame, rangy reduced on each brutal smack. The Sword knits his brow and tries a slightly different tactic when he has to lumber forth, burden of his injuries taking its toll. Every hit is slower, every deflection less accurate. When he kicks up sand, an arc of sprayed grit into Marcas' face it doesn't stop him for long and a gutteral sound is given as he's shoved roughly. Kima's yell is heard and he turns, raising his forearms to fend off a punch. "You want to fucking fight a Redrain bear, you vapid cunt?" A brief, unsubtle offer of trade, before he's backing off in defense from Marcas' motions.
(OOC) Marcas says: bahaha
Talen inflicts minor damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts moderate damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Audric tips his head to the side, giving Kima a brief grin. "You know, I don't think I read anywhere in the rules that you -can't- tag someone in," he offers. "I didn't read them very thoroughly, though."
A voice in the crowd calls out. "Oi! I think dis about to be a tag team match! Get in there Kima and punch him in the nards!"
"There is honor and integrity in an underground, no rules fight? I'm so confused." Isolde pipes up from her table with a light laugh.
Talen inflicts moderate damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
With a final glance to the ring, Moira Grayhope slips from the Hollow with a soft clucking noise.
Moira is leaving Arx - Lower Boroughs - The Hollow - Underground Arena, heading for Arx - Lower Boroughs - Back Alley.
Moira has left the General Standing Room.
Kima laughs when Talen calls her out, and laughs yet more when further voices call for the fight to turn into something of a tag team match. "Naw, I don't want to fight the bear." She looks around, then, struck by an idea, finding Acacia amidst the crowd, she calls loudly, "Is there anything against giving one of the men a favor?" Such as ladies are wont to do during more proper duels with blades.
There is a side-glance towards Kima, and another back to Isolde, when they speak. Niccolo's attention returns to Talen. The duke pulls back the hood of his cloak, although the cloak itself continues to cover most of his body the way it's worn. Those dark brown eyes of the duke, remain intense as he searches Talen's eyes, studying the younger man. The fighting moves seem to be of less interest than the face of the Velenosa ward.
There's an easy look towards Kima, before Torian had already answered, her dark eyes roving towards his and holding once more. But it's a grin which sprouts first upon her features, far too effortlessly, her shoulders rolling back as she remarks, simply, "See, love? You should come to these things more, Torian. It's certainly worth it, aye?"
Indeed, the Redrain Bear doesn't let up. As Talen tries to go on the defense and block, Marcas is throwing haymakers that either connect with the side of Talen's noggin or just manages to shove the Sword's own fists into his face. Perhaps growing bored of that tactic or tired of seeing Talen's face covered? Marcas bellows out a roar as he goes low, bends down and picks Talen up by waist and throat and slams him hard against the ground at one point.



Oddly, the Redrain Captain doesn't kick him when he is down. Though certainly doesn't give him time to recover once he is on his feet. Hands on Talen's shoulders, he is given a firm headbutt to the face but blood and sweat means it is a glancing blow on something that would probably of otherwise broken the Sword's nose. Marcas lets him stagger back, smiling with bloodied teeth and dark eyes, "Aye, jess as I thought. Yer all showman ship an' talk and silks on a tournament ground but when it comes to gettin' dirty an' bloody in the shit ye turn soft an' tear as easy as yer fookin' silk." he chuckles darkly, spitting blood off to the side. "Come boy..." he stands up straight, wiggling his fingers in the 'bring it' fashion. "Come teach me them mannars ye wanted teh at The Spirits.".
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Calista before departing.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Hammar before departing.
There are rowdy messengers but one grabs Calista's attention and she moves out of the pit for a moment to see about sending something back. It's horribly scribbled but she puts her red lip mark at the bottom and pinches the messenger's cheek before he goes.
Grunt, exhale, growl, the sounds Talen makes are at odds with the way he acts. Every move he makes is fluid in start, but it's certainly hindered by the bruising, the ache. Eyes narrowed, lips set into a line, the grey of his focus on Marcas is unperturbed by the result of the combat. When Marcas uses his own high guard against him and lifts him by the waist, he's soon slammed into the ground with a choking sound. It's hard not to, really; the impact is phenominal.
Audric lets out another laugh, finishing off his glass and striding out of the crowd for a moment. He speaks quietly to one of the sellswords he came in with, who promptly scuttles off. Once he's got a fresh glass of whiskey, he heads back to Kima's side - and a pair of his men come with him, one freshly returned with a coil of rope. "As requested," he says, brightly.
Kima takes the rope that Audric presents her with, giving the man a happy little grin. "My thanks, Captain-General," said before she quick-jogs to the edge of the ring. Where the knight promptly does a fast bit of knot work before the rope is raised above her head and twirled around. Once ready, she looses it, and, grinning a bit perversely calls out, "My favor, to Marcas Aodh!" The bear gets lasso'd, albeit barely.



"Quick," she calls over her shoulder to the other two mercenaries, "Fucking help me hold him!"
(OOC) Marcas says: Kick him in the nards! // WereMarcas doesn't have nards! // Kick him in the nards anyways!
Jessamine has left the A Gritty Medical Alcove.
Jessamine has left the game.
Torian's response to @kima's original knotwork and lassoing is a hearty chuckle, but at her words the man lets out a snarl, and he takes steps over to her. "Hold him? No. You drop the rope now unless you want to fight someone with it tied about your torso." He hisses the words, his shorter stature little to restrain his rage as his jaw tenses visibly.
With Princess Freja potentially still in the crowds somewhere, the twirling of the rope overhead had caught Acacia's attention faster than anything else. She's scarcely able to dip her head towards Ida, distraction abruptly taking hold when she steps closer towards Niccolo in order to watch the scene with one hand moving towards her hip and a forward tip upon her heels suggesting she's on the verge of intervening.
Esera draws closer to Kima, to brush her hand against the woman's. She shakes her head to her.
And just like that, Niccolo is motion. He pushes through the throng of people, with little effot and when he reaches Kima, his hand lands on the pommel of his sword, the man spins, weapon in hand, cutting at the lasso. "Do not. Interfere, Lady Kima," he says to Kima, his eyes smoldering.
Ida has left the General Standing Room.
Ida is leaving Arx - Lower Boroughs - The Hollow - Underground Arena, heading for Arx - Lower Boroughs - Back Alley.
Audric laughs again, clearly amused. He holds up his hand, signaling his sellswords to stop as soon as Torian starts forward. "A good try, Lady Kima," he says. "Admittedly, I thought you were just going to give -him- the rope."
Talen inflicts moderate damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts minor damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts moderate damage to Marcas.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Hammar before departing.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Marcas inflicts serious damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts serious damage to Marcas.
Jessamine has entered the game.
Marcas inflicts moderate damage to Talen.
Talen inflicts serious damage to Marcas.
Talen inflicts very serious damage to Marcas.
Marcas inflicts serious damage to Talen.
Talen falls unconscious.
(OOC) Calista says: Wow, that caught up quick t the end.
Hammar wakes up.
Talen's moment of clarity is when he's bloodied, when he's bruised, when the last few moments have him cornered and being punched. Vicious, violent, exhaustive lands of his fist collide with Marcas. They crunch against bone, shluck against flesh, palm striking and knee sinking in to soft tissue. When he's given final reply, however, that signals the end of it. The southerner is a man of survival mentality and like one who fights blacking out in drunkenness there is a clear will to remain upright, to remain able to fight. Marcas' throat is the target of the first strike, his stomach the next with his knee. When the very serious collision of elbow to jaw is given he exposes his entire torso, obviously ready to be put down against the ground by the Redrain wrestler.
Calista bites her finger and curses under her breath. She moves over to another messenger who's got something for her and she drowns herself in some more of that burning whiskey. "Did you watch that fight?" She tells the young man as she brings the piece of parchment up to her face and fans herself before reading it.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Calista before departing.
What had been obvious commotion at the verge of riots before, swelling into crowd interference and otherwise, ended up with a near-present silence and just a murmuring when the heavier trading of blows quickly surmounted into one of the other things audible. That echo of flesh striking flesh, fused with that grislier squelch of blood was more prominent than any other words which might've taken place, with almost all eyes trained on Marcas.
Alistair has left the A Shadowy Back Table.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Alrec before departing.
Isolde stands, finally, from the table, and moves with fluid grace and shadowed by a big burly guard, toward Esera and leaning in to murmur to her.
Esera leaves the general standing room -- pushes her way through it, if she must, though it is more likely the crowd parts for her. She strides down into the ring, the split skirt of her coat an arc of shadow behind her, her long hair a shadow too. She kneels in the dirt beside Talen's unconscious body; glass cracks beneath her knee. She traces the line of his jaw with one finger, follows his jaw down to his throat, feels for his pulse. She leans in close enough to hear it, the beat of his heart -- and then close enough to kiss him, upon the lips. Not a liege's kiss for her servant, no. There is a passion in that kiss that burns bright as any flame.
The rope is released, allowing it to shush rapidly from her hands. She coolly appraises Niccolo, where his hand is, and the look in his eyes. Whatever else happens within the ring is suddenly of little interest to her. Holding her hands up for both Esera and Niccolo to see, the knight walks away.



"Well, that would have been a little less exciting, don't you think?" She asks of Audric, smile amused.
The wet smacks of battered and bruised flesh sound out amongst the crowd. It got VICIOUS and FAST. To the point Marcas isn't running his mouth. Whatever 'mannars' Talen was asked to teach the Northman were indeed taught in spades. There were a lot of overconfident hits allowed on the part of the Captain, taking blows to the stomach or face in order to get in close.



A twist of an arm, a strike to a shoulder. A strike to the jaw, a knee to the stomach. Forcing the wind out of the Sword. The elbow to Marcas' jaw has his head twist to the side with a click of teeth that, surely, some are cracked now. Two big hands are joined together, raised above his head and Talen is put down with a sudden slam to the side of his head that sends Marcas spinning and stumbling a few paces. Barely keeping his feet, hands on his knees as he pants. Looking back to the knocked out body of his opponent. Then up at the crowd.
Hammar is leaving Arx - Lower Boroughs - The Hollow - Underground Arena, heading for Arx - Lower Boroughs - Back Alley.
Hammar has left the The Shallow Arena Floor.
"Alas," Audric says. "You're probably right." He folds his arms over his chest as the fight comes to an end, frowning briefly. "Well. I thought Talen was about to clench it there at the end."
Alistair departs from the shadowy table in the back and moves through the crowd towards Acacia. The Inquisitor taking a moment to collect his winnings from the bookie. "You will clean the pit thoroughly I presume. A mixture of water and milk yes? And new dirt?" He states, in words and a tone that is very much not a suggestion. He glances back once more towards the fighters and the pit, though his gaze falls low and stares at the blood splattered ground before he looks back to the host of this grand little event.
With Kima reprimanded and her rope cut, Torian offers a nod to Niccolo before his attention turns back to the remainder of the fight, though he remains nearby until she moves away. And the grizzled man gives his head a shake, moving towards Acacia in the crowd as he watches the endings of the brawl then.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
Niccolo turns his gaze from Kima to Torian, offering him a small dip of his head. There's a twirl of his weapon, and with it, the duke returns it to its sheathe. He remains close to the action now, his arms crossing over his chest as the fight continues. Eyes narrow at the beating that Talen goes on to receive. When Esera runs to the arena, the duke does not try to stop her. He watches her, though, and watches the kiss in silence. "I think he could use a healer, right about now," he points out, unnecessarily so.
Isolde looks utterly confused and she motions to Niccolo. "I will make sure he is all right when we get back to the Estate Papa. He is in no immediate danger." She watches Esera, utterly confused.
Jessamine has left the game.
Calista turns away from the fight now, passing Isolde as she edges towards the back. Fingers lightly graze the woman's arm as she slips away.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Calista before departing.
Calista has left the General Standing Room.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Calista before departing.
It takes time for the crowd to warm up once more, leaving Marcas' gaze riveted upon them and the interaction between Esera and Talen certainly holding the silence for some time. It starts only as a slow clapping, uncomfortable and lingering, with the movement of the Hood upon his departure all the more obvious. Like a rippling wave, once he goes through, more people begin to add to it, until it becomes an echoing cheer that cuts through, with congratulations being granted and more of the typical commotion adding to it when people begin the process of complaining about their winnings and losses once more.
Jessamine has entered the game.
Jessamine edges closer to the pit, ready to provide some patching up and smelling salts and all the aid a healer can provide. Esera's movement and claim of the unconscious Talen makes her slow in her steps, and she sighs wistfully. "How romantic," she coos appreciatively. And then she presses on, closer, her gentle. "I can tend to him, have him awake in a snap," her fingers rustle around in search for something in her bag.
Calista is leaving Arx - Lower Boroughs - The Hollow - Underground Arena, heading for Arx - Lower Boroughs - Back Alley.
Unconcious Talen is a terrible kisser; no really, he is-- passive and unsubtle in his inexplicable disinterest of the archduchess, the Sword of House Velenosa craves nothing but rest. Sleeping Handsome. Despite the heat of the kiss he is only bloodied and bruised, fallen in the sand with the right of any warrior bested in combat. Marcas' victory reigns over the pair of crimson and shadow, their silence bought by his incapacitation.
Esera bows her head to Jessamine. "Please," she says, and though she remains there, kneeling in the dirt and the broken glass, she hardly gets in the healer's way.
Talen wakes up.
Marcas stands up straight and drops his head back, breathing heavy as his tattooed and scarred chest rises and falls. One eye swollen shut, lower lip looking all pouty from being swollen up. Blood covers half his face from a cut to his brow, blood covers his frame. Some of it is his, some of it is Talen's. A stumbled step back, he wipes blood off his face. Flicking his fingers and hands. There is no battlecry or gloating from Marcas. There is no cheering for himself or raising of his hand. Instead he makes his way to Talen, looking to Esera and back to Jessamine. "He gonna be alright?" he asks them both through panting breaths. One knee is taken beside the Sword and with busted lip, Marcas smiles, patting his shoulder. "Ye hit like a real Northman when ye get good an' pissed." he compliments him.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
"Welcome back," Jessamine greets the Sword, perhaps a little bit too cheerfully, after waving some smelling salts underneath Talen's nose. Satisfied, she screws the cap back on and tucks the bottle into her bag of supplies. "He'll be fine, don't worry," she assures both Esera and Marcas. "I think the two of you could use some bandages, though, hmm?"
"As oft is customary, there's ties which bind the winners to the ancient stones here--" Acacia's hand had strayed with familiarity to Torian's shoulder, cupping about it briefly, before she'd stepped forward to the center to draw attention, amending easily, "-- or really, to the fact that they won in the Underground Arena." A pair of dark-stained boxes arise, shorter than most weapons, exposed to the crowd as engraved boot knives, more for symbolic measure than anything else, and then one is passed to Alrec and the other towards Marcas. "These knives were commissioned from and designed by Mistress Ida Smith, as subtle reminder to be carried of the existence of the Hollow and the blood spilled there. Anyone who wins fighting here will receive one, as well as the coin purse to go with it." At that sentence, both the pouch and the knives are presented before Marcas, even with his concerned state and Alrec within the crowds. "That concludes the fighting for the evening, though drinks can be shared and wounds can be tended as bets are contributed. Good bloody show from all involved."
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
(OOC) Acacia says: I can't give the knives, so pick them up, please.
Acacia drops a stylized, obsidian-hilted steel boot knife.
Acacia drops a stylized, obsidian-hilted steel boot knife.
Alrec bows his head respectfully taking his prize with pride. There is nothing for him to say. He looks up to Marcas and gives him an approving nod.
Alrec picks up a stylized, obsidian-hilted steel boot knife.
"Well!" Audric says, tipping his glass back to drain it. "That was as entertaining as I'd hoped it would be. Maybe I'll have to try my hand in the next bout." He grins at Kima, showing teeth. "I haven't been in a good brawl in ages. I'll have to have someone throw me a chair, though. Never get into a fistfight without one."
Marcas picks up a stylized, obsidian-hilted steel boot knife.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
Torian watches in relative silence, though he's nearby for most of the payoffs going out, and there's a nod here or there to go along with them. The Culler man does however clap along with the crowd about as soon as it starts to begin. It falls soon after though, and his attention turns to the woman beside him, leaning close and speaking. After she's made her way up to speak herself, he cheers amidst the other commoners, a hoot following as he snags another glass of whiskey, before slipping out, still working his jaw in tight knots.
Torian is leaving Arx - Lower Boroughs - The Hollow - Underground Arena, heading for Arx - Lower Boroughs - Back Alley.
Torian has left the General Standing Room.
The duke watches the reaction of the crowd for a moment, inclining his head. Niccolo then glances at Isolde, dipping his head to her words, his eyes lingering on her, before he looks back at Talen and Esera. Gratitude is expressed to Jessamine by the duke when she approaches the downed man, in the way he looks at her. When Marcas approaches the duke adds to him, "He'll be fine," in assurance.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Acacia before departing.
"Be sure to do it away from any windows, hey? Or..." And here Kima chuckles lowly. "Do. So long as there's open water on the other side. Hm," she tilts her head, watching as the winners are presented with their awards. "You don't suppose Marcas with be too cross with me, do you? Nothing a bit of hard liquor and some busty lasses won't fix. Anyway, you can always count on me to throw you a chair."
Talen Talen's reaction to the salts are sudden, agitated and violent. Jessamine is given a sudden glare, a fist lifted and ready to punch the offending woman for her rousing efforts. "Grrnggh," he gives in momentary lapse of composure, before quickly retaining his decorum. When he turns his head, looking around he sees a mixture of faces; Esera, Marcas, the healer who attended him. "Yes," he permits of the bandages, but Esera has much of his focus. An unashamed touch, a reach for her, he half sits upward to grasp her forearm. Marcas' claim si given a narrowed set of eyes in reply then he nods once, agreeable. "We must talk sometime, Master Marcas," he says without much more. "Now go, enjyo your victory, collect your silver. You are owed a great deal of coin." Murmurs are given to the Archduchess of flowers, his own pouch thrown to Jessamine in thanks.
(OOC) Kima says: will**
Marcas chuckles at Jessamine, nodding to the Duke and Esera. "I need a fookin' drink is what I need." he tells her, getting to both feet. A sharp nod given to Talen, "Aye." is all he says, leaving the Sword to be attended too. Leaving Marcas aaaaall by himseeeeelf. He steps out of the ring, when he does so he snatches up the rope that was around him at one point. Idly drawing it between two bloody hands as he makes his way to Kima.
"I haven't jumped through a window in..." Audric starts, then pauses. "Yesterday. Okay, I have told you before that I do have this slight problem with windows. It's barely my fault."
"But only barely," Kima replies to Audric. In fact, she is so busy talking with the man that she is paying absolutely no attention to the world around her. This may be the one time where a bear successfully sneaks up on someone.
Jessamine squints down at Talen, backing up just a little when he reacts-- well. Like anyone would when abruptly woken back up. "Now, now, no need for that. Please don't break my nose," she requests in a polite, gentle tone. She's quick with her work, gingerly wrapping up the exposed bleeding spots she finds. "Rest up," she insists simply. Her expression falls into a more neutral one, but she accepts the coin without fanfare. "Drinks help too," she tells Marcas, her smile faint. "At any rate-- don't hesitate to contact me if you need further assistance," she tells them all, while rising back to her feet and dusting herself off. She lingers, there, shifting her weight from side to side as she gives the exit an uncertain, and perhaps slightly worried, look.