|
Post by Charlotte on Jun 11, 2015 11:37:32 GMT -6
Despite being a territory essentially under light martial law thanks to both bandits and monsters alike, Laus’ capital city still supported an active underground market. It was largely thanks to the trade embargo Santaruz had placed on Lausian goods, meaning anything from Laus was now black market. Bad for the merchants who didn’t stray from the straight path, but great for the men and women who made their living off of transporting stolen or illegal goods.
Of course, with the black market came a handful of different underground organizations that worked to keep it thriving. Thieves and smugglers guilds, independent interests, all making sure their latest and greatest recruits and seasoned market veterans were up to snuff. Undergrounders of all experience levels were being urged - or forced, in certain cases - to prove their prowess where they hadn’t had to in the past, before they could even think to get a job. Just having references wasn’t good enough anymore. Clients wanted to see with their own eyes that you were good.
As a result of the new underground climate, a few “fight nights,” as everyone was calling them, hosted by the guilds had sprung up around Laus, which the undergrounders were using to practice, hone their skills, or, well, show off. All you had to do was get an invite and participate in at least one fight to go.
While it wasn’t something the blonde would normally partake in, considering the events of the past month or so she needed to be more comfortable fighting, both defensively and offensively. So she obtained an invite to a particular fight night being hosted by a few members of a local thieves guild, the Black Watch. It hadn’t been easy, but she had been lucky enough to be on very good terms with their guildmaster.
The place she’d been told to go to was just a basement under an old tavern run by one of their members on the outskirts of town, so the young woman had come ready for anything. As soon as she approached the back door of the place, she knocked as she’d been instructed, waiting until the door creaked open, a pair of beady eyes staring through the crack at her. “Hmm. Hadn’t heard from you in a while… thought you were dead.”
“I’ve been busy, Laurent, you know how it can be.” Charlotte smiled as the door shut momentarily before opening again, ushering her down a set of stairs and into the cellar. Her skin was prickling as she stepped down, memory racing to nightmares of the cellar in the Isles, but she did her best to push them out of her mind.
While the tavern upstairs wasn’t very large, the cellar was surprisingly roomy, all things considered. Crates and barrels had been moved to the side to clear a space in the middle of the room, where two young men were already shirtless and grappling with one another. The air was saturated, dank and musty, but it didn’t bother Charlotte much at all as she strode over to a crate nearby the current match, taking a seat and watching intently. What else could she expect with a bunch of sweaty, bloody men fighting in a cellar?
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jun 15, 2015 20:39:12 GMT -6
Charlotte stayed silent, eyes narrowed and focused as the two men’s frustrated and strained grunts filled the cellar. The more broad-shouldered and bulky of the two had a clear advantage as he pinned his smaller, less skilled competitor to the floor, elbow flattening the man’s cheek into the dirt. After a moment of flailing and trying to get out of the grip, the smaller of the two yelled in frustration. “OUT!”
With a boisterous laugh the larger rolled off of his challenger, standing and brushing off his shoulders as the other scrambled to his feet, red in the face and clearly distressed as his loss as he left the center of the room. Charlotte ‘tched’ with her tongue; while she was no fighter, she also wasn’t a fool; she knew you couldn’t beat a man like that at his own game of brute force. The winner looked around the room, stroking his beard as he considered his next challenger. It took only a moment for his eyes to land on Charlotte.
“Didn’t expect no pretty girl down here tonight,” he grinned, showing a few missing teeth. “If you here to fight, you betta’ just get it over with so you can go home.”
Charlotte smiled, gently dropping down from the crate she’d been perched on. “Nice to meet you too,” she purred as she unbuttoned and stripped off her leather vest, pulling her shirt over her head until she was only in a tight black sleeveless shirt, black leggings, and a pair of slim boots. She noticed how the man’s eyes looked over her, distracted for a moment by her figure. Good. Something she might be able to use to her advantage.
The blonde slinked to center of the room, bending her knees slightly and leaning forward as she readied herself to start. There was no referee or linesman to tell them when to start or stop, so she simply waited for her opponent to ready, watching his movements and determining how best to approach. He was a head and a half taller than her, and his neck was as thick as his overly built biceps. He honestly didn’t look like he was a part of the Black Watch, though that didn’t mean he wasn’t some muscled meat-head they hired to guard the guildmaster or something like that. From what she’d seen, he relied on using brute strength to overpower his opponent, which meant Charlotte couldn’t let herself get grabbed, and she needed to tire him out.
Waiting for him to make the first move, the young woman lifted on her toes as soon as she saw him lunge towards her, side-stepping him to the right as he skidded to a halt, barely avoiding crashing into a few of the crates. A few of the men watching chuckled, which seemed to ruffle the burly man’s feathers as he tried the same thing again, only to have Charlotte dodge away again, sending him straight towards the wall.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jun 17, 2015 20:52:29 GMT -6
Her opponent recovered quickly, which was to be expected. With a roar he turned on his heel and charged Charlotte again, only this time the blond wasn't quick enough, the man's shoulder connecting with hers as she failed to sidestep his charge. The woman stumbled back with a yell, and seeing her moment of weakness, the brute grabbed her shoulder and using his advantage to throw her to the ground.
As soon as her back connected with the cold stone floor Charlotte felt the air forced from her lungs; no matter how hard she tried to breathe in, she could not find any way to do so. She kept her eyes open just long enough to see the man as he tried to drop down on her body, and while breathless, the blonde rolled to her left, just barely avoiding being crushed under the man's incredible girth. After two rolls and on her back again, Charlotte finally gasped in air, coughing a wretched cough as tried to rise back to her knees.
"When'd you get so damn sloppy, Myscha?" A grizzled male voice broke the heavy breaths and yells of the sparring match, one she recognized from years ago. Whipping her head up she spotted the old man it belonged to, an old rogue she knew as Remi because, well, that's where she'd met him during her few years with the smugglers caravan in her late teens. There was an eye-patch covering his left eye, and his face had somehow become more wrinkled and folded than the last time they'd crossed paths. But his 'greeting' hadn't changed one bit: he was crude, critical, and always sounded disappointed in whatever the blonde did. It had been years since she'd had someone who criticized her like Remi.
Her focus split for a moment too long, Charlotte felt a hand grab at the back of her neck, lifting her slightly before slamming her front down into the ground. Her opponent pinned her to the ground, his weight and sheer mass overpowering her small frame. Her only hope of beating the man had slipped away with her attention after Remi had entered the room, but it was her own fault for losing focus. Frustrated, she resigned herself to failure. She wouldn't be beating this hulk of a man, not tonight.
"Out!" Charlotte exclaimed, though not before the man dug his shoulder into her back so hard that it felt her spine would split in two. She sighed with relief as the man lifted his weight from her, staying on the ground for a moment before rising to her feet. Her opponent grimaced. "Looks like I was right," he growled proudly with a chortle. Charlotte ignored him, walking off to the crate she'd been sitting on before. Despite her now aching back, Charlotte perched herself on the crate again, ready to watch the next match and observe again.
Remi wasn't ready to leave her alone yet, though, especially after a loss like that. He approached her, his expression twisted in a disappointed frown as he shook his head. "That was absolutely pathetic, Myscha. Did you hit your head and forget everything I tried to get through that thick skull of yours?"
"The man is twice my size, Remi," Charlotte retorted as she tried to stretch her back. "Not to mention you so graciously interjected and distracted me." She knew it was her own fault for being distracted, but she couldn't help but be defensive against the man's accusatory tone.
"Not my problem you're an idiot who can't stay focused," Remi growled, leaning his hand on a crate next to the one Charlotte was sitting on. Another match had started, which Charlotte wanted to watch, but instead she glared at Remi. The man had always incensed her, but usually it was with a purpose. Maybe there wasn't tonight; maybe having a few more years worth of wrinkles had just made the man plain mean.
"What are you even doing in Laus?" Charlotte ignored his insult, instead throwing a question his way. Of all places, Laus didn't seem like the kind of place Remi would show up; he always complained about what a sh*t hole Lycia was; when Charlotte told the man she still wanted to travel there, he told her she was a fool and wasting her time.
"You don't get to ask questions when you're too stupid to understand the answers," Remi spat. Charlotte's face morphed into an angry scowl, looking away from the man and to the match that was still going on. If he was going to be this way, fine. She'd ignore him until he had something productive to say.
|
|
Zahhak Al-Bahar
Dragon
Posts: 34
Profession: Competitive Thrower
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Ilheod
|
Post by Zahhak Al-Bahar on Jun 18, 2015 10:04:50 GMT -6
Humans were such amusing creatures. They scrambled and flailed about, focusing on all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons. It was fun though, to see the masses of weak flounder and flail about in a fruitless attempt to climb to the top. It was then, that the smart ones waited and conserved their strength. When time seemed most ideal, these individuals took advantage of the weakened masses to climb with a saunter in their step to the pinnacle of the triangle which formed the power scale. With such short lives though..could he blame them? They did make large strives for such short spans of life after all. Sitting upon a wooden crate upon folded legs, in the back corner of the dingy basement sat the disguised water dragon. The air was so stale there, that he could almost see the stagnancy, which wafted through cracks of light not obscured by musky webbing at the roof rafters.
He'd come to this dingy rat filled local simply to see if any capable combatants would be here. Zahhak had followed lifespans worth of combat with the sole desire of improving his power. Getting stronger, faster, better, and more importantly..skilled enough to bring down that rotten bastard Ceeza. He'd been watching, cast in the shadow of the room for the past six fights or so. First some pair of meat-heads fought it out to a practical draw. Both were slow lumbering thick headed oafs though. Then more meat-heads an- actually..save for the female who had drawn most of the rooms attention for a time they were all dull witted oafs that slowly worked around like they were toting broadswords.
It was his turn. He was tired of waiting, and originally wanted to just fight the best ones. However with each passing fight he couldn't stand to suppress the adrenaline within him any longer. As another shirtless muscle-bound oaf was tossed out of the ring and crashed into the wooden box near Zahhak, the brown haired male hopped off and landed onto his feet. He spoke up in a loud tone, heavy with an accent almost foreign to the humans of Elibe. "I am fighting next." His tone was somewhat heavy, as if he fought his tongue to pronounce the ght in fighting. Bones popped as he rolled his shoulders and began striding forwards. Curled digits swiftly tugged at and removed the three brown thin ropes tied around his body. Golden bells jingled before falling down in silent mis-shapen hoops on the dingy cellar floor. Otherwise, he had been already shirtless. A well defined muscled torso twisted as he gripped his right shoulder and pivoted to pop a few stray bones into place. The black and blue inked draconic tatoo along his entire right side seemed to almost be dancing.
He lifted the crimson and gold necklace from his shoulders and dropped it atop the bells behind him. He was here to test natural prowess. No enhancements. It made things far more fun. However, despite the fiery look in his oceanic hues, and his torso being littered and dotted with far more battle scars than a human should have acquired, he was somewhat short. Medium height at best. The laughter from the large that had beaten the blonde two rounds ago was almost as irritating as the shadow he cast. The gormless fool was quick to clap his fists together as he pipped up loudly. "Guess I'll make this fast short stuff!"
A hiss like laugh left the dragon's lips as he crouched slowly. He shifted his weight to his left leg, sliding his right leg forwards and lifted both his arms to cross over his chest while he leaned back. His hands were partially closed into balled fists, and his entire body took a slight rhythmic sway to it. The palms swayed in alternating paths to one another, and his entire body had a steady side to side rocking motion. Much like the snake slowly swaying before striking its prey, he swayed side to side. He hissed at the man with a cruel grin on his lips. "Assuming you can catch me..."
Provoked into attacking, the man launched himself forwards in an attempt to bring his fist into Zahhak's lower jaw. His entire body swayed downwards before Zahhak turned into the duck so the man's fist went right past his jaw, and slammed his shoulders into the larger man's abdomen. With whip-like speed Zahhak's arms coiled around the larger man's outstretched arm before shifting his weight. One hand gripped his wrist near the center at the veins, two fingers digging in while his thumb and other digits coiled beneath. The free arm lashed out in brutal successive fashion to collide with the man's elbow. All the while he shifted his force and weight to piggyback off the man's momentum and flip him while Zahhak broke his arm near the elbow joint. The man's shout of shock was suppressed by a groan of pain as he slammed onto his back.
The dragon was quick to step backwards and swiftly resume his stationary fighting stance. His entire body quickly picked up the swaying pace, his back to the bickering blonde and her elderly male while he stared down the lumbering brute. The man, built like any proper monstrosity, swore relentlessly as he stood up. He tried to lift his injured arm to fight with it, only to receive the horrible shock and pain that came with realizing that a limb was useless to one for the rest of that fight. Disabling a foe's limbs was by far one of the most satisfying things to do.
The man snarled in rage at Zahhak's grin before rushing like a blind mad steer towards him. As he approached, he reared back and lifted a leg to try and, assumable, stomp in Zahhak's jaw. However, the smaller man whipped forwards with another burst of agility as he grabbed the man's leg. With a strong twist, and both his forearms and shoulders going entirely tense from flexing to pivot as much force as he could, Zahhak flipped the man and seized his leg only to slam him into the ground leg first. This time Zahhak tapped into every ounce of natural strength that he had. His skin was slightly darker in it's naturally tanned tone from the blood pumping through his veins at the motions and adrenaline. He lifted the man by his erroneously exposed leg and spun him once before locking his heel into the ground and tossing him to the other side of the self-made ring. Zahhak moved to his left a few feet, before crouching and taking his pose once again. The grin exposed the deadly white canines while he waited for his opponent to slowly muster the strength to recover from the beating his ego and pride had just received. Though the other struggles had already tired him, no doubt making it all the harder, Zahhak wanted to make shire that he knew this would have happened regardless. He spoke with that hiss of a tone as he goaded his opponent further. "You beat up the blonde woman, and think you are the best fighter? Maybe I should tie my arms up and use only my feet, yes?"
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jun 27, 2015 21:46:36 GMT -6
Fight after fight, it seemed the same thing happened. The large brute who Charlotte had failed to down, relying on his overpowering strength, took down each of his opponents, each in a more self-assured, vivacious way than the last. After a man had been thrown, the blonde half-expected someone to step in, if only to tell him to knock off ruining the storeroom. The keep upstairs didn’t care what happened to the thieves themselves, just that his things weren’t destroyed in the process.
Of course, though, no reprimand came, instead another man stepping up to go after the bulky tower of the man hogging the matt. He looked quite different from the men of the Black Watch. While most in the room had toned builds, they had focused on bulk, while the new challenger’s body was lean and lithe. He had a slight accent, though he hadn’t spoken long enough for Charlotte to pick out where it was from. From his attire and tattoos, though, she assumed some sort of Sacaen tribe, maybe near a coast. She wondered what he was doing out in Lycia, but had to remind herself the thoughts were pure speculation.
Charlotte looked toward Remi for a reaction, but upon seeing none she shifted her eyes back to the chestnut-haired man as he laughed, goading his opponent. Charlotte shook her head; even though he was a few inches taller than Charlotte was, she didn’t see him taking down the brute. He looked young, and he had an attitude, which in these circles usually meant it was bravado without backup.
So the blonde was colored surprised as she watched the new challenger move with such speed and precision; only a few moments in, and a sickening crack filled the room before being drowned out by the brigand’s groan and his body slamming into the ground. Charlotte unconsciously straightened up. Her eyes had grown wide for a moment, but they quickly narrowed as she watched the taller of the men get back to his feet.
“Maybe if you had half a brain, like him,” Remi suddenly interjected, “you wouldn’t be so damn useless, hmm?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, ignoring his comment as the presumed Sacaen yet again grounded the lumbering brute, somehow lifting and tossing his opponent out of their makeshift ring. Eyebrow raised, Charlotte could barely believe a man of the challenger’s size being able to even lift a man like the ignoramus. Charlotte had barely been able to dodge his blows, but that man had easily broken his bones, bruised his pride, and thrown him with barely any strain. How much strength could one man hide?
|
|
Zahhak Al-Bahar
Dragon
Posts: 34
Profession: Competitive Thrower
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Ilheod
|
Post by Zahhak Al-Bahar on Jun 30, 2015 8:51:52 GMT -6
He could feel the heat building within his body. The stiffling atmosphere of the room, combined with the successive swift motions and exertions had his blood rushing through his veins with a heat like magma. The slight flush to his limbs and back might have shown this and brought provocation to thoughts that he looked tired already; but he couldn't have possibly felt more alive. The faint droplets of sweat that trailed along his body or limbs were like tears of joy from muscled limbs that missed combat's embrace. Even as he swayed slightly in his combative poise, eyes fixed on the groaning man, Zahhak was ready for his next foe. Footsteps broke the silence, and drew his gaze as his eyes darted towards the next approaching man. Another heavily muscled brawler. Not as large, but hopefully faster? That would make it more fun. The shirtless dragon in disguise slipped one foot out further as he let his entire body go tense. Internally he clenched and released each muscle in his legs and arms. Though it showed in the brief sudden flex like motions; it was to further loosen up.
Feral eyes locked onto the bald approaching male who crashed a heavy meaty fist into open palm before grunting a form of acknowledgement as to being Zahhak's next foe signaled the fight to begin. This time, warmed up and primed, Zahhak started. He lowered his body and sprinted forwards with his arms crossed beneath his lowered torso. As the man lifted a hand to sweep his palm similar to someone trying to shove another down, the brown haired male ducked and slid. Flipping onto his stomach, with his body briefly touching the deceptively cool basement floor, he pushed off and pivoted his hips as he swung his legs. He swept out the mans legs with an entrapment leg sweep, locking his feet around the mans heels as he arced his legs to uproot the man. However while the man fell, Zahhak rolled to his side and hopped into a prone crouch.
His entire fighting style relied on speed and momentum. Not necessarily always his own momentum, but shifting or denying it entirely. By breaking his opponents footing, he gave him no base to push off with; going so far as to remove a valuable well of power to the man. Even by human standards, Zahhak's pain threshold wasn't the greatest. He'd taken great efforts to make it there for as difficult as possible, for others at-least, to actually hurt him.
As the man crashed downwards onto his back with his legs briefly rising into the air only to flop down as well, Zahhak darted onto the man. Jumping slightly, he slammed his knees down into the man's shoulders before locking them in place and punched the man once in the side of his jaw. Holding his punch's full power in favor of a light but much swifter jab, he could feel the man's jaw fracture slightly. Before Zahhak could finish raising his hand for the second blow, ,the man shouted in admission; thus ending the serpents strike.
"I give, I give! "
Perhaps it had been fear from Zahhak's previous display and not wanting such to happen to him as well? regardless, the disappointment upon the brown-haired male's face was clear as he slid off the man so that his knees were no longer locking his shoulders in place. This...was not a place where he'd meet a true rival. That was clear. Zahhak stood up and slowly stepped out of the ring to grab the garments he had shed. The necklace fell snugly back upon his chest, fingers brushing the gemstone placed within the center that secretly resonated with the soul of his true self. The jingling of the males golden bells as he placed the loops back upon his body broke the silence briefly before he turned to take a seat back upon his crate. At this point, he'd sooner observe for some vein hope of finding prey as opposed to fight.
Twin droplets of sweat descended from his brow to the wooden crate he sat upon once more, while he pressed his back to the cool wall. One of the greatest sensations ever, if not most comforting. When one's body was heated and pressed to an entirely cool surface. Folding his knees, he shifted instead to lean forwards as the man called out for new opponents. Zahhak let his forearms rest on his knees and waited. Waited, and watched.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jul 4, 2015 12:44:11 GMT -6
Like that, the younger man disposed of his foes like they were no challenge at all, not even a passing thought. It was as if the sweat that glistened over his tanned body had not perspired from true exertion, but rather a simple bodily reaction to the lack of air circulation in the submerged cellar. He was so calculated in his movements, yet so brutal in his hits; it was as if the man had fought for hundreds of years, in hundreds of wars, despite looking no older than her. It was a true feat, to be sure, and Charlotte could not take her eyes away as he methodically tore down his opponents’ defenses.
Finally, the new man called it quits, and both vacated the mat in the center of the room, leaving the musky center ring empty and calling for a new competitor. Charlotte felt pulled to try again, her ego a bit bruised from the ease of her initial defeat, but both of the men who’d gone against the man with the bells had ended up with injuries that would take time to heal, something Charlotte didn’t have the time for any longer. Her hand had just begun to feel normal again; she didn’t need to risk ending up bedridden again.
But Remi had other plans for the blonde. Despite his age, the man was still strong; his hand quickly pushed into the crook of Charlotte’s back, pushing her forward. The blonde stumbled from the crate she’d been seated, on, brow furrowed as she angrily looked back to Remi.
“What, are you just going to sit there drooling, or are you going to stop being a pathetic whelp?” Ah Remi, ever the encouraging mentor. While she still felt the same, Charlotte couldn’t let the man’s insults pass. She had spent years with the smuggling caravan, and they’d taught her everything they’d known about fighting hand-to-hand. She’d been pretty damn good, too, but years focusing on other pursuits had shifted her focus, softened her body and mind.
The only way to remember was to keep trying, so Charlotte would not shy away, not when the room no doubt saw her as a joke. Straightening up and walking to the center again, Charlotte pushed her hair back with a small headband that had been wrapped around her arm. She wasn’t sure if the shaggy-haired man would come back into the ring, or if another would step up to take claim to the ‘easy’ fight, but whatever the case she was ready. Charlotte would not let herself fall as easily as before.
|
|
Zahhak Al-Bahar
Dragon
Posts: 34
Profession: Competitive Thrower
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Ilheod
|
Post by Zahhak Al-Bahar on Jul 6, 2015 11:52:18 GMT -6
The blonde woman entered the ring once more. It was funny to see the other observations of the men in the room. Lustful creatures bound to primordial instincts. While the concept was one that the aquatic dragon could appreciate, given his natural love of savage combat, they focused on the wrong instincts. The desire to soothe one's aching groin did not ensure survival in combat. Of a species maybe, but not the individual. With his own species doomed to extinction save himself(As far as he knew) this aspect mattered far less. Though long lifetimes also meant time to worry about things later should he ever be bothered to care. These humans however? These men that leered on towards the blonde haired woman? He had not a doubt that she could likely kill them with ease.
Within the western isles there were similar women. Ones who prayed upon men, using their charms and physical features to draw out the words they might wish to hear or money they wished to spend, or sport they longed for; all by maneuvering and dancing the man like a puppet on strings. Every reaction predicted based on their body. His brutal mindset saved him from this weakness. Zahhak's gaze narrowed as he examined the other remaining fighters in the room. When he'd first arrived, he'd been hoping for fun contest himself.
Something however was..off. As he gazed around the room he noticed no other females. Why was that? This woman was here. Was she the only one here of the female persuasion? While even females could fight with power or ferocity, in humans it seemed far less common. It made him wonder. What drove her to fight? What fire burned within her? His knuckles curved as he rested his chin on the twin balled fists pressing to one another, even while he observed her from his siting position upon the wooden crate. As he looked on, he began to ponder further. It was odd, usually he didn't contemplate such things beyond any notion. He was a simple guy. The basics. "What am I gunna eat today? What am I gunna kill today?" In some cases...it was solution was both.
He was curious to observe her now though given her renewed drive. That she might be able to reveal some about her in her fighting style, or poise, and how she reacted; at-least well enough to sate his passing curiosities.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jul 7, 2015 19:00:38 GMT -6
“Didn’t Frank already tell you to leave, girl?” Standing at the edge of the ring, Charlotte watched through narrowed eyes as one of the men in the room approached, a sickly grin twisting his lips. He was only a few inches taller than Charlotte, and not as broadly built as Frank had been. His hair was long, black, and drawn tightly into a ponytail at the base of his head, and a dark, thick moustache covered his upper lip.
The blonde smirked; now this man she could face. “I’m not here to take orders. Are you up to fight or just run your mouth?”
Cracking his neck in response, the man lowered his body, holding his arms out, hands palm up before clenching his fingers into loose fists. “Your move, princess.”
Rolling her eyes, Charlotte also lowered her body, her knees bending to allow her more reactive movements, her hands in front of her and held even with her waist. But even though the man egged her on, trying to get her to make the first move, she was patient, simply bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, moving a bit side to side as if she were preparing to make a move. She would not be goaded into attacking like many of the other men were. Maybe Remi had insulted her skill, her finesse, but she felt like her head was clearer now, having watched a few matches and taking a breather.
Her eyes trained on her opponent, Charlotte was not surprised when he lunged forward, one fist thrown out in front of him as he tried to sucker punch the blonde. Her reflexes quicker, she dodged to the side, under his outstretched arm and quickly kicking up into his exposed armpit. A shout of surprise burst from him, causing him to stumble back, his ponytail whipping to and fro. She had a plan, more so than she had for her last fight, and she was determined to follow it. So far no yells had come from Remi, telling her she’d done something wrong, so she assumed she wasn’t screwing anything up yet.
The man recovered quickly, again running for the woman, though he wasn’t guarding his front as he had been before. Clearly this man didn’t spar often; he’d come up for the easy fight, having seen Frank easily drop Charlotte from the ring. He’d pay for that bravado. Charlotte again dodged out of the way of his punch, but instead of shifting to the side, she wrapped her arm around the arm he had extended, using her free hand to push a flat palm directly up and into his nose. She swore she could hear the sickening crack of his nose breaking, and blood began to spill from his nostrils.
Charlotte wouldn’t allow the man time to recover, taking her left foot and kicking into his knee. She didn’t know if she’d hit him hard enough to break it, but it did send him to the ground, his hands covering his bleeding nose and unable to break his fall to the mat. Charlotte stepped back, her breath a bit quickened from before. Resting her hands on her hips, she ‘tched’ with her tongue.
“Didn’t think you’d go down so easily,” Charlotte goaded the man as he tried to stand, “how sad.” She lowered back into her readied stance, unsure if the man would come after her again or leave the ring once he righted himself. Her confidence was soaring, much more than the last fight. She was starting to remember what she’d learned; she wouldn’t allow herself to lose now.
|
|
Zahhak Al-Bahar
Dragon
Posts: 34
Profession: Competitive Thrower
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Ilheod
|
Post by Zahhak Al-Bahar on Jul 9, 2015 8:34:15 GMT -6
The blonde woman would fight more? Still...she was different this time. As her challanger entered the ring, Zahhak watched the two curiously. Without realizing it, he leaned forward some in interest, hands bridged under his chin which rested atop the two sets of fingers that had laced together. Serpentine eyes lingered on the two combatants as his gaze darted back and forth. For a moment, he focused on his enhanced senses. Primarily, that of scent. While humans were certainly foul smelling creatures, over the years he'd learned just how much you could tell from scent. Beyond just location, but at times...if one was careful you could discern far more.
At this point though, he didn't need it overly, as he watched her fight. How she carried herself, how she fought, and the way she set herself into a rhythm. One couldn't do that if they were downcast. It had to come from a blend of bodily instinct and calculated methodical thought. Where as most men gazed at this blonde woman with contempt or lust, the water dragon looked on with a curious observation. Thought clearly working the cogs behind his mind even if he himself was thinking of something else. He studied her fighting style. Her stance. Her reactions. Partially to pick it apart and see if he himself could improve based on what he saw; as he did against all opponents.
Another part of him however traced over each strike. Each blow. Each motion. He scanned her to see where she might improve. He did not intend to go out of his way to assist her on his own accord; but he did find himself wondering why she had struggled initially. He lifted his chin, one of his hands clasping at the necklace with the dragonstone resting in the center. His index finger traced over the soul-enfused gem slowly while he observed and watched further. Slow revolving motions continued while his other hand rested with his thumb to his chin. Her inconsistency with being dangerous at some points and helpless to the level of giving up prior was confusing. Perhaps she held herself back? He couldn't be sure until he knew more of her.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jul 13, 2015 20:16:47 GMT -6
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Charlotte held her hands up at ready, adrenaline coursing through her and feeling more confident in her ability. Granted, the man who’d stood up to challenge her was not the most skilled of fighters, but after being shown up by Frank Charlotte needed to show the men in the room that she meant business. While her skillset revolved around her abusing her femininity and attractiveness on her targets, the woman had much more to offer than that.
Her opponent stood, the hand covering his no doubt broken nose in crimson blood. Despite the nosebleed, though, he did not step out of the ring, simply taking what looked like two pieces of cloth from a pouch on his belt and stuffing them into his nostrils to block the bleeding. Good, the blonde thought; he’d be dazed from the blood loss and in pain, which put her at a distinct advantage now. There was a lot of power to be had in few strong, targeted blows - something she’d been taught by both the caravan and the old man who was presumably still watching them duke it out.
“Come on now, you can’t be done, not after that,” Charlotte prodded again, trying to set the man off. If there was one thing she knew all too well about a proud man, it was that he was more than eager to prove his opponent wrong in their accusations of his character, well being - anything, really, even if the accuser was actually right. To be shown up was a fate worse than serious injury, or for some men, death.
For Charlotte’s sparring opponent, his pride was worth another round. Back on his feet with now bloodstained cloth in his nostrils, he didn’t charge directly at her - the first time since stepping on the mat, the blonde noted. instead, he mirrored her best he could with an aching knee, waiting for her to take the next big move. He was getting defensive - to be expected considering the state he was in - but he was still a man who was likely used to being beaten and bruised but pushing through it. Many in the room were - Charlotte included.
After twenty or so seconds of staring one another down, Charlotte finally lunged forward, lowering herself so her shoulder was pointed at the man’s abdomen as she moved. The man quickly dodged and landed a rather hard hit on her shoulder, but not before Charlotte too shifted her momentum; quickly adjusting, she turned her back with the man and throwing a bent elbow into his stomach, causing him to cough and double over. Again leaving him no time to recover, Charlotte brought a closed fist square into his jaw, sending the man straight to the floor.
While her hand now ached, along with her right shoulder and back, her opponent was unmoving, the hit to the jaw knocking him out cold. He would not call for his out, but Charlotte was quite aware he was done. Throwing a glance Frank’s way, Charlotte rubbed her shoulder, walking back over to where Remi sat and sitting back down on the crate. She would not over commit as her opponent had; a short break would give her time to stretch her shoulder and hand - she didn’t need to break anything else, after all.
“Maybe if you’d done that the first time, no one in here would think you’re useless.” Remi said as two more men stepped into the ring. “Then again, Georgie’s always been a p*ssy, so they probably still would.” Charlotte sighed. Some things never changed. Ignoring Remi and focusing her sights on the fight, she recognized the man she’d faced hadn’t been anywhere near as strong or intelligent as Frank - a victory there was a hollow one, but at least one that helped her to feel comfortable fighting again. She focused her attention on the two men on the ring, wondering if the strangely brutal man would be taking another go.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jul 16, 2015 12:01:46 GMT -6
“Alright, ALRIGHT, BREAK IT UP!”
Laurent, who had come down to watch as the unofficial referee, jumped into the ring, tearing one of Frank’s friends, Bruce, from atop a green thief, who was unconscious on the ground beneath him. Bruce had taken the fight too far and had been beating on the downed man, and unfortunately that meant the young unconscious man would wake up with his nose bent a different direction, among other injuries, to show for it. Granted, the boy had been taunting Bruce, which was never a smart move, but Bruce had never been one for exhibiting self-control.
But Laurent was deceptively strong, so pulling the cantankerous man off didn’t faze him. “For f*cks sake, Bruce, really?” Bruce’s only reply was a deep chuckle and a white smile lined with blood.
Shaking his head, Laurent looked out over the rest of the room – which still included the blonde thief. “Fight Night’s over. Get the hell out, all of you, now!” A grumble of discontent buzzed through the cellar, but Laurent was not the kind of man you ignored. So most of the men in the room began to gather their things and headed for the door, while a Laurent and another man went to pick up the bloodied and bruised kid from the ring.
Charlotte had stuck around, watching another few bouts; she’d been itching to get into the ring again but not really getting the chance. Remi thankfully had disappeared a few bouts prior, so the blonde had been able to spend the last half hour or so in relative silence. She wondered where he went, but at the same time relished in not hearing his snarky, wise-ass comments.
After putting her shirt back on, Charlotte filed out with the rest of the thieves, though she paused after taking a few steps towards a nearby alley. Something felt wrong, like something on her person was missing. She hadn’t brought any coin purses with her, and she hadn’t had any packages on her. Her hand patted the iron dagger she had sitting in a sheathe on her hip, when she realized what had gone missing. At the very same time, a voice sounded behind her.
“Looking for something, blondie?” Charlotte sighed, turning around to see none other than Frank, one arm in a sling and the other around a familiar belonging: a leather sheath containing none other than the magic dagger Charlotte had received for her troubles in the Western Isles. She’d taken off the belt that held the sheath when she’d gone into the ring, but since she hadn’t been carrying the blade for long, she hadn’t realized it had gone missing among her belongings.
Frank was also flanked by two of his buddies – one being none-other than a still-bleeding Bruce – but Charlotte couldn’t afford to back off. She’d nearly died for that blade, no way she was letting Frank and his cronies leave with their grubby hands still on it.
“Thanks for grabbing that for me, Frank,” Charlotte smiled, pacing over to the man, “how gentlemanly of y-“
All of the sudden Bruce’s raised his hands, pushing the blonde back and nearly causing her to fall backwards. Charlotte kept her footing, glaring over at the man as she hissed. “Watch it. Just give me what’s mine, and we can leave without making any enemies tonight.”
Frank laughed. “Please, girl, you don’t deserve a blade like this! What you need is a nice butcher’s knife that you can use in your kitchen back home, hmm?”
|
|
Zahhak Al-Bahar
Dragon
Posts: 34
Profession: Competitive Thrower
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Ilheod
|
Post by Zahhak Al-Bahar on Jul 17, 2015 10:29:56 GMT -6
“Alright, ALRIGHT, BREAK IT UP!”
Zahhak tilted his head as the voice broke into the underground room. He did not know this man ultimately. Then again, Zahhak had barely known any of them. A simple nameless elderly man who had assisted him in getting in on the grounds that the water dragon sought strong enemies. These men and in a single others case, women , did not house any significance to him. His day had ultimately been simply dedicated towards trying to find someone to test himself against. His frustration at failing in this task left him with no real options as to an opponent. With the agility and litheness of someone that his stature housed, he unfolded his legs and leapt down from his perch atop the crates. Zahhak's adrenaline was still pumping through his system however. His fingers still coiled and uncoiled reflexively as he ascended back into the upper floor of the building.
The male's bells jingled with each step. However as he found himself a small table in the corner of the room, he settled for attempting to sample their various drinks. His favored heavy drink in the Western Isles could not be found here however it seemed. This stuff was okay though..no western isles spirits to be sure , either way. That was when Zahhak noticed a commotion brewing up. His gaze briefly drifted over to the large man shoving the blonde woman. What was this? Volunteers for a joint beating to settle his disappointment and frustration? Splendid! Zahhak stood from his seat and loudly slammed the bottle down for his alcohol. The golden bells around his body jingled slowly in alternating patterns as he lifted one hand over his back, rubbing his neck as if it was stiff. The Dragon shifted his neck to the right as a loud series of pops rippled out. He cracked his neck, leaning his head to the left and then the right as he called out to the trio that had shoved the woman. All the while, he wore a savage grin that flashed the slightly sharpened bleach white teeth within his maw. There was a hiss of glee in his tone as he spoke up. "Yesss, what have we here? I like unfair odds. Please..count me in on this. Why...I bet I can remove one of you..before you get to hit her again~"
At this point he was standing directly behind the men. Though he looked casual in stance, his knees were slightly bent. His entire body on edge. With one hand over his neck and the other resting on his side, he looked no more ready than any other bystander to jump into the fight. Yet every sense was on edge. His heart was racing in his chest as he waited for the slightest hint of action so that he could lash out. His eyes darted swiftly from one to another even as he scanned for the slightest movement. Honestly, he didn't know what their scuffle was about, but he didn't really care either. So they'd take some trinket from her? She could just kill them...that would always give her weapon back. Hell, one was wounded! Oh well. He just needed to punch something that could respond with pain really. That'd probably make his day better.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte on Jul 21, 2015 21:04:34 GMT -6
Frankly, Charlotte was tired of men thinking they could push her around. Time and time again, she was regarded as weak, unable to take care of herself or get the job done, by men in all levels of ‘the game.’ The smugglers and thieves of the Lycian underworld - at least the ones who weren’t familiar with her work - lauded her as pathetic; the nobles of the courts tiptoed around her as if she were a delicate flower. The blonde was sick of it, but here it was, happening again, all because she couldn’t back up her talk or keep proper track of her things.
The woman rolled her eyes as Frank tried to insult her, readying her own retort and considering if she’d be making a bad move if she decided to lash out physically at the men. It was three on one, but there was no way she could let them just walk away with the magic dagger. If there was anything Charlotte was not, it was a pushover, especially to men like this.
But before she could say anything, the jingle of metal and a familiar voice sounded from behind Frank and his cronies. It was the brutal man from earlier, Charlotte thought as she watched Frank and his two friends turned to look at him, and it almost seemed like the shirtless man sported look of glee on his features. Was this his game, picking fights? It would certainly explain why Charlotte wasn’t familiar with him, despite knowing a decent number from the Black Watch.
Frank threw a brief look back at Charlotte before looking to the shaggy-haired man with a shake of his head. “What, you think this,” he motioned with his slinged arm, “and your threats are gonna make me shake in my boots? HA!” His hearty bellow of a laugh echoed through the air as he spun the magic blade in his hand. “Only one with unfair odds is you, kid, so step off before we decide to teach you how to count.” Frank turned away from the man, but not before spitting at his feet. Charlotte had half a mind to try to catch the man off-guard while he had been focused on the 'Sacaen,' but his two cronies had one eye on her the entire time. As much as she wanted retribution, she had to play this smart, or she'd have to call Lorna back to stitch her together again.
|
|
Zahhak Al-Bahar
Dragon
Posts: 34
Profession: Competitive Thrower
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Ilheod
|
Post by Zahhak Al-Bahar on Jul 24, 2015 21:50:34 GMT -6
Zahhak felt a rush fill him. A high almost. As the man questioned as to the quality of fear Zahhak induced, the water dragon let an almost feral grin spread upon the peach shaded lips. Though almost impossible to notice, the first canine on either side of his upper jaw was slightly longer than the others. More curved, and resembling fangs. A slight enough change that it emphasized something different about the dragon. He eased his eyes shut as he let out a sudden and loud laugh, a vicious sound that was more akin to satisfaction after a glorious hunt. However as the man spit, Zahhak tapped ever so briefly into the essence of his stone. Adrenaline was racing through his body. Things had just gotten fun. As his eyes eased open, the slit like pupils took a dominant roll over circular ones common to humans. His now amber eyes were as venomous as that of the serpents he was oft associated with.
The man spat at him. Something he would likely regret. Zahhak felt as if he could focus in on each heart-beat. As the liquid projectile spit out of the mans lips, it felt like Zahhak's perception of time had altered. In the split silence before Zahhak moved, a series of quiet jingling bells echoed out. Time slowed for the world around Zahhak as his knee's bent while his hands lifted and he lashed outwards. Initially one hand closed partially to a side palm strike towards the man's guard on the left, intent to crush part of the thug's ball socket. Not a moment after he struck, he twisted his weight as he shifted his foot to the right and leaned forward to strike while maintaining the wild speed that he asserted, pushing himself to the limits he could realistically reach. His body had twisted to the side to lean into the strike and shift more momentum; his other hand whipping around and rushing forwards with a stab like thrust, striking for between the man's ribs with enough force to cause significant damage.
The jingling of bells rang out with each motion and shift in his bodies weight. The various bells along respective limbs were of different size, indicating different pitches to forewarn swings from his left or right as well as which direction his body shifted. Though, humans were often never smart enough to pick it up swiftly. He didn't have opponents fight him repeatedly enough to pick that up either. As Zahhak withdrew his striking poise to slowly inch back and take a fighting stance of crouched knees and poised limbs he grinned; speaking with a hiss of glee. " Now, I trust I have your attention?"
|
|