• Closed • [The Four in Hand] Hit Me With Your Best Shot

[Tio Silver]

The Four in Hand
55th Zi'da, 717

It was, in Tio's opinion, the island's ability to work so smoothly when comprised of so many contradicting parts that made Scalvoris the great nation it was. In some places it was filled to the brim with culture, art, educational facilities and all the other signs of a prosperous nation, and had an organised and well equipped military force to maintain order. But take a few steps in the right direction and you could enter a world where the black market was wealthier than ever, pirates openly recruited new crewmembers on the streets, and practically anything you could want for was available to you for the right price.

And tonight he was experiencing a great example of that duality firsthand. The Four in Hand officially had a policy again violence, and tried (though arguable failed) to attract the more respectable clientele of scholars and travellers. Unofficially though the owner ran a fight club in the alley outside, and made a tidy sum on the side from it. Tio had never been drawn to violence as so many criminals seemed to be, but even he recognised that in a dangerous world there were some matters that could only be solved with fists. He needed to become a decent fighter without a weapon on hand, but spending hours at the gym or boring practice simply wasn't his style. And so when he'd heard about this underground fight club a simple but effective plan had quickly formed in his head: he'd enter as a contestant to fight in the arena, and either learn to fight on the spot or get the daylights kicked out if him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a newcomer stepping into the ring tonight! The announcer declared to the crowd of mostly drunk onlookers, a corny smirk plastered across his face, as Tio stepped into the ring, flashing the audience a cheeky grin. "He may not look like much of a fighter, but the fine gents at the Port Diabolo say he's quick on his feet and fights dirty as hell. Could this be an unexpected underdog? Or just another boy too big for his boots? Only time will tell."

From the corner of his eye, Tio noticed a couple of people putting some coins down on the betting table. By the looks of things he wasn't the crowd favourite to win tonight by a long shot. Sure he wasn't the biggest guy in Scalvoris, but he wasn't exactly a dwarf either. Who was his opponent supposed to be to inspire such low odds on his victory?

As if to answer his thoughts, the announcer gestured to the crowd on the other side of the ring with another corny smile. "And now, introducing his opponent...

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[Ronan]

The best way to react to falling of a horse was to get back in the saddle as soon as possible. It was the same way for what had happened to Ronan at the beginning of the season. He'd only know received a full a-ok from the healers at the Order. Most of his time before this point had been spent in the healer's bed recovering until he was allowed to walk around on his own again and then he'd managed to put in the remaining trials needed for his Fire Troop assignment. Those had been mostly desk trials but Ronan had found a way to make himself useful to the Flame Element in an unparalleled and unexpected way.

But those trials were behind him now. Clean bill of health from the healer, just no strenuous activity. A light work out in the ring wouldn't go against those orders, Ronan was sure. The light in the backroom of the Four in Hand was enough for him to find his way around the room without running into things. Both his hands were balled into fists and he was making slow, deliberate moves, punching the shadow on the wall in front of him. He pulled his punches as far as possible, stretching his muscles and making sure they were working properly. The shadow disappeared for a moment as the door behind him opened and a ray of light from the tavern fell over it. It reappeared just as quickly as the door closed again. Ronan paid no attention to the entrance and finished his motions first.

"It's good to see you back and ready to fight." Mixie's voice sounded as absent as always as she spoke to him. Apparently that was something she'd done since forever and nobody really knew why the girl had her head in the clouds like she did. Ronan didn't bother to respond but instead focused on his movements. With some trial and error and some light grimacing he found the edge of his range for his new scars. Slowly, one punch at a time, he sped up his movements. He involved a knee into the shadowboxing as well, ducked away and under enemy attacks. The blood was being pushed from his heart to his arms and legs and his lungs to supply the needed oxygen to keep moving as he did. A light sheen of sweat quickly covered his body and his warm up got interrupted once more by a short beam of light falling into the room. There was no entry or exit this time so when he turned around, Mixie was just waiting for him to finish. "They're ready for you now."

Ronan rolled his shoulders a bit and tried to loosen up a little more, quickly. Mixie waited for him by the door and as he passed her out into the tavern, her hand lightly brushed over his side and back, touching the muscles and scars. "Go get em." Ronan gave her a quick look, curious what the hand was for, but Mixie just gave him the same smile she always did. He found her difficult to read. From the back of the place, he could hear the announcer's voice introducing the newcomer. Apparently the owner had found someone, whose voice she liked, to introduce them. The crowd, of thirty or so half drunk gamblers, parted as he approached and one or two smiled at him or patted him on the arm or back. Probably return customers who had been here for his first fight.

"Some of you already know him, some of you might not. He's new to Scalvoris and here to prove that old can beat new once again. To defend his victory, returning to our ring. Standing a head above all of us, built out of muscles and fists! The opening fight winner... Roooonaan!!!" Wearing little more than long pants and his boots, all his blue skin and scars open for anyone to see, Ronan stepped forward into the ring, fists in the air. "Yeah!" He shouted at the announcer and slapped one of the hands in the air for a high-five. Another happy return customer. He did a quick paced round of the fight circle, his blonde hair bouncing with each energetic step, which took him only a few trills and took up his position on one end of the ring, close to where he'd entered.

"Fighters! You know the rules: there are no rules! Ready?" As always, Anida, the owner of the Four in Hand, had personally come to Ronan's room to go over the rules once again. He assumed she'd also done this for the other fighter. Despite the announcer's list of rules, Ronan had been told that neither weapons nor killing was allowed. The same went for dismemberment and eye gouging and such. After all, this was an entertainment first, a test of strength and skill second. Ronan raised his fists and dropped a little lower, ready to get going. He glared over his guard at the other fighter, putting on the best wicked, victory-assured smile he could muster. Once the his opponent was ready, the announcer dropped his hand. "Fight!"

[Tio Silver]

Tio's spirits fell as a mountain of blue muscle pushed through the crowd and stepped into the ring with a rousing war cry. By Syroa's bloody fury that guy was big! Pretty much every Eidisi he'd met before had been of fairly tall, that was true, but the few of them that got out of their studies enough to be in shape had all had lean and compressed body types. This guy however looked like he could tear a table in half!

Once the surprise of his unexpectedly intimidating opponent faded, the tactical side of Tio's mind took over. A head-on attack would result in him getting flattened, so if he wanted to win this he was going to have to put the fight on his terms. There were three ways he could think of to do this. The first was to stay of the evasive; after all though he might not be able to match him for sheer strength his lighter build and thieving experience was sure to make him more agile. If he could keep dodging his opponent's strikes an opening might eventually present itself. The second was to get in his opponent's head with some mind games; get him riled up of confused so that he made mistakes. And the last, of course, was to use every dirty trick in the book he could think of.

"Wow, you're a big fella aren't you?" Tio said to Ronan after the announcer had finished explaining rules, a sly grin settling across his face. He settled into a brawler's fighting stance, raising himself up onto the balls of his feet and getting ready to dodge. "I tell you what, how would you care to make a little bet with me? Something to make this fight of ours a little more interesting. If you're able to knock me down within the first three bits I'll make a special prize for you: a magical item with the power of some form of creature on this island. But if you can't..." his grin curled up further at the edges into a picture of mockery. "... then from now on the name you'll fight under in all forms of fighting contests will be 'Mr Wobbles.' What do you say? Sounds like a fair bet, right?"

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[Ronan]

His opponent was... lackluster, to put it nicely. Ronan wasn't impressed but he was too professional to say anything about it. Taunting was part of the job, after all, but that didn't mean you had to be mean about it. With the rules being explained, he had a moment to size op his opponent, trying to find his style and weaknesses. Considering his build, Ronan figured he'd have some sort of a quick, in-and-out sort of style, hit-and-run, especially the last part. Those were the more annoying opponents. If he fought someone his own size and skill, it all came down to whoever beat harder and more accurate, who had more strength and stamina.

With fighters like this guy, you had to look out for cheap shots, eye pokes, jabs or kicks to the softer parts of the body: inside of the elbows, armpits, sides and back of the knees, neck, ears, eyes, nose. The list was long and he only had two hands to defend himself with. Ronan shifted his own stance a bit in response, tightening up his arms to his torso and loosening his fists to more open hands. When the rules were explained, both fighters settled into their chosen style and stance and got ready to fight. Before the signal was given, the other fighter spoke up. This was usually the point where last trill taunts or attempts at riling the opponent were made. Whatever this guy was doing wasn't a very good job for either of those. He complimented Ronan on his size and muscles.

Then he went on to the good part. The taunting came next while the fighter stood ready to receive him. Ronan couldn't help but crack a smile. Make things more interesting? Some people just couldn't gauge their opponents. Without hesitation, not even a trill after the man had finished speaking, Ronan responded with a booming laugh. "Hah! Mr. Wobbles? Ballsy, kid. I like that. I'll take those odds. Let's see what you got." Ronan shifted a little forward, about half a step and started to circle his opponent, slowly. For the next few trills, if his opponent didn't come for him, Ronan would continue to circle him, testing him, seeing how things went. He couldn't really tell anything related to the man's style. Perhaps something local he'd never seen before? Ronan had never really fought against sailors before, something Scalvoris seemed to have a lot of, especially in the pirate department.

If his opponent was happy to simply circle with him, Ronan would lower his guard about halfway, his hands around shoulder height, rather than up in front of his face. "Here I come." He said as he simply stepped forward, a full length step forward towards his opponent. His entire body pushed forward, trying to close the distance between him and his opponent. The advance might be seen as him growing a few more inches by less experienced opponents. Instead of going for the punch or the kick, Ronan simply reached out with his right hand, trying to grab the fighter by the neck or, if he tried to block, by the wrist. Whether he managed the grab or not, he'd follow up with a left jab aimed for his opponents stomach, just below the ribs. Their difference in height made it somewhat more difficult to properly aim.

[Tio Silver]

The good news was that Ronan had a good enough sense of humor to not take offence at the nickname Tio had decided to bet with, instead laughing loudly at it and accepting the bet with a smile of his own. The bad news was that his humor didn't seem to have any affect on his concentration. There was no visible sign that he'd let his guard down anywhere, nothing to suggest that he was underestimating Tio like most people would be right about now. That was a pity, as the Yludih had been betting on taking advantage of an opening to score a decent blow. Still it wasn't the end of the world. He still had a couple of other mind games up his sleeve.

Ronan began to circle him, and Tio, happy to go with the flow, matched him step for step. But before Ronan could begin his advance Tio did something he probably wouldn't expect. He pulled his fist back as if to strike, seemingly ignoring the distance between then, and then swung his arm around and smacked himself hard in the cheek. It was a smack designed more to hurt than do any damage, and the sound rang out across the ring, causing many of them spectators to look to each other in confusion, and a couple of them murmured questions about his sanity. In all fairness it did seem to be a completely illogical move, but there was method to Tio's madness.

Winning a fight was all about who had the greatest advantage. The most obvious advantages were being bigger or stronger, but there were other ones as well; such as technique, deception, or ferocity. Those who knew Tio would not really describe him as an angry person, but that was because he went to great lengths to hide it when he felt that way, and make a point to avoid situations that might set him off. But he was the child of a devotee of Syroa, not to mention marked by her himself, and he knew the value of fury. The pain of the blow was the starting call his brain needed to get mad, to get the blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing, and as Tio's head reeled back from the hit Ronan might notice that an amber glow had descended over the blue of his eyes, casting a feral look over his expression and highlighting the way his grin had pulled up even tighter into a half-snarl.

Tio was furious! And absolutely loving it!

When Ronan charged forwards, Tio matched him by charging forwards too, and the two fighters met in the dead middle of the ring. He dodged forwards to evade Ronan's attempt to grab him, but the jab from the mixed race's left arm caught him square in the side of the stomach. With some of the breath knocked out of him, Tio realized that he wouldn't be able to pull off anything too acrobatic at the moment, and decided to capitalise on the close proximity instead. He leaped forwards and attempted to grab a hold of both Ronan's shoulders, then headbutt him right in the nose with as much strength as he could muster.

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[Ronan]

As he circled him, Ronan observed his opponent, trying to get a bead on him. The way he walked could tell him something about the man's upbringing. Military fighters walked differently than sea-based fighter. Rookies had little to no distinguishing footwork while light footed people walked more on their toes, more forward. The way he held his fists in his guard could show him what style he used to train, whether he was a boxer, a grappler or more of a kicks or weapon based person. How he angled himself as he moved betrayed his experience. Rookies didn't, at all, while more experienced fighter would keep their fists between their body and their opponent at all times, even when shifting or turning.

All of these things could give him clues as to how his opponent would fight him. However, there were always fighters who combined odd things from this list together into something that showed them to be a Rookie veteran air-sea fighter of some description. Or sometimes they were just crazy, like this trial. Ronan watched in surprise as his opponent punched himself in the face, full force. The man knocked his own head back from the force applied. The surprise lasted a trill and then an excited smile spread over his lips. Ronan shifted his guard more outward and brought his own hands up, hands flat, vertically next to his face. "Yes." He said, excitedly, almost as if he was cheering for his opponent. "Yes, kid. Let's do this." The fight was running through his veins and Ronan pumped himself up by slapping himself in the face as well.

Both hands connected with his cheeks, the meaty slapping sound mixing with the murmuring from around the ring. The murmuring increased as theself hurting was now going on both sides of the ring. "Yeah." Grunts and mumbles of self motivation, pumping him up, passed over Ronan's lips just before he lunged into the fight and his opponent. His opponent seemed really into the fight, charging at him, snarling. That the smaller, obviously weaker, opponent jumped right in betrayed some of his inexperience but Ronan wasn't one to berate a man for going all in for a fight. They clashed and he tried to grab as he'd planned but the man dodged, right into Ronan's follow up punch. The impact was solid and he could hear the air being forced out of the man's lungs.

They disengaged for half a trill before his opponent was right back in the fray, jumping at him. Ronan was caught off guard by the quick response to the punch and before he could properly guard, the man's head crashed into his nose, pushing him back, stumbling. The sharp explosion of pain up his nose and into the back of his skull came and went quickly before the metallic taste of blood spread through his mouth. Healer Faith wouldn't be happy seeing him at the Order once again. He reeled back from the attack, his guard up properly now as he shook his head. What a clash. Ronan was licking the blood from his lips as it kept trickling down from his nose. He smiled over his guard, turning it to a grin then a snarl as he started stomping forward.

He lowered his shoulder and brought his left arm far out to cover as much space as he could as he charged forward, fully intent on ramming his opponent with the shoulder or catching him with the arm. He was trying to go for the grab, wrapping his arms around his opponent and lifting him over his shoulder, throwing him to the ground. If it worked he was planning on following up with a good, old fashioned, ground pounding to the man's face and torso. The charge started with the world going just a little bit redder for Ronan.

[Tio Silver]

A sickening crunch rang out as Tio's head connected with Ronan's nose, breaking it and releasing a stream of blood down the mixed-race's chin, some of which splashed over Tio's hair. The Yludih let out a raspy laugh of elation at the satisfaction that came with getting a good hit in, fully embracing the red haze of violence that'd descended over his vision. In his mind there was no more audience anymore, no bets, or even a world outside the ring. There was the sound of his illusionary heartbeat ringing in his ears, the warmth of Syroa's mark on his back providing a wordless, instinctive encouragement, and there was Ronan, the target of all the destructive urges running through his head.

And he wasn't the only one feeling like this. Ronan had matched his anger with a self-inflicted blow of his own, and sported a grin just as wide and wild as his despite the blood running across it. The blue behemoth charged forwards at him, his shoulder low, and rammed right into the middle of him, lifting him up off the ground and flipping him over his shoulder. The force of the initial ram hurt like a bitch, yet it was spread evenly enough across his whole body to not completely throw off his sense of balance, and so as he was flipped over the giant's shoulder Tio was able to twist around enough to land on his hands and knees instead of crashing straight into the floor. Thanks to this when Ronan followed with a ground pound he was able roll backwards out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blow and buying enough time to stagger back to his feet.

With a furious roar Tio sprint forwards at Ronan, taking the opportunity to put some real momentum behind an attack of his own. Getting up close and inside of Ronan's guard had worked well, so he tried to repeat his success by rushing up close and putting the force of his charge behind his right leg as he shot a straightforward knee strike towards Ronan's stomach.

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[Ronan]

This little guy was putting up quite a fight. Ronan had to admit that he might have miscalculated somewhere along the line. He grinned as his shoulder connected with his opponent. He let out a grunt as his momentum shifted upwards and the small man in his arms was lifted off of his feet, squirming. He turned back and left and let loose his package, tossing him over his shoulder as he continued to turn. He was already dropping down to start pounding down on his opponent so when he finally turned around fully, Ronan was surprised to see his opponent not there, down on the ground.

Instead, his opponent was rolling away from him, landing on his feet. Neither of them hesitated, changing tactics instantly, fueled more by instinct than actual planning. Ronan shifted one leg back, providing a support for the inevitable attack as his opponent rushed him. Ronan's arms were coming up in a cross guard in front of him, ready to shift into a defensive grab if necessary, when a knee came crashing into his defenses. He'd expected a higher strike, the face or even the throat, so his defense only helped a little. What would have been a full blown knee to the stomach, taking out most men, Ronan managed to shift to the side, still dealing a lot of damage and spinning him away from his attacker but not located in such a sensitive spot.

The knee connected with his side, arms and legs clashing in a tangled mess of limbs. He could feel his lowest rib creak inside of his body but he instinctively turned away, pulling on his supporting leg behind him to spin around. The rest of his opponent came crashing in right after and Ronan went down, spinning and turning away, rolling over the floor before ending on one knee, turning his head to try and find his opponent. His guard came up as quick as it could as he stumbled back onto his feet, ready to continue the fight. His nose just kept bleeding, dripping down his lips and chin onto his clothes and the ground. With a big snarling grin on his face, Ronan advanced once again.

He was beginning to feel the effects of the fight, both in endurance and pain tolerance. He'd taken some solid hits in the fight and he hadn't fully recovered yet from the events at the end of last season. The fight gone well beyond what Ronan had expected from it in the beginning. He stumbled, his knee seeming to falter for a moment, and as he shook his head, trying to clear some of the fog, the right side of his guard dropped, more than enough to provide an opening for anyone hungry for a victory to take. The shouts from around the ring increased as those that weren't at the bottom of their steins could see the opening. This would be the final moment.

There was probably nobody who remembered the last time Ronan was here and how he'd won in a similar fashion. Underneath the stumbling and the head shaking, Ronan's mind was clear, the world was red, and he was ready to receive his opponent's attack and finish the fight in one big finale they would all enjoy. While the right side of his guard had dropped, leaving him open to high attacks, the elbow was still in place and his left arm and hand were both close enough to potentially grab anything coming falling for his trap. Speed and acrobatics wouldn't be of much use once Ronan managed to lock him in.

[Tio Silver]

Tio's knee strike connected, scoring a nasty blow on Ronan's ribs.The blue giant went down, spinning and rolling away to put some distance between them, and for the sake of the show Tio made no move to follow him and instead took a few steps back himself. The adrenaline was starting to go to his head, and like most inexperienced fighters Tio unknowingly started to get cocky when he saw his opponents strength start to waver. With his logical reasoning suppressed by the instinctive brutality of the fistfight his actor's ego started to take hold, and in his eyes the fight started to look like it had already been won. He, the scrappy underdog, had brought his seemingly more powerful foe to his knees, and now all that remained was for him to administer the finishing blow.

The cheers grew louder as the audience sensed the fight drawing near to its end, and a wry smile grew on Tio's lips as he basked in their cheers, greedily soaking up their attention and admiration like a sponge. By the spirits he loved this feeling; the sensation of hundreds of eyes watching you with wonder and rapt attention! It was a more primal, ferocious kind of attention that he found performing in a play, but it had a certain unique charm of its own. He could get used to this.

With his mind clouded by his ego, it was no real surprise that Tio didn't recognise Ronan's trap for what it was. In his head he'd already won after all, he just needed to perform the grand finale. Targeting Ronan's exposed right side, Tio gathered the rest of his strength and fury in one last charge, and with a feral war cry sprinted forwards to rain down a hammer blow on the Eidisi.

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[Ronan]

It was a sight to behold, seeing this little man in front of him bask in the moment like he did. Ronan could feel just how the man felt. The crowd was barely a handful, nothing compared to the good old days, but the effect was only slightly less as the guests of the Four in Hand were shouting at and encouraging their favorite fighter while cursing the other one as best they could. The fight was at its peak moment, the grand finale. Even those who didn't see the flow of the fight, which Ronan assumed was mostly everyone present here, could feel that the end was near, that they had to pour every bit of energy they had into their favorite fighter, the person they put their money on.

The final confrontation lasted all of two trills. One moment, Ronan and his opponent were facing off, the next, Ronan stood victorious over his opponent. Those that blinked at the wrong moment missed it all, the others barely comprehended what had happened. Only Ronan, and perhaps his opponent, knew for sure.

When his opponent sprang forward, charging him, Ronan acted mostly out of sheer instinct, reacting to his opponent, rather than defending himself in any sort of controlled fashion. The distance between them was closed quickly, his opponent sure of his victory, forsaking his defense in an attempt to end it quicker. The man's fist rushed for Ronan's seemingly defenseless side and Ronan shifted out of his faked injury. His opponent's fist cut through the air as Ronan turned to his right, spinning around. The back of his hand bumped into the side of the fist just before his fingers wrapped around the man's wrist. His left hand gripped up higher, in the middle of the upper arm. Ronan continued to spin, aiming for the opening in between his opponent's arm and body, placing his body there.

Both his hands gripped tightly in their respective spots and forced the man's arm up, just above shoulder height. Once the momentum of his spin had him turned with his back to his enemy, Ronan bent forward and pulled his opponent forward. He shifted his left foot back slightly, pushing his hip back into his opponent's center of gravity. The sudden break into the balance of a man was more often than not enough to throw him off and turn him into little more than a stuffed, practice toy. His entire body tensed as his muscles clamped down, forcing all his strength forth to pull this man over his shoulder. He could feel his blood coursing through his body faster, his nose bleeding even more as he exerted himself, as he put such strain on his own body. One trill.

His opponent went flying, half next to Ronan, half overtop of him. To increase the damage as much as possible, Ronan leaned forward as much as he could, putting more momentum behind the man's throw. The moment his opponent crashed into the ground, Ronan was letting go of his arm and straightening back up. The force of the impact knocked his opponent back up from the ground. Balancing on his right foot, Ronan pulled his left knee up and forward before his opponent landed again on the floor, he brought his booted foot down, aimed at the man's face. Pulling his fists in to himself, Ronan kicked down as hard as he could. The two trills were over.

Those who saw it saw the spectacle, the feat of strength, skill and speed that the large, muscular, golden haired Eídisi had just completed. They were impressed by what they could see, impressed by the show of it, the visuals of it. Few, or more probably none, of them understood the full extent of such an attack. Even Ronan felt a surge of pride welling up within for having been able to pull it of, even if it had been purely on instinct. His opponent had taken multiple impacts from the counter Ronan had lured him in. A skilled fighter might have understood the full extent here.

Pulling his opponent by the arm over his shoulder put strain on the shoulder of his opponent. This was then followed up with the full body impact to the ground. Before it could fall again, Ronan's boot connected with the man's face, kicking it, for a second impact, down quicker than the rest of his body, a third impact. The rest of the body followed and fell back to the ground, a fourth impact, the momentum of that knocked his head back up, like a whip, down for a fifth impact. Ronan stood over his opponent, eyeing him in a fully red world, his blood coursing through his veins, pulsing in his ears and forehead. He was ready to continue, ready to finish this if the man on the ground so much as twitched.

From the corner of his sight he saw two people moving into the ring, hurriedly. One was the announcer from before, the other wore a green hood and robe.