45th Ashan 717
The Tavern, Fridgar's favourite place of worship. Back in Rynmere, his favourite pass time was to booze and battle among the humans, he only wished they could muster a challenge to his superior Lotharen might. When brawling with Fridgar, it wasn't uncommon that people ended up breaking bones or even being lamed. Only one question remained - who would have the misfortune of battling with him tonight?
It was a standard enough evening, the more scrappy bunch were coming out and looking for fights, though not many of them dared set eyes on the giant. Fridgar stood at seven feet tall, leaning on one of the far walls with his arms crossed. The first thing people tended to notice about him was his black leather eye patch, no scars passed under it, then very shortly after, people would notice his size. Broad, tall and built like a siege battering ram; his musculature showed through his crude leather clothing. Above his rugged appearance, he was scarred on every visible patch of skin. From simple lacerations, to acid burns and various punctures - It was almost surprising that this man was alive. Suffice to say, not many people at the Tavern wanted to mess with him.
Too bad that people don't always get what they want.
He opened with his ordinary approach on a night of Ilaren worship: buying a bunch of tough-looking guys a round of drinks. As always, they were sceptical, why would this monster of a man be bothering with them? After they'd come to accept it, however, the gloves came off. "To Ilaren, the greatest immortal to walk Idalos!" He declared before knocking back his drink. The bunch looked at him wide eyed, as though he'd just blassphermied in public. A total of four men, all of them confident enough in their own physical abillity. Feeling safe enough in his numbers, the biggest and baldest one jumped to his feet and swung for Fridgar, knowing that his pack would back him up.
Fridgar was ready and almost instantly caught him by the wrist and squeezed with a steel grip. The man halted and turned with the bending of his arm, his face alight with pain. His pals looked between him and Fridgar with panic prior to getting on their feet, but not before Fridgar finished off his tankard. Still sitting, he backhanded the far right bloke's face with the tankard and crumpled the cheap metal on impact. Blood, saliva and a couple of teeth burst from the male's mouth as he fell to the floor, unconscious. One of the men landed a hook on the side of his face and snapped his head to the right - fair play to the guy, he had a mean right, he even dropped the tankard. The other man grabbed and pulled at his hair - what?
Through with studying his prey, Fridgar pulled at the man's wrist still in his hand and dragged him over the table. He stood up and left the Wussie man to holding onto his mane. Having had just about enough hair pulling in the few trolls of its duration, Fridgar released the man on the table and threw his fist into the gut of the hair-puller while pulling his punch. The impact not only forced the air from his lungs, but also snapped a rib or two, if he'd punched at any higher force, the damage would have been lethal or caused permanent injury, instead, the prick was thoroughly incapacitated and fell to the floor. Fridgar was already bored by the first and fourth men.
Without even trying anymore, Fridgar gripped the table'd one by the back of the head and lifted slightly before smashing him through the woodwork. In that time, the male that punched him prior roundhouse kicked him in the side of the head while he bent over to deal with the first. The impact dazed the Lothar briefly and sent him to one knee. Everything fuzzed over for a few trills and the noises of an excited tavern went muffled - he contemplated here, what was the point of mindlessly smashing humans? Would he ever find a challenger to compare to the immortal he worshipped? Probably not.
Since the fateful trial that Ilaren marked him, fighting humans had just been boring - it would be a more exciting fight to try and let them win. Not one person had made him feel the same in combat as Alistair or Ilaren, the rest were wastes of time. Regardless, the human went in for another blow as his vision cleared, Fridgar tried to rile himself up with a good ol' feral growl, only to feel more unending boredom. Quick as a flash, Fridgar leaped to his feet and gripped the man by his neck and jaw. By now, several patrons of the bar were gathered around, cheering on the blatant victor as he lifted the smaller man overhead. He looked about the room for a suitable throwing target before settling on the bounty board. With the same unimpressed expression, he threw the man across the room at full force. Midway through the man's flight, an avriel woman stepped out in front of the flight path of the human.
Fridgar's eyes widened with both surprise and fear - The avriel were those vicious feathered folk, he knew that much from past experiences with Paplo. Oh well, he shrugged. Fridgar prayed she would at least refrain from aiming for the eyes.
