Kindred Spirits (Arcanus)

[Saber-Five]

Inside the basement of an inn, dozens of people surrounded a wooden square shaped platform with four poles tied together by three pairs of rope. Inside was a woman with short raven hair and olive skin, wearing a tannish chest wrapping and a miniskirt. She stood in the middle of the ring holding up with both hands a battered and shirtless elven male with bald features. As the small crowd yelled out curses or praises in her direction, Meeta with a bored expression shouted.

"Is this the best fighter you got? By the gods I came here for a challenge, not pushover. This bastard lasted barely two minutes."

Scowling in disgust Meeta threw her defeated opponent into the audience, causing many to scatter. The elf crashed on a small table, shattering it on impact. Meanwhile the Essrnyi walked over to a corner, while the crowd recovered from their shock.

That fool was a waste of time, despite his boasts. Meeta thought to herself, before calling out. "C'mon give me something better people. A real fight! Anyone can will get two hundred gold coins if they last a few minutes in this ring.

Four hundred if you actually beat me. Hell I'll buy everyone drinks upstairs."

Despite her offer, no one seemed to step up until...

[Arcanus]

Tarlaz's attempts to integrate into the society of the village had been of little success. The people of "Zantaric" had yet to display anything other than irritated acceptance of her presence. She had to bully her way into any sort of accomodation, like the fight night at one of the local inns. She never stopped to consider that maybe she was the one to blame for her inability to integrate.

Tarlaz's night so far had consisted of drinking alone while she watched the fight. Not out of a bucket this time however. She had learned from that mistake.

Tarlaz had enjoyed watching the black haired human make a fool of the elf, wishing she herself was in the ring knocking heads. But at least she got to enjoy a small show of mindless violence for a few moments. It made home seem not so far away.

Until the elf smashed into her table and sent her full drink everywhere. The aftermath, a beersoaked orc that seemed to go unnoticed fuming silently. With a huff, Tarlaz stood, fists clenched. Grabbing the nearest person in the basement, she lifted the man up and wiped her face dry on his shirt before tossing him aside.

"How much if knock you sleep." The question more of a threatening statement, a poorly spoken promise as the towering beer drenched she-orc vaulted into the ring. Feet slamming down, legs spread wide and squatting slightly, Tarlaz bared her tusks at the fighting girl and roared, a guttural orc battle cry bellowing out from the gut.

The crowd went wild with excitement. Drinks flowed and wagers were placed. The Inn would make a lot of money that night. Hopefully enough to cover the cost of any damages.

[Saber-Five]

It was to Meeta's surprise that someone answered her challenge. A very imposing she-orc threw herself in the ring, shaking the mat as she as landed. Where most would be completely terrified right now the former slave wasn't. In fact Meeta smirked in defiance, placing her hands on both hips.

"You're getting ahead of yourself stranger. We will settle it by our fists." Saying that, the Essnyri spread out her legs in a defensive stance and raised fists to shoulder level. At the same moment, the noise from crowd grew more deafening as they sensed the fight beginning. With a more stern expression Meeta thought.

This should be interesting.

[Arcanus]

The fighting girl was not shaken from Tarlaz's roar, nor did she flinch. She showed the fearlessness of a warrior. It was too bad that Tarlaz had to knock her around, though she looked forward to stretching her muscles.

"Ahahah! I like you." Tarlaz laughed at the girl's joke as she set into her own defensive position, knees bent and slightly crouching, hands held forwards, open and hovering at shoulder height. The girl's joke cooled her head somewhat. Even though her upper half was covered in slowly drying beer, she no longer wanted to just tackle the fighter to the ground and beat the snot out of her.

"Sorry for face." The words left her lips as she one-two stepped forwards, closing the distance with her long stride. As her left foot came down, her left hand shot forwards, and Tarlaz rotated her body into the jab, utilizing her longer reach to gain a hopefully unopposed strike. While many fighters would feint, try to play their opponents into showing their strengths and weaknesses, Tarlaz had no patience for such subtleties. The jab was committed, or at least as committed as a swift piston strike to the face could be, for that's what it would feel like if it connected, an iron fist to the face.

[Saber-Five]

Meeta kept center gaze on her opponent. Suddnely Tarlez was upon her, throwing a left fist toward the ex-slave's face. Twisting to the side Meeta dodged out of the way from the jab. A moment later, taking advantage of how close they were the Essnyri threw a right knee toward Tarlez's gut. Victory will not come swiftly for the half orc.