Fight:Bare-Knuckle Boxing in Vailkrin - ColdMoon (npc) v Snake Eyes (npc)

Background

Alfredo's Night of Delightful Fights - Bare-Knuckle Boxing in Vailkrin

Another night, and a peculiar fight amongst the many low-level brawls which had occurred that evening.

ColdMoon was NPCd by Svilfon

Snake Eyes was NPCd by Cornelius

ColdMoon vs Snake Eyes

Alfredo is in top form tonight, standing imperiously on a small vortex made spectacular by the golden ribbons caught up in the gusts of air. "Madames and ruffians, Gentlemen and harlots, as you have seen over the past hour, the performers are ever-so-willing to be spilling their blood in your honour! Applaud their efforts, I beseech you, and welcome two more contenders to the ring!" A haze of colourful smog covers the killing pit, concealing the cage and contenders as the sound of grates being raised and then closed echoes around the warehouse. Then, with a wave of Alfredo's hand, the fog whips up in a column to be sucked into his erstwhile platform as he points to the contestants with his cane, twirling a waxed moustache "In the black section, we have ColdMoon, a fierce barbarian slave! Ladies, swoon! Gentleman, stay back! He is possibly related to the frost giants, just look at his size!" The cane whips across to the other fighter, very slim and short by comparison to ColdMoon's great bulk "Snake Eyes! An acclaimed performer from Gualon! His dusky skin and dark eyes will stun your hearts, even as his acrobatic feats will stun your body and mind!" With a grand sweep of the cane, a rush of wind carries away all sound while Alfredo proclaims "Gentlemen! Show us what you are made of! Allow us the indescribable joy of watching your bodies battered in the name of gold and glory! Allez! Commence!"

ColdMoon stalks into the arena with a terrible scowl on his pale face. To call the man big would be like calling Leoxander a puppy: He is colossal for a human; corded, tight muscles covering every inch of his exposed flesh, and much of it is exposed. Bred deep in the frozen tundra that incarcerates Frostmaw, flesh already shines with sweat in the stifling environment of deceased life that is the fist-fighting in Vailkrin. As Alfredo makes his introductions the man clenches and unclenches his mighty fists; face betraying the darkness that drives him to crush his opponents beneath his formidable strength. Slavery - for a man bred with the only confines being his own strength, his own endurance, he finds this intolerable. He will crush this man. He will crush the next. He will crush every vagabond, rogue, warrior and queen in this god forsaken city until he has smashed his way back to freedom. Or death. He doesn't care. So as commence is screamed and the crowd cries out in glee, ColdMoon roars a mighty roar and charges directly at Snake Eyes. As he nears the lanky man, having not really cared about Alfredo's rather telling introduction, he closes his two fists together, lifts them over his head, before bringing them down in a colossal double-handed blow at the former acrobat's head - a punch that means to crush the lanky bastard into the size of a dwarf....

Snake Eyes, long of leg and arm, his body almost anorexic and wiry with muscle, was weaving in what seemed to be a trance-like, swaying dance. His coffee-brown skin glistens with what may be sweat, his only clothing a loincloth common to some of the swamp-dwelling tribes outside Gualon. Apart from his sleek musculature, the only sign of his experience with combat are a small collection of faint scars on his legs, torso, and arms. As the barbarian charges him, he steps back with the right leg into a single-legged squat, timing it as those mighty, log-like arms descend - and then, with a spring that seems to defy gravity, Snake Eyes is born upwards, left leg coiling beneath him and striking out to use either the barbarian's face or shoulder as a further launchpad, which, if successful, will give him the elevation required to get hands on the bars of the caged ceiling. From this vantage point Snake Eyes would observe his prey a moment, hissing at him, while he seeks out possible weak points with a critical eye.

Alfredo continues to whip up the crowd "Patrons, what we have here today is mythical! The giant seeks to tread on the snake! Will history repeat itself? Place your wagers now!" From all around the pit cheers and catcalls echo, largely in favour of the giant human. Most find the antics of Snake Eyes at this point too strange and exotic to warrant applause.

ColdMoon finds nothing but air beneath his fists as the acrobatic man uses his face as a launchpad to soar high above the arena and latch himself to the cage above. The pain from the man's foot is nothing to the barbarian, but fleeing prey is something he does not endure. His hand instinctively goes to where his mighty axe once graced his thigh, but only air is grasped. No weapons. As the crowd bays and screams their joy, ColdMoon roars his rage at them. This little man is an extension of his suffering, and as such, will be made to suffer in turn. The barbarian drops to a single knee and sends his fingers searching along the ground until he finds a small crack in the stone floor. He smiles then; a pernicious smile full of odious intent. Those corded muscles on his back flex outwards as he drives his fingers into the crack and pulls with all his strength - tearing from the floor a sizable chunk of stone. With the flash of a glare sent towards Alfredo - this wasn't a weapon, surely - the barbarian pushes himself to his feet. In the same motion he spins his back around, before hurling the stone chunk right at the hanging acrobat. It flies through the air with in-human speed, and the crowd, finding this to their liking, hoot and call with glee - hoping to see the evasive one squeezed through the top of the cage in many tiny pieces by the force of the large projectile.

Forewarned by the effort the large barbarian goes through to gain hold of the rock, Snake Eyes is well prepared for the rock, and with a monkey's agility swings away from the rock, even as it shatters against the cage he was just beneath. With the force behind the projectile, several rock shards land painfully on Snake Eyes, drawing blood on his shoulder and neck. With an enraged hiss and uncanny precision the acrobat's body contorts as he brings his legs up to allow his feet to grip the cage, even as his hands catch a falling lump of rock and send it hurtling back at the giant. The instant the rock leaves his hands he flexes his knees inwards, then with a slight downwards hop launches himself at the barbarian, elbows descending with the vicious intent to crush some part of ColdMoon's face.

Alfredo is not too pleased by the rock, as some of the shards have also injured paying customers and elicited at least one scream of pain from a nearby lady "Ladies, Gentlemen, The humblest apologies from myself to yourselves, for allowing harm to come to your ever-so-precious and wallet-bearing bodies." He points his cane at the combatants, his magics halting Snake Eye's rock just before its target point "Henceforth, projectiles shall not be allowed within the arena, and use of them shall bring the same penalty as that of those who bear weapons within my event. Now gentleman! Continue the bloodbath!"

ColdMoon doesn't even listen to Alfredo's little rant. So people were injured? Good! The bastards were baying for blood, and damnit, they got it. With another roar, the barbarian clenches his right handed fist and punches the levitating stone - shattering it into tiny granules of dust. "Happy, you slave driving son of a..." He doesn't get to finish the insult. Snake Eyes has come from above, and his elbows strike with their uncanny precision. The skinny man's elbows strike like knives - one tearing a strip of flesh from the barbarian's cheek, the other smashing his top lip through his teeth, causing the barbarian to taste his own blood. He is stunned for just a moment as he staggers back, before the fist that punched the stone is lifted to his mouth. With a snarl he pulls his lip forward, tearing it away from his teeth, before spitting on the ground. This is all too much. The man is skinnier than a twig, and needs to be snapped. So the barbarian, reason given to the insanity of uncontrolled rage, charges at him. No fists fly, instead he seeks to grab the man - any part of the man - and tear him limb from limb. Any strikes coming his way would be ignored - no semblance of defence offered against attack. He doesn't care any more. Pain and mutilation is a small price to pay for being able to stop the quick bodied, and witted, human and render him legless and armless.

It isn't just blood the Barbarian would taste. The oil which coats Snake Eye's limbs and torso, hands and feet excluded, has a very unpleasant taste. Still, when the barbarian doesn't fall from the elbow-strike the acrobat had hoped would win him the battle, deep concern rises within the slippery man's lithe frame. This concern has him backpedaling away from the barbarian as the enraged man approaches. At the last moment Snake Eyes launches his feet behind him, knees coiling again as he launches himself from the wall directly at the barbarian's presumable sizeable groin. It is a gamble, a move of desperation as the acrobat hopes that the oil he is coated in will save him from the brutal finale those oversized hands and bloodied face are promising - at least long enough to force his body to jackknife beneath him with a powerful contortion of stomach muscles. If successful, his next defence would be to drop into a roll between the barbarian's legs to get some more space.

Alfredo whooshes around the warehouse like some berserk cloud formation as the onlookers cheer on the two fighters with every crunch of stone or bone. The encouragement is more evenly spread now, and a new wave of betting erupts on the sidelines

ColdMoon is caught squarely in a groin that is indeed quite sizeable. Pain erupts throughout his mighty body, causing him to falter long enough for the weasely man to slide beneath his legs with his typically acrobatic flair. This is not going well. Blood and foul liquid mix in his mouth, his cheek is bleeding, children are now nothing more than a pipe-dream, and he's yet to do more than superficially blood the quick human before him. So he snaps, completely losing control beneath the stares of the crowd. It is an almost tangible thing as he shifts to become no longer a thinking man - sentience forsaken beneath a wall of scarlet rage. He does something so inconceivable that even the blood-hungry crowd is stunned to silence. He cannot reach the acrobat. He cannot crush him. He cannot tear him apart. So he will bash him to death with the only weapon allowed. He screams again in rage; a mighty roar so loud it reverberates around the make-shift stadium, before he wraps his right hand around his left wrist. With a bloody smile full of a sadistic delight, the man pulls with all his strength and literally tears his left arm from his body. Blood flows from the horrendous wound on his shoulder, and a torrent pours from the bloodied end of his 'club', but he doesn't care. He now has a weapon, which he swings around, sending a sanguine spray around his body. Yes, this will do nicely. He will beat the man to death with the wet end. He clenches his mighty legs beneath him as the crowd remains in stunned silence, before he leaps right at the acrobat. The former limb, now made weapon, is swung with mighty slashes at the man's head. The make-shift club makes hideous sounds as it cleaves the air, seeking to impart flesh on flesh with such violence it would tear the man's head from his shoulders and end his wily ways once and for all. It is only then that the crowd regains its voice as the full horror of what they're seeing is known. Now -this- will make a good story, and for years to come people will swear they were at the match when the barbarian tore his arm off and used it as a weapon to try and beat to death a man skinnier than an elf.

Snake Eyes may be able to retreat fast, but not fast or far enough against a madman who has just doubled his reach by using his own bloody arm as a club. Fear enters the slippery man's eyes as he desperately flattens himself to avoid one strike, rolls to avoid another, jumps a third, and prays for some idea of how to end the insanity. However, with the size of that gory club, and the limited space within the stone box of the fighting 'ring' the lithe man is finally caught by the barbarian - a sickening wet 'kashplunk' heralds the moment where ColdMoon brutally beats Snake Eyes with the soggy end of his own mighty arm. With the amount of barbarian gore covering the acrobat, there is no telling how bad the damage is. However, one thing can be sure: the little man definitely isn't moving, or making any attempt to rise.

Alfredo watches the Barbarian's desperate act with the twisted glee of an addict, shouting "Bravo! BRAVO! Bellissimo! Now this is a fight! His own arm! How can I call that an illegal weapon, ladies and gentleman? No! This. Is. Permitted!" With that exclamation Alfredo brings himself to the very centre of the warehouse above the pit, watching those frantic moments where Snake Eyes tries to evade ColdMoon. At last, when the acrobat is struck down by the barbarian, he cheers, his voice carried through the warehouse by his magics, even as he causes a maelstrom of wind to separate the two fighters "Ladies! Gentlemen! We have a winner! A true champion, who does not know the meaning of defeat! Indeed, I do not know if he knows the meaning of anything! He's as mad as my aunty, and a mountain-sized mass of trouble called ColdMoon! Let him hear your cheers before blood loss causes him to pass out! Fetch the healers! I want this one to live! Bravo!"

ColdMoon is separated by the wall of wind that Alfredo causes to whirl into life between the two combatants. His immense rage is somewhat placated by knocking the acrobatic man unconscious, and in a move of rare humour (He will in future blame this on blood-loss) he flips the limb around and raises his own hand, literally, in victory. He breathes in to roar once more to the crowd, but before he can the lack of blood fuelling his mighty form gets the best of him and he collapses onto the stone floor: Very much alive, but no longer in the realms of consciousness.