Fight:Dergious vs Janita

Presented by The Redskull Trophy Ring

Combatants: Dergious vs. Janita
Ring Marshal: Orikahn

Terms: A "Gamorgish Standoff," the combatants are to punch one another in the face until one of them goes down.

The Redskull Trophy Ring

Orikahn mulls about the ringside, counting heads while the spectators pour in. Himself, he'd never *heard* of a "Gamorgish Standoff" until a couple nights prior, but the can't couldn't help but admit that the idea was immediately appealing to him. It made Kahn a little jealous that those ogre brutes had though of it first. The roaring hubbub of the eager crowd has been steadily swelling, and at an accelerating rate now that the ale stands had tapped their hogsheads.

Dergious stomps forth, his lustrous beard hidden beneath layers if filth and nast. He bellows and raises two gnarled, hairy fists and gestures to the crowds. "Be not afraid o' da thunder!" to which he raises his right fist, "Nor O' da um... Thump!" he says as he shakes Thump (his left fist) in a theatrical zeal.

Janita entered the ring, rarin' to go. She was looking forward to this punching contest, and was confident she'd come out on top. She was half-dragon, after all. She was made of sturdy stuff. She looked around the crowd at the spectators and lowered her hood, revealing her horns. Her opponent had better watch where he punched; the rows of horns started at her eyes.

Lanara enters the arena, a wicked grin on her lush lips, as she takes a long glance at the ring. The elf is secretly hopeful that Janita will get her arse kicked from here to Rynvale, as the last time she’d seen the feline she’d wrongfully judged her ex-fiance, and was the reason that Lanara had been assaulted. She takes a seat, front row, of course, and crosses her arms over her chest, excited to see fists start flying. If she were to lock eyes with Orikahn, she’d give the male a wink, as next weeks fight would star her, as well as her unsuspecting sister, Talyara.

Lanara is unimpressed with both of their entrances, and she shakes her head, her dark eyes narrowing on Janita. Cupping both side of her mouth, she shouts above the roar of the crowd, “You suck!”

Janita barely remembered Lanara's face, never mind her voice. Plus, the 'you' in question could be either of them. As such, the jeering goes ignored.

Orikahn hears a roar surge through the stadium as the fighters appear in the ring, and he takes this as his cue. The loincloth-clad cat rolls his neck and shoulders and throws an oxblood and cream tunic over his head, matching the banners hung festively from the walls and ceiling. The official colors of the Redskull Trophy Ring. As Orikahn strides out to greet the fighters, curvaceous dwarven cheerleaders rush in to crowd the ring's periphery, noisily shaking their poms and shouting bright, energetic, unintelligible things. "Alright," Orikahn greets the fighters, "it's a Gamorgish Standoff. Simple rules. She punches you in the head, you punch her in the head." Anticipating the discrepancy in height between Janita and Dergious, two of the cheerleaders roll out a squat barrel and set it up in the ring, should Dergious wish to stand upon it. Orikahn goes on. "First one down loses. And don't try any dirty tricks," the feline glares menacingly, shooting each a warning glance, "or you'll have me to answer to." He jabs his thumb at his chest. "Any questions? No? Good." Whether they had questions or not, Kahn mustn't care that badly, for he steps back a few paces to give the fighters their due space.

Revion has been on the move in recent days, trying to keep one step ahead of all manner of things that seem to wish him dead. This brings an elf to a rather unexpected location; smack dab in the middle of a rather large crowd who are here to bare witness to some martial contest. Being as out of place here as he would in any metropolitan area, the druid simply decides to try to blend in as best as possible and picks a side. As screams and boos are shot towards the feline, the sylvan simply decides balance must be maintained, and he shouts out. "Kick his ass, cat!"

Janita managed to suppress her smirk as the barrel was rolled out. Not that she was the type to underestimate short people, no, of course not. She waited until Dergious climbed atop it (or kicked it away in disgust), and then threw a vicious right hook. No words, no handshake, no nothin'. She was here to punch and be punched, damn it.

Lanara glances at the wood elf, a face she doesn’t recognize, and her chocolate hues give him a lingering once over as he shouts in support of the feline hybrid. Were they connected somehow? She considers introducing herself, perhaps luring him over to the side that was hopeful of Dergious being dubbed the winner, but then the fleeting though slips from her mind and she returns her gaze to the fight. Great. Midgets were rolling out a barrel now. She stifles the urge to roll her eyes, and suspiciously flicks her gaze to Kahn. What sort of angle was he hoping for with the barrel? “I hope she trips over the blasted thing!” Lana mutters, loudly enough for any nearby to overhear.

Orikahn eyes a few ringside spectators enviously as a cheerleader walks the perimeter with a pony keg on her shoulder, happily filling their waiting flagons, passing out ale and gregarious winks with ample liberty. Just then, the meaty "CRACK" of a punch snaps his attention back. Ah right, Kahn, you have a job to do, and things are just now getting good.

Dergious was right smack dab in the middle of underestimating the GIRL, his squat form having utilized the offered barrel not to stand on but to sit upon. He sat there, a big fat grin splitting his filthy beard, with his heels hitting the barrel as he kicked looking very much like a spoiled toddler in a high chair. He really seemed to be enjoying himself until the right hook came driving home. The woman's fist struck him on the side of his face and as it made contact with the dwarf's beard an oily, smelly, filthy, nasty, vile substance with the approximate feel and texture as sandy toothpaste (except kinda warm) splooshes outwards. The punch turns the dwarf's head, however, and elicits a unmanly "Oooohhhh?" sound that results in the man ending up face first and ass up in the dirt of the arena. He lays still for a moment, then stands and faces his opponent. "Whut?" he says, " Did Orikahn's mama gimmie a kiss on da cheek like dis mornin?" he says with a sneer. He then sicks his hand under his shirt in up into his armpit and wipes his fist in the tangled, unwashed armpit hair and removes it. Now glistening with dirty pit sweat, the dwarf sends it out in a straight left jab, aiming at the woman's nose holes.

Janita stumbled back, clutching her nose. Not because it hurt, but because it stank. "Ugh, really???" She wiped her nose on her sleeve, trying to get the offending bodily fluid off her face. She shot back with a jab of her own, right at his eye.

Revion watches the events transpire while trying to keep the little bit of ration he ate earlier down. Druegar are vile things, and this one seems to embody those qualities to the max. The realization of how out of place the druid is starts to settle a bit more, as the stale air of this place, mixed with he stench of various body odors, cigarette smoke, various spirits and hot breath of the screaming crowd almost overwhelms him. He'd never understand the desire some races have to packing themselves into such places when there is vast open landscapes to travel through.

Orikahn is, himself, a creature possessing a sensitive nose. Janita's initial punch had shaken loose some of what must have been Derg's latent odor, and by the time the foul little dwarf is wiping his hand in his armpit, Kahn has to shield his face with the back of his hand. He takes a step back to, ah, afford the fighters the, uh, GRANDEUR of having more room to themselves. Yes, that's what he'll say if anyone asks. Luckily, the crowd is either too far away or too buzzed to notice. And Kahn *does* have a sensitive nose.

Dergious was in the middle of congratulating himself, licking the very pit-moistened fist he had just thrown in the hopes of grossing out the crowed when suddenly, for a split second, he saw only knuckles and then felt pain. "Aaaauuug!" he says eloquently as he covers his eye with the same pit-drenched hand he had recently been licking. He blinks, in all likelihood cementing pinkeye or at the very least a sty, and growls. He hops about a bit, rubbing and swearing while surreptitiously slipping his other hand into a pouch at his waist and grabbing a cylinder of rolled gold pieces. Safely (he thinks) hidden within his meaty fist, the dwarf charges at the draco-cat and leaps. Using all of his momentum, he drives the fist with the coins into her stupid face with the momentum of a flying dwarf!

Lanara nearly gags at the habits of the ill-mannered dwarf, and for a split second she pities Janita. Then she comes to her senses, and snickers, as the show goes on.

Janita yelped as she felt his fist connect. That was WAY harder than she'd been expecting! She felt her jaw. Not broken, no loose teeth, but DAMN did that hurt! She was tempted to punt the little bastard into the stands, but this was a punching contest. She took a couple steps back, then lunged forward, landing on all fours before him, then pounced, using her legs to help propel her uppercut.

Orikahn notices some of the cheerleaders have begun using their poms to try and fan the smell back into the ring. If their initial inclination had been to cheer their fellow dwarf, duergar or no, but perhaps they are having misgivings? Nonetheless! Eager to keep up the energy, they run the rounds and try to stir up a rowdy chant in the crowd. "Punch! Punch! Punch! Punch!" Orikahn, meanwhile, has not forgotten Dergious' slight against his mother, made all the more foul by the spreading aroma. The cat's job is to be fair and impartial, but he's finding more and more reasons to side with his fellow feline. Especially, Orikahn silently adds through squinted eyes, now that there seem to be shenanigans afoot. The dwarf did *something* and he missed it, of that much Kahn's sure. Miasma or no, he steps back toward the contenders, mentally bracing himself to leap between them should he spot any infraction to decisively confirm his suspicions.

Dergious sees the uppercut coming, and while there was no way to block it, he does come up with an idea on the fly. As the punch comes he raises his hands as if to try to block it, and as it connects he simply releases the rolled up coins. The result is an airborne dwarf, a woman mid-punch pose, and in between them the rolled coins. Dergious lands, the back of his head the first thing that hits the ground, in a dusty TWAP. Once again he is still for a moment, during which a small wet spot appears at his crotch that slowly grows of it's own accord. He twitches, moans, rolls and then struggles to his feet. He points to the rolled coins and yells, "Cheat! She's cheatin!" Undeterred, he reaches down the back of his pants and rubs vigorously, removes the hand and then charges. Instead of just throwing a punch, he begins a spin like a child might. Faster and faster he spins with both clenched fists (one of which has ass juice on it) outstretched. He keeps spinning until he feels contact, and hopes (because he forgot which fist was down his pants) the gross one connected.

Janita snarled. “Cheat? You're the one who was holding that!” Besides, if she had wanted to cheat, she'd have used her lightning magic to stun him. No, she was fighting clean this time. She wrinkled her nose and made a noise of disgust, backing away as Dergious flew towards her. This had gone from a fun punching contest to an utter joke, and a gross one at that. She wasn't about to take THAT kind of hit, not to the face! She looked to Orikahn, still dancing around Dergious. “The hell kind of show are you running?!”

Orikahn curses as the fight turns fouler yet. Whether it was the way the dwarf had been spinning, or perhaps it had been the force with which Janita's punch had connected, but somehow, but some unfortunate interaction of gross kinetic forces, a palpable glob of grimy, greasy, dwarven funk sails right through the air, right out of the ring to land in a ringside spectator's drink. It falls with a quiet plop, inaudible beneath the cheers and boos and chanting, and so, none the wiser, the poor lady takes a drink. She gags. She retches. She tries to stand and rush to the aisle but, in her attempt, only succeeds in vomiting right down the backs of the seats in front of her. What begins to unfold, then, is an unfortunate chain reaction. MEANWHILE. "Break! Break, I said!" Orikahn rushes between them, just in time to catch Derg's fist with the palm of his hand. A terrible mistake. Kahn grimaces and shakes off the sting, but it won't shake off the grim. "Alright you two." He throws each of them another look of warning, though Derg deginitely gets the harsher of the two glances. "You clean up your acts. This is a fight, not some," an appropriate metaphor fails to leap to mind, "...dandy...flabbit. It's your punch." He points at Janita and steps back out of the way. "Keep it a fair fight!" Please, please don't make me step in there again. Kahn wipes the dwarf-grease on his tabard.

Revion feels his connection the the earth is a bit impoverished by the dwarven use of runic magic that is so expertly etched into the buildings around here. It is a manner of magic that separates the races by miles in many ways, as elves can live in one with nature and flourish, while dwarves tend to rule over the stone in various ways. The mountain wad their domain, and little greenery found its way into the halls of the mountain-born, leaving a sylvan such as Revion a bit out of sync in many ways. With the fight becoming more of a spectacle than actual combat, the elf felt as though so fresh air would do him wonders. Pushing through the blood lusted, and quickly becoming drunken, crowd was easy enough with fleet footwork and a few stiff elbows. The druid casts a weary glance down the bustling streets, making sure to watch for possible attacks from wayward fae as he wanders back up towards the mines, and back towards his beloved forest.

Janita was grateful for the intervention, and the second Kahn was back out of the ring she sucker-punched Dergious right in the mouth. “Nasty little bugger,” she snarled. She was going to have to talk to Kahn about screening his combatants better.

Lanara chokes on a kernel, and hurls the bucket and its contents at the ring, before storming out for some air.

Dergious gets punched in the mouth, sucker-style, and approves until the pain comes. His head rocks back until he sees nothing but sky and the unfortunate sight of a passing roc relieving himself directly above. The birds, being the size of an elephant, apparently release droppings the size of a dwarf. This particular dropping lands directly upon this particular dwarf's mug, which is made even more unfortunate due to the fact that said dwarf was in the middle of shouting, "Nooooo!" when it landed. The quivering pile of Roc poop quivers, and then break apart as the dwarf fights free. Blinded, he begins throwing hay-makers in every direction, until he gets lucky enough to strike his opponent.

Orikahn is as startled as the crowd when an escaped roc from Craughmoyle's nearby zoo finds it's way into the underground stadium. Amid the screams of the patrons, whistle-blowing of the security staff, and general chorus of chaos, somewhere the fighters might distinguish the sounds of Kahn yelling. "That's it! I'm calling it! I'm done." He looks to his bosses in the stands. "I'm done!" With hasty disregard, Orikahn yanks off his tunic over his head and, in those few brief moments of blindness, catches one of Dergious' similarly blind haymakers. The cat tumbles, spills, and lands in a rumpled heap. A moment later, the tunic is confetti, rent asunder in a cloud of claws. "GRRAH!" This last roar is heard somewhat more easily over the panicked roar of the audience. Above, the rock flutters and bangs and swoops. Somewhere, in the lobby, the fain sound of a street performer's saxaphone can be heard, squawking a lively melody that seems to compliment the mad scene.

Janita thought Dergious more than deserved to be buried on Roc dung. Once he burst from the pile, she went back to nimbly dodging Dergious's blows. Orikahn's declaration was heard, and she winced as Dergious's poop-covered fist connected. Did this mean the fight was over? Had she won? Either way, she wasn't touching that duergar again, nor was she planning to be touched BY him. No prize was worth this! She leaped from the ring, landing next to Orikahn. Her tail swished behind her as she inspected her gloves. They'd probably have to be burned.

Dergious stops swinging and begins the process of wiping his eyes clear. Eventually, after mostly succeeding he looks about blinking. "There was one?" he says hopefully.

Oriakhn points to a barrel of ale and jerks his head toward it, hoping to silently get the point across to Janita while Dergious is busy wiping his eyes. Kahn knocks the top off of the barrel, and if his fellow feline is willing to give him a hand, perhaps, together, they'd be able to dump it over the rancid duergar's head? A beer shower's better than no shower at all, amirite?

Janita followed Orikahn's lead, though she did murmur, “Seems like a waste of good booze...” Once the duergar was suitably drenched, she backed away from him and looked to Kahn. “Got any more? I could use a drink.”

Dergious gave 1 demon-blood wine to Janita.

Dergious gave 1 demon-blood wine to Orikahn.

Dergious drank 1 demon-blood wine.

Orikahn drank 1 demon-blood wine.

Janita drank 1 demon-blood wine.