The Savage Lion and The Myrian [Razkar]

by **Senghor Vilhjalmr** on March 17th, 2014, 9:32 pm

41st of Spring 514AV

They roared out their gaping mouths, their chants and savagery behavior only enhanced by the sight of blood as the massive warriors within the Blood Pits danced with Dira, their fists swinging and scraping at one another flesh. Around the Pits, within the very stands and seats the crowd cheered placed their on whoever they believed would take the prize of their lives home, The Bull had set this fight up to test the young warriors strength, two heavyweights in the Pits?, with pieces of furniture strewn around the as they traded arms.

At his sides the dark skinned warrior felt the maverick fists of the larger man pound again and again. The brute was a boxer no doubt about it so with his 'limited' knowledge in the field the younger man kept his arms up to shield his face while tightened his abdomen and kept slowly moving back. Both figures had already drawn blood and bruises had already began to deeply emerge, on Seng more so than the heavy hitting boxer.

As he swayed, shifted and moved back Seng mentally spat as the larger figure kept him cornered. Unknowingly each jab and hook coming at him stirred the aggravated spark that lingered within, each heavy hit on him rattled the cage of the beast within. The savage beast that sat at the back of his mind, deep in the uncharted parts of his subconscious as the two fighters battered one another, the sacrilege of fatal arms between them both caused the crowd to go wild.

Both fighters in the Blood Pits were regulars, they'd seen one another fight before and it was clear that in the way they moved the brute had analyzed Seng quite well, he tried deeply to corner the warrior and beat him to a pulp. Seng had seen the tactic before and last time, it worked effective immediately for the large man once beat a newbie in the pits to a pile of mush, the man's fists were living weapons and he knew how to effectively utilize them.

As Seng felt another fresh blow to his side, he winced in pain and bared his teeth, he felt a rib shift and that was what ignited the fire for him. He kept his guard up and looked around him, debris of wood and broken chairs sprawled all over - 'Perfect' he mentally thought as he turned back the boxer.

"C'mon you walking piece of dog shit, my mother spanked me harder than you hit!" the Vilhjalmr taunted aggressively as he felt the angered man apply more to force to his punch. Senghor winced again whilst his throat seemingly tore with a beastly growl, his eyes tactful upon the larger man looking for an opening no matter how small it was.

It seemed that the bruiser wasn't letting out yet his punches were slowly getting weaker whilst fatigue began to settle, the force was still there albeit diminished. Senghor once again returned to the boxer he thought about how he'd fought bigger, stronger and more aggressive beings an Alpha amongst Yukmen which had seemingly cornered the savage Vilhjalmr.

As the rhythmic roar of the crowd drowned his thoughts his eyes finally saw a minor opening, he looked at the man's arching arm and timed it as precisely as he could. Seng detached his right arm and brought it low with one forcefully uppercut and squarely landed it on the chin of the boxer. Stunned the boxer stepped back but slowly returned only to have Senghor's hands wrap around his face and his knee connect with his stomach which caused him to stagger backwards.

All bullshit was set aside as Senghor brought back all his experience as a fighter, a brawler. With a swing to the jaw from his right a scrap with his left and push back with his boot, the boxer muddled backwards causing Seng pounce again, this time his fists connected with the confused man to push him back.

His anger set -
First the spark, with his fists hitting heavy at the larger man's sides. He slid to the right, his right fist soon followed with a hook to the jaw, crowd proudly standing at the act of senseless violence.

Second the fire, the enraged Seng hooked his left fist into the throat of the boxer as his right boot kicked the man's kneecap to destabilize him, a howl and choke of confusion emitted the slowly swelling pipe of larger figure, a thud echoed at the back of everybody's head as they watched the mountain of flesh collapse onto one knee as if in prayer. All manner of honorable fighting was set aside by Senghor the Brawler.

Lastly, the inferno. As the crowd roared something at the back of Seng's mind mimicked their actions, yet his was much deeper, it was hoarse and beastly. The Beast within had come for than Senghor Vilhjalmr only saw blood, his eyes filled with anger and hatred as they ran red like rivers swaying with the current after a violent massacre.

Senghor's shoulder connected with the man's side as the both fell to the cluttered ground. The enraged Vilhjalmr went berserk as he straightened himself and looked down at his dazed and blooded opponent, than a volley of fists fell aggressively, violently and beastly at the man's face and so often his thick exposed throat. Senghor dared not pause but only for a minute the bloodlusted bruiser's eyes searched floor for a weapon, a ghastly tool to end his senseless rampage.

His adrenaline levels shot up as his hand fell onto rough and broken, it was no more the 10 inches in length and 6 in width, a savage roar came from the Vilhjalmr as he raised it high and the crowd exploded when they saw it. It descent, piercing into the right eye of boxer who uttered not words but linguistics of pain, pain so vulgar and gory that it caused Seng to twist the object, a broken piece of thick wood from a chair.

Death was inevitable as he stood and brought down his boot down the piece of wood deeply lodging it down the skull of the already dead boxer who'd died from shock and pain. As the crowd roared The Bull returned and stirred much more excitement for them, he spoke, he praised and bared his chest proudly on Seng's behalf.

The tired man's muscles contracted to visibly show his wounds, they roared once again when the Bull held his arm and raised it to the crowd. Angrily the young man shrugged it off as he held his side, he mentally spat at how he lashed out again, he told himself that it wasn't meant to happen.

"Better to die an honorable death than a violence one" he whispered to himself as he turned to look at the mountain of meat now lain in blood, Death lingered around him awaiting to reap his soul deep into the Void...

"Damnit..."

by **Razkar** on March 18th, 2014, 12:54 am

He could have pretended he wasn't quite sure why he still came to that place, but it would have been a lie. Two nights in a row Razkar how thrilled the baying crowds of the Blood Pits, sated their lusts and given them all the carnage they could ask for. Human, Eypharian, Akalak, all have fallen to his blades and in that transient manner of fads the multiverse over, the fame of "The Scalper" had burned brightly... and then been replaced by something, anything, more tantalizing.

The Myrian hardly noticed. He barely felt the prick to his pride, that he had been so quickly forgotten.

Well, not completely.

The crowds that flocked to the stands in the subterranean Pit often thought themselves contenders, but the fact they were up there and not down below told Razkar all he needed to know. The gangs always had representatives there, too, watching for promising talent. Into the mix were the usual thieves, drunks, whores, money lenders, gamblers and bored Sunberthians looking for a violence fix... and all of the parted when The Scalper walked steadily to the stands.

You need a fix, too, don't you? Can't just train and work on your wyrd all the time. Can't just instruct the few novices that come across your path. Not even the Casino is enough; you need to see death, large and real and wet.

"Certainly getting it today..."

The Myrian muttered to himself as the two brawlers hammered each other below him. The Pitbull had made it interesting, as he usually did in his sadistic, innovative way. Debris from broken chairs and tables littered the arena, a plethora of impromptu daggers, clubs, coshes... anything that could rend and rear and batter.

But Razkar's attention was on the fighters.

Both were unarmed, though whether that was preference or by order, he didn't know. The larger man had form, power, smashing blows that could be heard even in the stands, fists like hams pounding his smaller opponent.

Not smaller by much, though, and yet...

The other was not without his tricks. Razkar gave a thin, approving smile as the smaller fighter goaded the Boxer on, let him spend himself in fruitless but impressive-looking blows on his forearms.

Let his waste his strength. Then pick your-

The barbarian did just that. With a single blow to the jaw that set the crowd howling in new tones of awe and joy, the Brawler unleashed himself on his opponent, throwing punches and chops to the bigger man's face and throat, kicking out his knee-

-and Razkar blinked when he heard a howl of rage he recognized all to well roar around the Blood Pits like a hurricane.

Impressed as he was, he did not share the crowd's ecstasy. He was an island of motionless, watchful calm in the bedlam, watching the Brawler brutalize and demolish his prone opponent as if he were a mortal enemy. The crowd seemed to wince and spasm as blow after blow fell, then a piece of a chair lodged into the barely-conscious Boxer's eye-

Again, that scream. That howl. The man wants to fight the whole world, make it pay for... what, exactly?

The Myrian did not know... but he made a decision as he turned away, not bothering to watch the final blow, knowing the fight was over and the Brawler had one. He made his way swiftly down to the gladiator alcoves, darkened, barely-lit notches in the tunnels that the guards gave him swift access to. They knew him, after all, and aside from that, didn't want any of him.

Razkar waked until he found the right alcove, then whatever the youth was doing inside it, he would hear a voice speaking fluent Common in a growling, rasping accent say:

"You bring much hatred into the arena, barbarian. I know something of that. But few have brains behind their anger, too. You fooled that big bastard well, down there. He ran himself dry trying to knock you down, and when you were ready, you chopped in down in ticks. Brains, hate, ability... two of those things will take you far. One will destroy you."

The Myrian would cross his arms over the harness crisscrossing his chest, the gladdii on his hips clear to see, the kukri across his pectoral, the geography of scars and tattoos covered what seemed to be every spare inch of tanned flesh save his black, implacable eyes.

"Hate will tip the balance against you one day, barbarian. It will push you, goad you, trick you just like you did that dead man back there. Make peace with it, or harness it, would be the free advice I would give..."