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[Alexander Magnus]

Date: 4, Winter, 514

There were bad days, then there were really bad days. This was one of those that made Alexander wish he'd stayed in bed and just skipped this day entirely. First he burned breakfast, then forgot his money at home so he couldn't buy lunch on the go, and now the fight went south. If there was one thing Alexander knew aside from blacksmithing, it was fighting. He'd been a fighter since childhood and though never formally trained, he could hold his own more than the average person.

The pits weren't just a source of money for Alexander, it was also a release, fighting was in his blood. It was something Alexander enjoyed, something that helped him relieve stress. On this day in particular he didn't do much good because he lost. Normally when Alexander lost a match it wasn't the end of the world, it happened. However he'd lost due to cheating and that burned.

One could find just about any type of match within the pits, including no holds barred. That was what Alexander normally fought in and just cut loose. Today he'd chosen a regulated match because they offered slightly higher returns on winning. The opponent Alexander had fought was named Castor, a large brick of a man with a square jaw, thick brow, and the look of someone generally as dumb as a sack of hammers.

More than once the man had been banned from the pits for cheating in regulated matches, however today someone had distracted the official just long enough for Castor to throw sand in his face. It was so infuriating not just because of losing, but for most of the match Alexander had the upper hand. While Castor was large, he was also a poor fighter who relied mostly on brute strength and had little skill.

In the mood to rip someone's head off Alexander walked out one of the side exits to the pit. Dressed in casual clothing the grumbling wasn't hard to overhear as he walked down the street. The only thing left for Alexander now was to go home, get his money, and drink away the bad day. Not more than a few feet from the entrance he heard the sound of Castor chuckling and looked back to see what was going on. The man's rather deep voice was hard to miss.

There in front of the entrance to the pits the large man was talking with the seedy looking individual who had distracted the official. When Castor handed him some of the Mizahs from his winnings Alexander about flipped. Not only had he lost to cheating, it had been a set-up.

"You cheating son of a bitch," Alexander said.

"You talkin' ta me shrimp?" Castor said. Without the slightest hesitation Alexander walked over and looked up at Castor who was nearly a head taller then him and a good fifty-pounds heavier.

"No, I'm talking to other knuckle dragging moron standing next to you. You're a cheater and you damn well know it. If it hadn't been for your little butt monkey over here you'd be drooling on the floor right now," Alexander said. The torrent of insults pushed Castor to the point of swinging and Alexander quickly ducked under the blow.

"Here' let me prove a point!" Alexander said. With an uppercut that staggered Castor back he came up and followed through with three more punches. The larger man was already bleeding from the mouth before his friend finally intervened by smashing a clay pot into the side of Alexander's head. The blow staggering him enough for Castor to get the upper hand. With a powerful right cross the larger man knocked Alexander to the ground, then kicked him a good foot back. Walking forward he decided to continue the fight.

[Aventis]

Few times since joining the Knighthood and gaining access to the somewhat prestigious training grounds did Aventis visit the Antinous Fighting Pits. It was dirty and unskilled, sweaty men and sweaty women pounding each other to the dirt in mostly dishonored fights. Regulation was thrown out the window, and Aventis wouldn’t be surprised if he were to discover that deaths have occurred here. But that’s exactly why the squire visited the pits. His job was to protect and he had a feeling he had a few things here would need protecting. The poor sods that found themselves here were usually far over their own heads, and didn’t know until something hit it. He wasn’t sure that he could do much of anything about it, and certainly wasn’t sure that he could protect anyone or anything, but he knew that squires could take authority over civilians. That could work in his favor. But perhaps it was a mistake to come here…

Aventis stood near the weapons rack, scouting the area quietly for trouble, his cloak wrapped tight around his lower arms to protect them from both the chilly Winter air and the preying eyes of the masses. He knew that in a place like this the people would care little about his anatomical feat, but he also knew that the people would stare, and they would think. They would profile Aventis as an alien. That is not what he needed. So, there he stood, under the early Winter sun. To any who gave him less than a detailed assessment, he looked almost normal. He looked like any other challenger rather to a squire of the Knight’s Order, simply scouting possible competition.

Nothing had happened there for a few bells at least, when he arrived, and the Eypharian was considering actually training to keep his blood warm. He hadn’t used his rapier in a while, and his knight had refused to train until he acquired his necessities. What were they? Shield. Right. Shield. He needed a shield. What else? Something about… Knowledge. At a library. Syliras didn’t have a library, did it?

As the squire lost himself in thought, he missed exactly what he had sought. Unbeknownst to the fly on the wall, there were wrongdoings afoot, and exactly what he had predicted. The possibilities one could utilize in the pit were limitless. It wasn’t unheard of to bet on a fight, if only in small parties, and it wasn’t unheard of to set up a small ring or use the fight to settle a dispute. Along with that, they could have a supervisor. That supervisor could be distracted. Was this typical? No, it wasn’t. Usually, this situation in its entirety was hypothetical. However atypical it was, it could happen. And it did. Amongst the loud grunts and clammer of steel and iron against one another could be heard a dispute. Disputes, unlike the situation that the argument originated from, were common, and the squire paid it no mind. What caught his attention, and just about every other fighter or combatant in the general area’s, was the crash of pottery.

Petching hell! Who the hell brings a pot to the fighter pits!? He thought, half bemused and half excited to fulfill his duty. Quickly he marched to the scene, wherein he found a man, a bulky fellow, who was apparently outmatched by a yet bulkier fellow, just a bit shorter than Aventis but no less a mountain of a man, and finally there was a third, smaller than the first by an inch or so and there was considerably less amount of bulk on the man, strong nonetheless and only seeming smaller compared to the others in the group. They had been fighting. That was obvious. What was also obvious was the manner in which the first man fought, seething mad and outnumbered. This is where the sound originated, and broken shards of clay littered the ground around them. Aventis didn’t know much but he knew that this was no ordinary fight. It certainly wasn’t regulation. This could become something very close to illegal very quickly.

“Okay. You three. Put down your fists immediately and tell me what’s going on.” The man commanded, making sure to stand at a safe distance. If something were to go awry, he now had the attention of the various patrons of the pits, attracted by the commotion. If that failed, he was fairly certain that any blade could beat a fist in a petty fight. “I’m absolutely certain that pottery is not a regulation weapon. So excuse me if I have a few questions that you’ll have to answer, gentlemen.”

Aventis

[Alexander Magnus]

Castor, who was already angry about Alexander landing four hits before his seedy looking friend intervened, glared at Aventis for a moment. He obviously didn't recognize the young man as a squire both from lack of attention to detail and likely intelligence in general. The interruption wasn't at all appreciated and the expression left nothing to the imagination.

“Mind ya own damn bidness boy,” Castor said. “Dis is between me an da meatsack.” The distraction gave Alexander enough time to recover and by this point, having not heard Aventis in the first place. He jumped at Castor and came down with a heavy punch to the head nearly knocking the neanderthal over. Again the seedy man, who was smaller and thinner than Alexander, stuck him in the jaw with a blindside punch. It spun Alexander slightly but he continued around full circle and came about with right hook nearly taking his head off the in process. The smallest of the three was down for the count.

“What you go to say now, what?!” Alexander said, looking down at the small man with both arms held out to the side. It was obvious that the blacksmith was fighting with anger rather than brains, something proven by his lack of attention to Castor. The behemoth of a man charged forward grabbing Alexander around the waist and continued on until slamming him into a wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and following two heavy punches much of the fight went with it.

By this point Alexander was bruised and barely managed to push up onto his hands and knees and spit out a mouth full of blood onto the ground. While able to take a punch with the best of them even he had limits. What Castor lacked in skill he made up for in raw power. The larger man seemed quite pleased by the fact his opponent was having trouble just trying to stand up. He laughed a little and then turned around to walk away. If there was one thing about Alexander that always seemed to win out, it was his inability to shut the hell up when angry.

“Cheating bitch,” Alexander said. Still in a tremendous amount of pain he was trying to get stand when one could practically hear Castor stop to the sound of screeching brakes. With his back still turned the larger man let out a loud growl and balled his hands into fists hard enough to crack the knuckles.

[Aventis]

CODE: SELECT ALL

“Cheating bitch,” The blonde man grumbled under his breath, writhing on the ground after the blow. Aventis had been there many times before and felt pity for the poor guy. He looked defeated, broken, washed up, and bruised. Aventis didn’t know the man, he didn’t know why the brute beat him like he did, but he knew that being beaten senseless like that is less than a pleasurable experience. But the brute overstepped his boundaries the second he ignored Aventis.

“You motherpetchers. It doesn’t seem as if you heard me.” He yelled again, a bit more strict this time, admittedly a bit angered. “By order of the knights of Syliras, put down your petching fists, help that man up, and tell me what’s going on so I know I don’t have to care for the lot of you like pesky children. I tell you what to do? You do it. That’s how this shyke works.”

It wasn’t often that Aventis yelled, even spoke, and it felt alien to him to be in an authoritative position, and to take authority over someone else, especially men older than himself. He had been taken under authority for the majority of his life, and had been told time and time again that he’d understand one day how hard it is. It’s not hard. It was fun. It was rewarding. It made Aventis feel like more than he was.

“Petching hell…” Aventis muttered after a moment of still silence. He walked over to the poor man that had fallen, pushing the meaty one out of his way as he did so. He didn’t have any scruples about taking action. He didn’t have any about arresting the lot of them. But he did have scruples about letting the poor man wallow in pain on the ground. “Children. The lot of you.” He muttered as he offered the poor soul a hand up.

“It’s called decency, gentlemen.”

Aventis

[Alexander Magnus]

When his head cleared enough to think properly Alexander looked up and was ready for round two, determined to beat Castor's head into the ground or end up that way in the process of trying. For a reason he couldn't explain Alexander was in an exceedingly foul mood even by his own standards. It was one of those days where you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, rolled out of it, then hit your head on the way down. It had been years since Alexander had been this angry it was hard for him to calm down. Never the less the fight seemed to be at an end and someone was offering a hand up. Alexander took the hand and stood up, shook his head gently, then looked at Castor.

There was no love loss between the two but even Castor could see it would be stupid to continue fighting. In light of that the larger man turned around and walked away, leaving the other man laying on the ground. For a moment Alexander looked over at Aventis arching a brow slightly, he definitely didn't seem the sort to frequent the pits. He also knew most of the regulars from being one himself. Alexander took a moment to shift his jaw side to side and while sore, it didn't seem any teeth were in danger of coming out, so after spitting some blood onto the dirt he looked over at the squire.

“Ain't seen you around here before, you normally go around trying to break up fights?” Alexander said. “And if it's decency you're looking for you've definitely come to the wrong place. Besides, here in the pits us children can throw a tantrum or two without getting arrested.”

[Aventis]

[left]“Look, buddy.” Aventis said, already a bit upset after the whole ordeal had occurred. “I don’t come here a lot and when I do it’s ‘cause someone might get killed. I don’t come here often but I come here enough to know that not many people bring pots as weapons. It looked like a danger and I didn’t want to take a risk. Wanna’ take a risk? Keep fighting with me. You’ll see how quickly my decency fades.” He said, perhaps a bit too harsh. The kid had, after all, just gotten beat silly by a big man with big hands, and somehow bigger fists. “If I were you, I would say ‘thank you’ maybe. You were way over your head here. Do you come here often? If you did you might learn that picking a fight with the meatiest guy you can find, nevermind the biggest, meatiest guy plus his friend with a petching pot.”

Aventis sighed into his hand, shifting his weight onto his other foot and, finding it just as uncomfortable as his prior position, switched again. Perhaps he was being too harsh. The poor fella might be injured. Couldn’t possibly feel good to be hit in the face, hit with a pot, and then fall to the ground with shards of broken pot scattered about the area.

“Are you okay, kid? You hurt? We can get you some medical attention if you’d like.” The squire offered, despite his tone and his chastise-esque venting, he really did feel sorry for the man. What he had gone through Aventis could not say he hadn’t experienced a few times before. To say the least, it hurt, and it hurt a lot. Perhaps by offering the beaten denizen he could feel as if he had reconciled for his outbursts, however justified they might be. A pot broken over the head does not come without consequence, whether it be a concussion or a ruined hairdo. He hoped that the man was alright. More than that, the squire hoped that he could help him./left]

Aventis

[Alexander Magnus]

The only response to come from Alexander for a moment was a raised eyebrow as he looked at Aventis. The distraction provided a chance to calm down which was good. When Alexander was exceedingly angry he had a penchant for being highly destructive which wasn't so good. Whoever the young man was he didn't seem to be in an overly good mood from the response. It was something that actually started to annoy Alexander slightly in light of how often he came to the pits to fight.

“Thank you, yes I come here often, and for the record I have beaten Castor in a fight before. That's one of the reasons Prince Charming and I get along so well,” Alexander said. The second man who was helping Castor finally came around a moment later and started looking for his larger friend. With Castor nowhere in sight he left out a yelp and took off running when Alexander leaned toward him quickly as if to charge.

“Wuss,” Alexander said, watching the man disappear into the crowd. With that over he looked back to Aventis and sized him up. The man appeared to know how to handle in a fight, Alexander could tell by his body language. He'd no doubt seen combat before and lived to tell about it, that alone said a lot. When Aventis asked if he was hurt that actually got a small laugh from Alexander.

“What, you mean that pot?” Alexander said, rapping knuckles against the side of his own head. “The woman who raised me at The Welcoming Home always said I had a skull like a brick. My name's Alexander by the way, you here for a match or something? You seem a little stressed out.”