Brews and Bouts (Open)

[Tetreka]

Late at night, Spring 63, AV 512

Tables and chairs went unusused, shoved into corners to make room for the circle of drunk jeering men and women that served as the boundries for the impromptu arena that the tavern had become. The rules were easy enough to discern from just watching; no weapons, no striking a man on the ground, and the loser bought the winner's next round. Tetreka had fought and won once that night, and he did his best to down the ale that was reward as fast as he could between screaming at the two current contenders. As one of the current contenders hit the ground hard in the middle of a gulp, Tet tried drinking and cheering all at once, which resulted in most of the ale on his bare chest.

Drink finished, and refusing to buy his own ale, he swaggered into the middle of the ring, beating his chest with two fists and flexing the other four arms, daring any real men present to step forward and fight him. Being seven feet tall and looking like he was in fighting shape, Tetreka expected to have pick an especially drunk person and taunt him into fighting - He was especially surprised when a rather petite Eypharian woman stepped into the circle, raising her four arms in what looked like a very sloppy boxer's stance.

"You act big, but I've seen much bigger!" she shouted, and was met with cheers from the crowd.

Dumbstruck for a moment, Tetreka thought it appropriate to just make a dirty joke, "I don't know what you want from me lady, I have to get extra long kilts to stay decent in public!" He wiggled his eyebrows at her as the circle laughed. He put up his six fists in a perfectly classical boxing stance, took one step forward, and had lost the fight. She had lept forward, delivered one sharp elbow below his sternum, lept up as he hunched over and brought a knee squarely across his face. He didn't go reeling, or reach out to catch himself, he just crumpled.

He knew he hadn't been unconscious long, because she was still standing over him and the crowd was still going absolutely crazy when he stopped seeing black. It took him a moment, but he got to his feet, touching at his face checking for blood. "I was probably going to try buying her a drink anyhow." Was about all he could manage to mumble before slinking out of the circle to the bar, noting with joy that barstools had not been removed, set himself on one and ordered two drinks. After quickly downing the one for himself, and not seeing the ferocious young lady there to collect her prize, started to drink her drink too. Turning himself around on the stool and silently thanking each god he knew for alcohol being a painkiller, he browsed the outsides of the circle for who might be his next free drink.

[Gracen]

Gracen had rather wanted to have a go at the drunk Eypharian man, if only because he liked a challenge. He was no boxer, and knew he could take down quite a few people with blades, but he had enough liquid courage simmering in his gut and burning through his veins that he wouldn't mind a bit of pain to remind him that he yet lived. But after the lady knocked him out cold and he was dragged away, Gracen jumped up to have a go at whoever wanted to fight next. "No blades!" someone called. "Yeah, yeah." He passed his indoor sword to the bartender, probably the least likely to steal it, and rolled up his sleeves to wait in the middle of the arena. The first comer was another man, tattooed within an inch of his life and savage-looking. A Myrian. Gracen grinned. The savage divested himself of his knives, probably edged in some blighting poison, and grinned back. The biological origin of the smile was a mammal baring its teeth to warn off aggressors. "Fuck it," he said and assumed a fighting stance that lacked only swords. He would just have to make do. But he did have a bit of a secret weapon, and with a deep breath, he began to call forth energy from his hidden reserves. He was not magus, but he had learned to Flux in order to swing a sword faster, to hit harder. The Myrian was aggressive, of course, and training in fist fighting or no, Gracen knew how to elegantly dodge a blow. He danced with the man, laughing at him and playing him the fool, just sure he could get him to make mistakes by provoking his rage. He kept his hands up to guard his face, having seen enough boxing matches to know the general idea. His elbows stayed in and when he couldn't make the jungle grunt miss spectacularly, he absorbed the blows with his arms. There would be bruises, of course, but he wasn't hardly hurt. Neither of them were boxers, clearly. But when Gracen got a little sloppy, a little brave, and began throwing punches of his own, they connected with varying degrees of success, and then the mad Myrian slipped under Gracen's guard to grapple with him. "SHIT!" Gracen yelled. "Bugger bit me!" And this was getting too close for comfort. A Myrian would sooner knife him in the guts than buy him a drink, admitting defeat, so Gracen sent a surge of djed through his muscles, shoved the man's shoulders back enough that he could pull his head back and slam his forehead into the man's nose, sending him reeling back into the crowd at the sidelines. He was, it appeared, unconscious, so perhaps Gracen wouldn't get his free drink. Still, his blood was thick with adrenaline and rarely used magic, and he didn't feel what would become bruises, nor the few cuts and scrapes. He felt the blood drip down from the corner of his mouth, though, to fall from his chin. His fist came up to rub it away and look at it. "Whatever." He was laughing when he bellied up to the bar to collect his sword, bumping into the Eypharian with whom he had not been able to spar. "Sorry. Looks like I'm buying my own damn drinks." At this, he continued to laugh, waving the bartender away for another while he slung his sword back where it belonged.

[Tetreka]

Tetreka was impressed; Gracen had shoved the savage off his person like it was child, and downed it an impressively heavy blow. While the large Eypharian wouldn't have guessed he'd witnessed magic, he could understand that it was feat of strength regardless. There was a single moment where Tetreka was preparing to congratulate the human swordsman, but then said swordsman bumped into his arm, and of all the six arms the slaver possessed, it happened to be the one holding ale.

It shouldn't have bothered a reasonable person who had already been spilling their drink all night, but seeing the man who'd won after Tetreka lost do it just irked him something awful. Downing what he wasn't wearing, Tetreka put the emptied mug on the bar, hopping to his feet and placing one hand on the man's shoulder before saying in the friendliest voice manageable, "You owe me a drink, foreigner. Finish yours, and come let me win it."

Striding at the circle again, Tetreka shoved his way into the middle of it and after a brief moment of looking around, found his next challenger; he would have guessed that after a rather humiliating defeat such as he suffered just a minute prior that his immediate challenger would be somebody rather frail looking for an impressive win. Instead, a bulky bald Benshira man stepped into the ring. Too thick around the middle to be a warrior, Tetreka guessed from the man's arms that he was likely a blacksmith. There was no boasting or showboating, the bald man just immediately took a big swing.

Said swing didn't come close to landing; the ale had done a number on his depth perception. Before the human could attempt another though, his miss was punished by three quick jabs, each of Tereka's right fists finding purchase. Another big swing from the baldy was stopped in Tetreka's guard, and four light purchase from his left side found purchase on the man's head and neck. The bald man didn't seem particularly aware that he'd been punched at all, opting to try grabbing onto Tetreka. This was a poor move on the human's part - has the human's two hands latched under Tetreka's armpits, Two of Tetreka's hands latched onto the man's shoulders and pushed back, and another two gripped the bald man's elbows to fight his control. The man's two arms couldn't quite overpower the four Tetreka had layed down, and the crowd fell silent for a moment as the anticipated the very next thing that happened; Tetreka's two remaining arms let loose.

They weren't good punches, strictly speaking, but Tetreka let loose a flurry of jabs and punches with little aim and as much power as he could muster; for every solid connection with the bald man's head he made another two punches would be glancing blows or outright misses, but the man quite wrench himself free, and the onslaught carried on and on messily. As the bald man's knees gave out and Tetreka let him collapse, there were more than a few teeth on the ground and a significant amount of blood coming from the man's mouth and Tetreka's knuckles both. He wiped his knuckles on his kilt before raising all six fists in the air in triumph, soaking up the excited shouts of the crowd for a moment. Rather than step out of the ring though, he started taunting, "Come on now, I've got six hands and need a beer for each, who's next? You? No? How about you? Come now, the two of you at once must surely have the skills to best me." Tetreka was big, and none were particularly eager to leap into the ring after witnessing him on the giving end of the brutality; Tetreka himself was glad that the woman who'd taken him down earlier wasn't stepping in again - he didn't see her there at all, really, which was just great.

"Come Swordman, you know you're next!" He let out a laugh as he turned and pointed in the direction of the bar, the circle parting as uneager men moved to avoid being the next contender, "You, I think, may be a wiser fighter." It was odd paying out compliments to somebody he intended to be breaking with his bare hands a few minutes later, but there in Tetreka's mind was this notion of worthiness, that the unusual strength the swordsman possessed might make for an appropriate victory - proof of dominance over even the exceptional. If he knew specifically of Garcen's personal magic though, he might have been less eager - the same as if he'd known the woman earlier had been something of a martial artist.

Regardless, he was committed to the fight - and just barely wary enough to be smart about it.

[Gracen]

Well, he had apologized, but he made a point to study the Eypharian's technique while drinking down his ale. He wasn't a great fighter, but he had those six arms and some practice, it seemed. And as he drank, he called forth that energy again, burning off the edge of the alcohol and a deal of his dinner; he would be hungry after this. At the taunt, he nodded to the bartender to watch his sword again and walked out into the ring, flushed with drink, magic, and the raucous cheering of the inebriate crowd. His smile was self-assured. Grace had watched the woman beat him down, then observed him in a fight where he had the advantage. There was something to be said for a bit of familiarity, and as he sank into his knees somewhat, open hands coming up and ready to block and attack wherever a necessity or an opportunity arose, he would have to think of his arms as shorter swords and attempt to use what he had in the situation in which he found himself. "You've arms to spare," he said in Common because he still hadn't picked up more than crap Arumenic. "Maybe I'll take one home as a souvenir." His grin was not unfriendly, but certainly there was an amount of posturing necessary here, and he wondered if it wouldn't be a better idea to just place bets like some of the spectators were; he had to get out of Ahnatep and back on the trail soon.

[Tetreka]

Tetreka had to let out a short and hearty chuckle, taunts between eypharians and visitors to Ahnatep tended to be rather one sided when it came to race, "It will help to explain your scars," There were some haughty laughs from the crowd - they appeared to enjoy the smack talk.

Too impatient to try to make Gracen strike first, Tetreka took two light steps forward and threw two half-hearted punches from his upper limbs, intending for Gracen to take easy blocks, and the launching one heavy straight from his lower left, hoping to catch the swordsman blocking high to catch him with a solid blow to the ribs.

[Gracen]

This was going to be tough, even with his reflexes augmented. He was able to bat the high punches aside with one arm, but had to hunch over quickly to take the lower one to the gut without having the breath knocked out of him. If the Eypharian was going to be able to coordinate six attacks at once, he was going to have to end this quickly or lose a war of attrition. As soon as there was an opening, he sprang from his coiled up pose to put his shoulder in his opponent's gut and hopefully ram him into a pillar or a person. If he could get him down or against something, likely he could stay inside his guard and do enough damage to put him down. And then, of course, demand his drink.

[Tetreka]

The thing about having six arms and being seven feet tall was that it made one awfully top heavy. Tetreka tensed his abdominals to avoid having his stomach and intestines mashed by Gracen's broad shoulder, but the effect was that his top heaviness left the lower half of him being knocked out from under the top half. Tetreka was flipped over the hunched swordsman and ended up coming down flat on his back, knocking his head on the way down - whether it was the floor or a an elbow he wasn't particularly aware, but he was still leaping to his feet as soon as he impacted, to the cheers of the Eypharian's in the crowd.

His body operated on instinct as he tried to get both his eyes pointing in the same direction again - he got his arms up in a guarded stance, relaxed his neck, and kept his feet moving despite not particularly going anywhere, and just generally started acting like his opponent could hurt him.

While he got his head where it needed to be to avoid being pummeled, the initiative was left with the human.

[Gracen]

In a fair fight, Grace would've had to change tactics, but the Fluxed djed pouring through him kept his momentum moving forward even as the Eypharian righted himself, pushing harder and faster with what amounted to sheer will given physical form. This time a quick placement of the foot behind one of his foe's and an extra shove sent him teetering again and their bodies parted, but Grace, gathering himself quickly, made a flying leap at the man. It was not graceful. It was not trained. It was only powerful and quietly desperate as only a man with no hope could manage. There were too many limbs to pinion effectively with only so few of his own, but Gracen straddled the Eypharian, attempting to pin down as many of his arms as possible under the sharp weight of his knees. He managed to get his wrist around the man's throat, his arm poised back to sock him in the face. It was a sloppy hold, and if the man wanted to, he could probably send Gracen fighting and the combat could continue in earnest. But it was a bar fight, and perhaps it would end there in drinks and boasting. There was something in Gracen's blue eyes that had died, and something else that had gone feral, but somehow he managed a charming enough laugh. "Yield, please! I don't want to die."

[Tetreka]

To the satisfaction of every man or woman who'd ever taken up wrestling, Tetreka's boxing was doing very little to help him once somebody was on him and actively grappling - he'd just barely recovered from his stumble, but seeing Gracen's fist poised to come down onto his face, he tried moving out of the way.

Moving out of the way of somebody who was attached to you, as a rule, didn't work. Only increasing his stumble, Tetreka's feet were scrambling to get under him, and a moment later he found himself having to drop to one knee to get stable. Rather than attempting to throw the slightly less large man off, Tetreka was attempting to out-grapple him, which might have succeeded if he hadn't already had the swordsman's wrist straining his head and neck. After a few moments a futile struggling had him starting to panic and he realized he wouldn't be able to put Gracen into the same losing position as the previous bald contender, Tetreka just gripped Gracen tighter. Getting his knee up and a foot back on the ground, Tetreka let out a roar and jumped straight up, attempting to win the fight by slamming the human to the ground.

The biggest problem with this plan was that they were both going smash into the floor of the tavern - Tetreka didn't do it lightly. There impact resulted in pain shooting up his back, in his head, his neck, several of his arms, and the worst of it right on the left lower cheek. He was vaguely aware after impact of Gracen being dislodged, but rolling onto his front and lightly tapping his forehead lightly on the ground a few times, Tetreka was clearly in pain, "That. That is by far the stupidest thing I've ever done in a fight."

He got to his feet much more gingerly this time, "I think, I think I probably need another drink. Let's go drink." It didn't sound much like a conceding defeat, Tetreka ventured he could keep fighting if his life were to depend on it, but as sure as the desert was sandy, he was done fighting.

[Gracen]

Grace was rolling, smacking parts of himself on the filthy floor and some of their audience. He hurt like whoa, but he managed to get up on his hands and knees only to laugh with an edge of drunken hysteria. Of course, all this was somehow fun to him. It took him some time and care to get up. "We probably... looked stupid..." But he had to stop and laugh a bit. "I'll buy yours. You buy mine." That said, he limped toward the bar to recover his sword and continue the debauchery. He felt it all now, but he was really going to feel it in the morning. "Gracen Haxo," he said, putting out his hand to shake. "And you're a big son of a bitch."