Closed And Ten Percent For His Manager...! (Edreina)

[Razkar]

60th Day of Fall
East Street
20th Bell

Freddy March was living proof that with some people, raising them up only lowered the tone. For everyone else.

Ever-flickering rodent eyes peered around at the world, quickly categorizing everyone they rested on as either food or threat. Long, thin fingers constantly smoothed his treasured silk waistcoat. Pink and gold and blue, he thought it made him look dapper. It didn't. A crumpled top hat crowned the ensemble, and this ludicrous item Freddy was aware of.

"Gives me a, y'know, distinctive look." He'd say to his cronies, meatheads who were unimaginative enough to think of Freddy as a criminal mastermind. "Ah... wadaya call it... signature. But with yer eyes. Once you've seen it, you remember me."

Which was certainly true. Razkar certainly did. One of his abiding memories of the previous night - save from the heady, almost narcotic high of beating a hulking human prizefighter into the sawdust-strewn floorboards - was that stupid hat bobbing up and down in the lantern-light, circling the roaring crowd with admirable efficiency, collecting bets, paying out, taking others, meeting, greeting, keeping the wheels moving.

The Knuckle Club. A grandiose name for a forgotten warehouse underneath East Street, but that was Freddy for you. A flair for the excessive, and just enough street smarts to make it work.

Now see Freddy step out into the air on the other side of the rundown tenement block his little concern was nestled under, drawing deep on an expensive Kenash cigar and exhaling the sweet smoke into the growing shadows. The usual detritus of East Street avoided him; he was paid up with the right people, and employed others to make life very uncomfortable for those who dared to pick his pocket.

Mister March smiled at the world in general. Good night, last night. The Myrian was a nice addition. Bastard was quick and dirty and seemed to be made of carved fucking oak. Poor Henry wouldn't be fighting for a while, that was for sure, but the crowd loved it.

"Touch of the exotic," he said to himself, savoring the word as he did any that seemed above his station, "That's what this place... needs..."

Two shadows detached themselves from the shadows to his right. Freddy's feet shuffled on the cobbles, rodent mind already planning two, no, three ways to run in case this turned physical. One of them was definitely a man; tall, lithe, moving like a predator with quick, easy steps, making a beeline for him in a way that instinctively made him nervous.

But the other... that gave him just enough pause to stay his feet. A color glowed and teased at him from the shadows, hard to pin down, so rare were street lamps in East Street. Freddy coughed sharply, twice, and two lumbering examples of what could broadly be described as "humanity" lurched from the doorway of the bakers, flanking their boss.

"Problem?"

"Dunno yet..."

Red. It looked like... red hair. Cascading over a pair of pale shoulders... framing a face as set and serious as the one beside her, but far more beautiful-

"Ah... The Myrian."

Razkar stopped in front of him, decked in his more... reluctant outfit. Breeches and a linen shirt covered his chest, but the weapons harness was more striking a fashion statement. His cloak rested on his shoulders, covering his arms, leaving to the human's imaginations what nasty, pointy horrors he had there.

Speaking of nasty, pointy horrors, the Myrian smiled.

"Thought you would remember."

"Up for another one?"

Razkar's grin widened a touch, the avarice in the fighting pit fixer's voice palpable. He might as well have licked his lips. His two dogs just eyed him with the latent aggression of dumb animals the world over, and were thus ignored.

"And you're, ah... friend?"

Ah. Not just avarice. Hope. Razkar kept his smile friendly enough and patted Edreina on the shoulder. Companionable, but not... intimate. But at least this was easier than that master-apprentice charade from before. It hadn't been an easy sell, getting him to take her to this nest of snakes, but she'd been insistent. Something about wanting to... "see the raw side of life".

Razkar wouldn't have described East Street as "raw"; "festering" was far more accurate. He'd even made that quip, and it hadn't dented her resolve. OK, fine, whatever, she was intractable, but she still needed a cover, an excuse... a role to play.

"This," he said in a level tone, face as straight and business-like as he could make it, "Is my manager, and-"

A pale hand whipped out and smacked his arm away from hr as if he was some lecherous drunk in the Stallion. Freddy blinked back his shock; the two grunts just exchanged a quizzical look. This was the guy that put Savage Henry on crutches?

Want to convince your audience of the unlikely? Make it unpredictable.

"She is, ah..." he said, trying to appear as sheepish as possible while Edreina did her ice queen thing next to him, "... a little upset that I... did not tell her about last night..."

OK, female. Time to sell it...

[Edreina]

Convincing Razkar that she should be there was half the battle, proving that she deserved a place at his public side was the rest. By her logic, if they were going to be seen together in the future she should have a reputation for fierceness just as he did. This way, neither of them would seem to be a weaker link. Both had their strengths and their weaknesses, the point was to exhibit each to the best of their abilities.

After so long spent playing the part, stoic and reserved was a mask Edreina wore a touch more comfortably. But this, their new guise, it was more difficult than that of master and student. They had decided that it may be easier for Edreina to play the role of Razkar's handler simply in that she would no longer be required to be subservient to the Myrian. Subservient in any form of the word, was not exactly in the redhead's mindset. Despite the fact that she now had to appear to be the Myrian's better in some aspect, this new mask gave her the chance to retaliate whenever Razkar decided to tease her. It had also been decided that they would refine the guise in Zeltiva so that by the time they reached wherever it was they went next, it would be nearly flawless.

With masks in place, the duo approached Freddy March and his wit-lacking companions.

Immediately, their eyes would first be drawn to the hulking warrior as he stalked toward them. Razkar's strength lay in how utterly vicious he looked at a first glance. The scars upon his skin and weapons on his hips (and various other parts of his body) were an enormous sign written in bright red blood, warning others to stay away from him. The first moment would be spent weighing their options, assessing Razkar as the very threat he posed and perhaps more. The man had an aura about him, after all.

Their eyes would then snap to his partner and widen in surprise. Unlike her lover, Edreina had a very different strength. Because of her willowy frame, her long, flaming hair, and her dancing blue eyes, few suspected her of posing any sort of a threat. But, there was an air of mystery about her created by the whip that curled upon her hip, fangs winking at passersby in even the dimmest light. Then there were her few, well placed scars and the single tattoo that wove from her ribcage to her hipbone. Where Razkar's mean and mode were immediately apparent, Edreina cast an enigmatic shadow.

If Razkar had learned one thing from Mr. Valini, it was that the one in charge rarely did any of the speaking. This knowledge had been passed on to Edreina during their many conversations. So, while Freddy felt the need to posture his wit and standing, proving him to be the leader of the mounds of meat behind him, Edreina held her tongue. This would also keep them wondering about her as time wore on and Razkar did his job of introducing her. A name is most powerful when falling from another's lips.

However, when he started to do so, Edreina noticed him slipping back into his role of master. There was too much authority in his voice. If this ruse were to work, both would hold responsibility for keeping the other in line; neither would win any medals for their skills as an actor.

As quickly as she could manage, a pale, freckled hand whipped from her side and up, slapping away the hand that Razkar had left on her shoulder. To the strange men, her narrowed eyes would dance with fire as she fixed the warrior in their pale blue scope. If Razkar were to look over, he would see a barely contained mirth dancing through her eyes at the feeling of being able to go against Razkar. Well, in public. She slapped him plenty when he decided to toss the female over his shoulder and prepare for battle.

Bastard... The blush on her face could easily have been mistaken for annoyance as she altered the tilt of her mind, turning back to Freddy and his henchmen. "I'm not upset. Merely... disappointed," she said in a slower voice. Speaking in such a way emphasized the natural lilt in her voice, adding to the mystery. Most in Zeltiva would know the accent of one who spoke Fratavan naturally, so they would be led to wonder how such an odd duo had come to be partners.

"I would greatly appreciate it," few threats were given directly, "if you would be so kind as to withhold half of Razkar's winnings if ever he is seen here without me in the future. I won't rob you of a good fight, but he and I have an agreement, you see. Most of the Mizas go to him, for he is the muscle behind the winnings, and I get a tenth in return for helping the crowd along..." A sly smile claimed Edreina's lips and danced in her eyes as she left Freddy to wonder exactly what it was that she did.

Poor Freddy, meanwhile, was left between a murderous Myrian and a strange slip of a woman. He was not sure who to fear but ended up fearing the Myrian and respecting the woman at his side. She, like he, was obviously a smart businesswoman and the fighting Myrian was her business. He could respect wanting to make sure that the deals brokered between manager and talent were adequately kept. "Don't see why that can't be arranged..." His tone was almost wary as he danced the line between the two. "If your manager approves, we've got some good fights on for tonight... I'm sure we can muscle you in?" A quick glance was sent in the direction of Edreina before he turned back to Razkar, nearly salivating with the thought of just how many bets the Myrian brought in.

"He will do it," the Svefra said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. She honestly wanted to speak before Razkar could make his own decision, proving herself to be in charge of his course. For an instant, she wanted to look over at Razkar and confirm it; she very nearly did when she realized that he may be too sore from the night before to battle today. But he was, after all, a Myrian. They were most alive during battle, no?

[Razkar]

As the hard-knuckled hustler that wore Edreina's face talked, Razkar had to force himself not to glance over at her. Freddy and his ilk weren't geniuses, but the Myrian had met enough of them to know they had finely-honed instincts for weakness. An anxious glance, an appraising look in hr direction, revealing anything more than a business relationship, and they were in trouble.

Something like Freddy would ride that until Razkar just killed him. Why would he suffer the aggravation, after all?

"If your manager approves, we've got some good fights on for tonight... I'm sure we can muscle you in?"

He kept his eyes on Freddy, face carefully blank, but he couldn't hide the glimmer in his eyes. Like fireworks on the dark side of Leth. At the mere mention of another bout, another challenge, something greater, stronger, fiercer... his gnosis throbbed softly. His pulse quietly doubled and his hands balled and relaxed into ready fists.

"He will do it."

The merest twitch of his lips was all they got; his eyes never moved. Gods, but she was doing well. She was poised, cold... commanding. Razkar chuckled mentally, wondering how the females of home would regard this barbarian who spoke with a voice that sent tremors of obedience into a man from brain to cock. Was it his imagination, or did Freddy's two mooks seem to straighten a little more in her presence?

... are they sucking their paunches in, too?

"Follow me, then..."

Razkar needed no urging, taking the lead as Edreina jerked her head silently, an order rather than a politeness. The Myrian made a point to nod his understanding and took the lead, letting the punters still queuing up for entry inside see the new attraction.

Well, Razkar thought, darkened ambiance giving him room to finally give a tight smile in the darkness of his hood, not quite "new"...

++++++++++

It was like... that first sip of Lethshine. The first pull on a bowl of Taloba Grey after a long, hot day. The anticipation... that was the key to it. Razkar inhaled the fetid air and found it crackling, humming, almost whispering to him with excitement, energy.

Memories. Recollections. The promise of forging new ones.

Faces lining both sides of the stone stairs turned to the little group as they made their way into the bowels of the Knuckle Club. Freddy leading the way (of course), Razkar behind him, then Edreina. The night before, most of the looks and mutters had been questioning, frowning, curious... but tonight?

Quick, urgent snatches of conversation flew around his head like curious mosquitoes. Even in the darkened solace of his hood, Razkar listened.

"... from last night? You remember, I told you? Put Savage Henry on crutches..."

"... vicious bastard, I'll tell you that much. Dunno how he'll do against..."

"... he's back?! Oh, Reginald, darling, do make sure you find the croupier so we can lay a wager."

"Honey, they don't call them that, here..."

You get the general idea. Much hubub, much excitement, and Razkar could see the satisfied grin on Freddy's face clean through the back of his head. There was even a little strut in the little man's walk as they reached the iron door and he imperiously waved aside the bodyguards. They could have been twins to the men upstairs, and as one they opened them up... to the cavern.

"Blessed Myri... look upon your Son this night..."

There was no bonfire nor offering bowl for the softly muttered words, but Razkar needed neither: the stark square of light in the middle of rising walls of ancient rock, penned by creaking iron bars... that was a proper place for him to make worship.

One of the most fitting in fact, for the Goddess of War and Victory.

"I seek no boons from thee, Myri. I bear your mark, your holy blood courses within me; all I could need has been given..."

Freddy leaped up to the rude stage before the cage, hands flapping in the air from out his wide sleeves, reveling in the attention. A crowd like a mishmash of shiftless humanity turned eyes and fake smiles to him. Nobility and common folk; minor barons and major offenders; cutpurses and grain merchants; sellswords and seamstresses... his people.

Razkar and Edri stood in the front row, inquisitive babble surrounding them. In Razkar's case, surrounding him again. He smiled again as Freddy launched into his spiel, feeling... yes...

Like a suit of clothes you'd already broke in. The first night all was stiff and needed adjustment. But tonight, he'd learned to block out the background. Now the cage was what mattered... and the female next to him with his purse on her belt.

"Blessed Myri, know the promise made in the heart of your temple will be fulfilled again this night. In struggle and battle and hard-won victory..."

Razkar turned his eyes to the hidden heavens and felt the slightest tremor up his spine. As if he'd received an answer.

Then his eyes slowly lowered back to Freddy, working the crowd like the private sector provocateur he was, wiping on name from a chalkboard and adding "THE MYRIAN" in capital letters... and odds next to it.

Six-to-one. Not bad... same as Syliras. I'll have to work at that...

He knew Edreina would make their bets for them; perhaps even Manny was lurking around. But "The Myrian" only had eyes for the cage. Fresh sawdust, bright and fine-smelling, but hinting that blood had been spilled under it. He licked his lips, gnosis pounding now like his heart, rune-encrusted weapons beginning to throb and thrum in howling need.

Bring him out, already. Or her. Or it. Whatever it is you'd have face me, bring it forth, and let us pray...

OOCSurprise me, babe!

[Edreina]

Though her partner wore a hood that cast a shadow over his face, Edreina's body was far more bared, open to various interpretations. Some may have been confused, others wary. In any case, she and the Myrian turned heads. From what she could tell and scraps of conversation that she heard, Razkar had already made a name for himself. This was not something she had considered. Would him having a name already make it easier for her to prove herself simply by being seen in his company or would it mean that she would have to work all the harder to prove herself his superior.

Each expression was carefully controlled as she moved between people, carefully placed between Freddy and Razkar. This did not her from smiling at the sight of the crowd; let others make of it what they would. The energy of it, the unpredictability! A woman could easily grow intoxicated by such a thing! As they came to a stop in front of the cage, Edreina was aware of Razkar's ceaseless whispering. When it concluded, she reached over and surreptitiously ran a finger over the scar she knew it exist on the meatiest part of his palm, glancing up at him with a knowing look. Myri's name had been understood by the woman who understood threadbare Myrian, but the rest was a flickering, rolling shadow she did not understand.

She watched with dancing blue eyes as her lover took his place in the cage, looking as at home as ever. From his easy stance, she could almost believe that the trees in Falyndar were made of shoddily welded metal and its many monsters were just other figh-

"What beyond Laviku's fair tide is that beast?" Edreina heard herself mutter as some creature with three arms step into the cage with Razkar. She had heard stories of multi-armed Eypharians, but never seen one. This one's skin was a dull olive color that shimmered lightly in the wan light of the club. Except for, she realized as it turned to assess the crowd with cold, tilted gray eyes, the lowest arm on its right side which was no more than a pale stump ending at the elbow. Even with a mangled fourth arm, it cast a terrifying shadow. He, she amended, cast a terrifying shadow. For, despite his delicate features and slim frame, the bone structure of his face was so distinctly male. Most of its hair was cut close to the scalp and was the color of wet wood but there were six distinctly dyed braids trailing all the way down his back to the top of his canvas breeches.

"Name's Me'ton the Merciless," a familiar voice muttered.

"I'm not surprised they are starting with him," another groaned, and two of the mercenaries from the caravan came to stand on either side of Edreina, leaning against the rail that circled the cage with her. The older man's hat was slightly skewed by the rowdy crowd, and he took a minute to fix it before elaborating. "He's got good range and can hit more than others, obviously."

The cogs of the redhead's mind started to turn, clicking and clacking as she turned the concept over. How many times had she wished for a third arm to beat the hell out of Razkar when he had both of her arms pinned above her head? Well, that third arm would be useful in that situation in another setting, but her head really did not belong there. Betting began in a flurry, and Edreina remembered that she had a job to do.

"He won his last fight?" One nodded, eyes on the cage. "When was that?"

"Boua fiveday past. You were... otherwise occupied, no?" The other said with a sloppy grin, causing Edreina to gape for an instant before settling with something she had silently reconciled with long ago. The older one was hard to fool, and if anyone of the caravan had to know the truth, she was glad it was just these two. They were the sort that preferred to stab someone on the battlefield, not in the back.

"Five days..." she said quietly, mulling it over. Five days would be enough for rumors to jump up, hence the nickname, but long enough for his prowess to be vastly over stated in said rumors. But Razkar... He had been there just the night before. Everything would be relatively close to the truth unless the silly Myrian had done something utterly ridiculous. Those things tended to blow up the fastest if her minute experience at the Fighting Pit in Syliras.

Blue eyes narrowed at the fight, watching this Me'ton with careful diligence. He had a surprising amount of power in his motions and more fire in his veins than Edreina had expected but...

It took everything in Edreina to keep from crying aloud as she spotted the very weakness that made others think Me'ton to be great. "Twenty-five on the Myrian!" She cried over the crowd, surprising one or two, watching as the bets were adjusted on the chalkboard. Some lackey came over to take the Mizas she fished from the purse and hand her a hastily scrawled card with some symbols she did not quite understand. Five of them were in constant motion about the roaring cage, taking Mizas as bets were placed.

What the redhead did not know was that the Eypharian was an ex-Jackal with a bone to gnaw and marrow to drink. In Eyktol, he had held a place of honor, and was rising in the ranks of the his companions. One night, he had surrendered to the drink and made the mistake of attempting to push around a seemingly harmless young woman visiting his fair city. But, what he had not known was that the woman was a Myrian, traveling far from her home in Taloba to bring glory to her goddess. As expected, the fight had gone badly and a stump of an arm had been a marker of the stigma that now surrounded him. He could have continued to live among his people had it not been for his fierce pride.

Me'ton left his people in an attempt to redeem himself to himself. And now, he felt, he had been given that chance.

[Razkar]

If it had been a human adversary, Razkar might have trusted his training and endurance to engage immediately. That had been the stratagem with Savage Henry, and while it took longer than expected, Razkar didn't have much doubt as to the outcome.

That time, however, he only had two arms to worry about... and it had been a long time since he'd fought on the the Desert Demons.

Fat Roland roared his rabble-rousing across the cavern, booming voice magnified even more by the high walls and the ancient stones, but in the cage, there was... stillness. Me'ton flexed his three arms, his legs... even the stump of his vanished arm twitched and tensed as if still yearning to be used.

Razkar cracked his neck to one side... then the other... rolled his shoulders... saw the Eypharian do the same... and then the freakish barbarian was moving towards him, stalking across the sawdust-strewn floor with his arms raised. Razkar did the same, knees bent, slightly crouched, hands closed into fists-

-and then the barrage hit him, as he somewhat expected.

What did you expect when the man has three fists to use?

Without the hindrance of excess muscle, Me'ton was fast, and with an extra arm, he could afford to let his accuracy slide a little. Razkar was suddenly battered from all sides by rows of hardened knuckles, but for very one or two he avoided, another always found a way, sneaking down to hammer his kidneys or ribcage, box his ears-

-then he found that the Eypharian knew how to kick, too.

A sextuplet of jabs had all his focus on protecting his upper body when he saw Me'ton's knee bend, his foot shift, his other raise-

-knew what was coming, jerked to his side-

-just in time to have a brutal side kick crash onto his forearm, grinding muscle against bone and ligament, knocking him back into the iron walls of the cage. He looked over his hands and saw the Eypharian snarl his victory, small while teeth making him look even more like some pampered palace cat suddenly gone feral. He closed in again, not giving Razkar a chance, slamming more punched onto his blocking arms-

-and the Myrian soaked it up, waiting, watching from between his hands, trying to find something, anything-

There!

-waited for his upper right arm to rear back again and snapped a swift left jab through the gap, the Eypharian missing the other arm he could have used to block it-

-and Me'ton the Merciless stumbled back a couple of steps, jaw ringing from the unexpected jab, eyes flashing with fury... with injured pride.

Ah. All attack, no defense. They usually go down quick, don't they? Can't handle five limbs hammering them at once. Well... I'm not "they".

With a bark Razkar went back on the offensive, feinting both left and right before kicking out low and nasty-

-catching Me'ton below the kneecap, making him yelp with pain, stagger-

-but not so much he didn't repay the Myrian with a crack across the jaw, two arms slamming fists into his chest a blink later-

-as Razkar's hand clawed at one of them, gripping it around the wrist, twisting it outwards, pulling the Eypharian off-balance-

-but not enough, as Me'ton lightly launched himself into the air off his left foot, twisting himself in the direction Razkar was pulling him-

-and bringing his ankle scissoring down onto the Myrian's neck, just above his shoulder.

The crowd roared and Razkar's vision exploded at the same time, twin sensations bleeding into each other, ears and eyes suddenly crowded and clamoring for attention his mind couldn't give. Goddess... something felt cracked up there... his breath was suddenly full of sawdust and he realized he was down... vibrations... closing...

He rolled out of instinct, away, and fast, over and over, some animal part of him knowing his hunter was fast approaching. His gnosis growled angrily at the back of his neck, refusing to be denied.

You were gifted. You were chosen. Now STAND!

Me'ton towered over the mongrel, the animal, one of those stunted race of afterbirth-vomited apes that infested the far and loathsome jungle. He saw a tinge of the cunt that robbed him of his duty, his honor... his arm. A whole life, obliterated by one swing of her sword, leaving him there clutching naught but a spurting stump as she walked away, deeming him unworthy of even a killing blow.

Me'ton never found her. Neither did his kin and comrades. But Lhex, in his unfathomable design, had tossed him some paltry compensation.

"Not finished yet, savage," he growled in his own tongue, hoping the groggy bastard still had at least one working ear, "But I think you'll have s'more of the same, anyway-"

His leg scissored down again, vertical and swift as an executioner's ax at Razkar's head-

-then shuddered, veered off-course as the Myrian reared up on one knee, his undamaged arm jerking up, perpendicular, the leg glancing off it, heading to his side, widening the Eypharian's stance-

Razkar had one broken, brilliant tick to drink in Me'ton's surprise. Then he slammed an uppercut into his crotch that had every male in the Knuckle Club gasping.

"Fuckin'ew..."

Manny's face crumpled like... well, like a scrotal sack hit with four bare knuckles at high speed. Fine, not quite that badly, but close. Seb just held his crotch for a moment like he was checking they were still there and then added his voice to his partner's.

"As'a man! Fuckin' geddin' 'err!"

Razkar seemed to be listening. As Me'ton lurched back like a seagull incapable of flight, unused to solid ground, the Myrian surged to his feet, rolling his battered shoulder, feeling it twist and scream and-

-remembered-

The sight of Me'ton doing the same right before they threw their first blows. The way he... couldn't quite roll them down, at least the two arms he had on top. An extra arm he had, true, but could he use them as well as Razkar could? With the same dexterity? Or would the sheer mass of his bony shoulder just... get in the way?

Time to find out.

Razkar wasn't one to let an opponent recover from his injuries, either. This wasn't the Training Yards, the Kendoka Sasaran, even the Fighters Pit. This was a place where men (well, he assumed just men) beat the petch out of each other for a blood-braying crowd, and so that was what he'd give them.

His gnosis purred, vibrations of blessed energy sizzling through his veins, giving his strength, speed, darting to the Eypharian's right-

You'll see it. You know I'll try for a feint, so you'll block to your left-

-which was exactly why he kept going, snapping out a fast jab to the Eypharian's ribs, feeling one of them crack deliciously under his knuckles, getting in closer, nastier-

-right uppercut slamming into the Eypharian's stomach, but not the retaliation was coming, three fists working like pistons as the Eypharian screeched his outrage from mere inches away, pounding away at Razkar's abdomen, making his head bow down-

-until it snapped back up, hard, back of the Myrian's head slamming into his nose, and an thin arc of blood streamed across the sawdust, pattering down like a light rain lost in the sadistic roar of the crowd-

Me'ton blinked, saw a blurry shape in front of him-

-then that shape became everything, his whole world, a shadow swallowing his vision like tape across his eyes-

-followed by blinding pain as Razkar's forehead slammed into his nose a second time, breaking it, sending him staggering back again... but he did not fall. The Myrian swam back into focus, indistinct browns and blacks and red and blues becoming flesh, scars, piercings, tattoos, the living, walking embodiment of everything he hated.

Razkar smiled at him... and winked.

Me'ton screamed out his hatred and charged. But he didn't fight stupid, Razkar was happy to see. Short, sharp punched rained down on him again, but weaker now, the whole dishing vs. taking it argument being proven right yet again. Razkar hunkered down and weathered it, endured, saw now that his arms had to swing almost horizontally each time on his left side, lest they run into each other if they tried to go higher or lower-

-but his right had more maneuverability-

-and that wouldn't do.

Razkar raised his left arm, an inviting target for the enraged Eypharian, and felt a fist slam into his ribs-

Then Me'ton gasped as his fist was trapped, Razkar's elbow coming down hard, pinning him there. He could tug it out, sure, but it would take a precious pair of ticks-

-which Razkar already had plans for-

-jerking his fist under his trapped arm, right under the elbow, bracing his left hand under it and then heaving upward-

Me'ton the Merciless screamed again, only now it was a symphony of glorious agony that rose like a storm around the Knuckle Club. Screeching, wailing, animal and indescribable, something born of shattered bones and broken will... of a man losing yet another piece of himself to a Child of Myri.

[Edreina]

OOCGonna be a shorty o.o

As the battle raged, Edreina closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds that surrounded them. First and foremost were the roars of disgust and of pleasure as Myrian and Eypharian threw themselves against one another, fighting for pleasure and for pay. It was a broken, nonsensical sort of music at first. There was an ebb and flow to it, certainly, but everything seemed so disconnected from the other. As the dancers danced in the cage, the crowd was a symphony providing the fuel.

Scraps and bits of conversation fell upon her ears, taunting and teasing her with possible conversations. Two men behind her seemed to think that Me'ton would prevail, that he had more stamina and drive then the Myrian. But, a younger woman was adamant that Razkar would be the one to win. Her reason was unknown to Edreina but something Razkar was doing had her running forward constantly, putting more money on him.

But, overall, Edreina's guess seemed to be right.

"'eard he took on the Tomorrow Twins without flinching... Four arms could not even handle his three..."

"Just wait until he really gets into his swing, heard he can-"

"Came tonight just because I heard about this Me'ton. My brother said-"

"I mean, I know I was completely wasted, but I know talent when I see it."

"C'mon! Basic math, mate. Three is better than two. Don' car' 'ow many piercing's the lads' got."

Everyone was going by rumors and the terrifying, exotic appearance. For once, Razkar was not the strangest component in a fight. He looked downright tame, in fact, compared to the strange gilded man. Smiling and allowing her blue eyes to shine in his general direction, the Svefra placed thirty more gold mizas on his name as quietly as she could. The older mercenary shortly followed but the younger, with his trademark snort, placed a handful of coins on the name of the three-armed monster.

I know you can do it... She thought in Razkar's general direction before remembering that she could do more... After several deep breaths, she felt Djed flow from her soul and into her voice. For ticks it hesitated upon the tip of her tongue, sparking and writing and displaying its annoyance in waiting. When there was that instant where Razkar flagged, having taken a horrid blow, she cried with a magic-tainted voice, "You can do it, Razkar! C'mon!" The feeling would be fuzzy but its general color would be that of confidence, of self surety. She knew it was a far reached attempt to be useful, but it was the best that she could do. Dazzling blue eyes and a radiant smile would not always be the only thing she could do to give her lover strength, she hoped.

[Razkar]

"You can do it, Razkar! C'mon!"

The crowd faded like fog suddenly shrouded their roars. The screeching Me'ton lost his voice to the Myrian, ad all he heard... no, felt... was the warm encouragement of that voice. The syllables rang in his ears like the lips that formed them were a mere inch away, unmistakable, shattering his moment of victory in confusion tinged with fluttering excitement-

-and Razkar turned his head to see Edreina standing beyond the bars. Chanting his name, grinning with her wide mouth and shining white teeth, beating the air with her fists, eyes shining with the djed and love she had carried to him.

He smiled back at her, blood oozing from his lips, winked. It was a perfect moment... then Me'ton went and ruined it.

Bad time to lose your focus, boy.

Two fists like miniature sledgehammers smacked into his jaw and temple, and suddenly he was walking without touching the ground. The crowd keened its sympathy and/or scorn, the sound crackling through the wyrd Edreina had conjured... and Razkar found that he was... oddly not panicking.

Was it something she did? Had she worked her power on him?

Focus, damnit!

He clanged against the iron bars and just in time, flinging up his forearms just as Me'ton jerked to his side, two left arms bracing himself on the ground so he was almost horizontal-

-as both legs swung out, long, muscled limbs striking with ven more force that arms-

-knocking Razkar away from the bars and stumbling across the floor, sending clouds of sawdust flying, vision still fractured with slivers of black glass from those two punches... but he could see the grunting agony Me'ton was in with every step. The Eypharian's arm was broken, hanging from his side at an angle no arm should rest at...

Razkar smiled and hawked a scarlet spittoon's-worth onto the ground between them. The crowd roared his defiance for him as Me'ton's face flushed, arms coming up again to begin raining blows, arms cocked back-

Now!

-as Razkar lunged forward, right arm jerking out and vertical, blocking the first fist-

-slamming a left cross into the Eypharian's sternum with enough force to grind his knuckles against the breastbone, knocking the wind out the mutilated fighter with a noise like a man's stomach being gutted hours after death.

Me'ton fell back, arms moving again, trying to defend, attack-

-and Razkar mercilessly gave him a quick left jab into the middle of his pulped elbow, where white bone winked at him from a ruined, weeping scarlet wound-

More screaming. Louder now, choked and pregnant with pain, not rage, but the bastard fought back, doubling Razkar over with a kick to his crotch that sent stars shooting across his eyes, an explosion rocking his pelvis as he stumbled, going down to one knee-

-Me'ton snarling as the defiant fucking savage blocked another couple of left jabs, snarl becoming a screech of victory as he spun around on his left heel, aiming a spinning kick... at...

... the...

... Myrian's...

Razkar felt the glory and light of Myri flow into him from his gnosis. He saw the moment, not as time was slowing down, but... as if it had already happened. Like it was a memory, not reality, and he knew where that heel would aim for, what it would do when it arrived... and how best to finish it.

The Myrian smiled in the shadow and blood, waiting for that heel to whip around and nearly finish it's journey to his temple, doubtless knocking him out for good-

-but it didn't-

-and Me'ton gasped in horror as the savage jerked back to his feet in a low crouch, barking out his pain as his foreleg smashed into Razkar's left side-

-but he'd hooked his left arm under it, pinning Me'ton's right leg, leaving him only one, desperately trying to-

"GRAK!"

-try to resume breathing as the Myrian's other hand lashed out and gripped around his throat, squeezing, grinding tubes against tubes against vertebrae and arteries-

Razkar felt his gnosis explode and roared out his own victory, feeling that power and speed and righteous frenzy course through every fiber-

-as he pivoted his body to the left, lifting Me'ton's body clear off the cage floor-

-slamming it into the iron bars-

-hard. Twice.

The crowd reacted like any dumb, massive animal does: with base sounds and shallow sympathy crossed with smug enjoyment. Half of them jerked and winced and "ooooh'd!" as the Eypharian was thrown against the metal bars that were now his cage, hearing bones break and blood flew between the bars and spattered like a hot, sullen drizzle.

Then Razkar did it again, feeling the Eypharian start to go limp, seeing the fire flee from his eyes as his body started to give up, realizing that the shock from his broken arm and battered torso was catching up to him.

But he still did, of course. An enemy was an enemy, after all, and you never left one of those in any condition to continue.

So "The Myrian" roughly hurled Me'ton to the cage floor, letting go his leg and throat, watching him bounce lightly and the impact briefly filled the air with scarlet-flecked sawdust. Hands filled the air in ecstatic triumph as Razkar circled the groaning, crawling champion that had previously drunk in so much of their adoration.

The fine, regal lines were now puffy, cracked, lines with purple bruises and ugly ropes of scarlet cuts. Every time Me'ton moved, his right arm brushed the ground and he coughed like a man about to die. But still he tried to rise, and a handful of die-hard gamblers still thought he could rally when he made it up to one knee-

-then there was a lull as Razkar stopped beside him, face cool and calm, then with businesslike efficiency-

-hammering a knee into the Eypharian's rising face just as Me'ton remembered what planet he was on. At once that braided skull snapped backwards, eyes opening briefly in twin, shocked realizations that he was a) losing and b) about to be unconscious and then...

Me'ton The Merciless fell backwards into a confetti parade of red sawdust, not to rise again tonight but be dragged out like two hundred pounds of rotten offal. Razkar massaged his bruised collarbone with a wince, cracked his head left to right... and waited...

As the Knuckle Club exploded into sadistic ecstasy, and his lips moved silently, finding her again, boring his black stones into her blue pools.

"Goddess-Queen, know mine victory is for thy glory... and Sea-Father, that your daughter did aid in that victory this night..."

[Edreina]

OOCThis is a real piece of shyke, but it's something to keep the story going.
An obvious bit of insight was tucked away for later as Edreina realized that distracting one's lover in the middle of the fight just might not be the best of ideas. She winced just a bit harder than the rest of them when Me'ton took advantage of Razkar's moment of surprise. The bastard... The thought was in no way comforted by the fact that Razkar would have done the same thing if given the opening.

And, sooner than she expected, Razkar recovered and was back at his best. She knew that she bad bet blindly upon him, going only upon instinct and the fact that she thought Razkar to be able to beat nearly anyone. So far, he was in no way proving her otherwise. Razkar was bloody, bruised... but she knew that look in his eyes. The feral fury that began to build and build an instant before-

The eruption of his Gnosis was tangible as its effects spread through the crowd, sending them into a flurry of fury and exhilarated excitement. The Svefra turned to the younger mercenary, hand alighting upon his for an instant. Something odd and familiar flickered in his eyes before dying again as he nodded, signalling that she had his attention. "I need you to get a mug or two of water and a clean rag from the bar... please?" Guileless blue eyes gave Manny no choice but to do as she asked and do it with an understanding smile.

The instant after he left, the crowd became a writhing mass of satisfaction as the fight reached its end. Looking up, she found black eyes staring predictably into hers, glimmering with the heat of victory. The cage door opened and only one of the participants left of his own volition. With a nod of her head - she was, after all, still his "boss" - Edreina motioned that he meet her on the edge of the room where unoccupied space was in greater supply and the air a bit less stifling.

Halfway through weaving through the crowd, the redhead met up with Manny and took the three mugs off of his hands - "Looked like two wouldn' do tha job," the smiling mercenary he had said. - along with the rag.

It would be easy for Razkar to find her flaming locks as she stood against the far wall, waiting for him so that she could tend to his injuries with gentle fingers. In a low voice, she would tell him that he did wonderfully, smiling that small smile that existed only between them.

[Razkar]

Once the euphoria of his victory and the heady empowerment of his gnosis faded, Razkar's nervous system returned to somewhere close to normal, and bought a shyke-load of pain with it. Adrenaline fading, Razkar could still feel every ragged breath as it tore down his throat, filled tired lungs... and make his collarbone scream with every rise of his torso.

The Myrian faltered as he got to the edge of the cage, but did not fall, one hand shooting out to grab the door as it opened, other going up to instinctively grip his damaged collarbone-

-and he got rewarded with a firestorm of pain blossoming silently through his upper body.

"Fucking... bastard..."

But his grimace soon twisted to a satisfied, dreamy sneer (well, as dreamy as it could get on that face). The bastard in question was lying in an unconscious, battered, broken-boned heap of blood and bruised muscle behind him. Whatever he'd tried to do, The Myrian had done better, and the fact he was leaving the cage vertical was proof of it.

An ocean of hands and ecstatic faces assailed him the moment he left that hallowed ground. The reality of what the Knuckle Club really was smacked him like a wet, clammy palm: it was all about the punters, their fix of violence and sadism, the gamblers and the shylocks who preyed on them, and above it all, Freddy March on his dais just above the hoi polloi, surrounded by his muscle.

Grins and pats on the back rained down on him and offended his eyes wherever he looked. Razkar cared not if a pack of barbarians supported him, cried his name or made money off him. They did the same for Me'Ton, and Savage Henry; look for fans of those two wrecks now.

He had eyes only for one; a diamond in a basement piled high with shyke... and when he met Edreina's eyes, an exhausted smile split his face as his body sagged...

But he saw where her head pointed him to; her face was still the professional mask it had been when talking to Freddy, and he limped over to the place she'd pointed out. Lumbering examples of Freddy's personnel - with names that were rarely more than two syllables - blocked off any attempts his new fans made to get too friendly: they knew when a man needed to get patched, not sodding mingle.

The Myrian's arse had barely hit the bench before he saw his angel of healing shoulder her way through the crowd. A clean towel was in one hand (and Goddess alone knew where she got that in this pit) and three mugs of sloshing water in the other. The smile took on a breathless quality as she gained ground, and-

No. Remember the act.

Razkar swallowed his joy, his elation at having her so close and her murmurs of faintly-awed approval in his ears. Instead, he rebelled against all he had been taught and concentrated on the pain; letting the stings and gnawing aches bleed into his nerves like slow poison... but it worked.

His face became a mask of almost-controlled pain. His eyes were wide and stared and he bore his teeth like a threatened tiger whenever Edreina's soothing touch found a new bump.

But in the shadows between them, his hand clutched hers briefly. Their eyes met again and sweat poured down a fresh contour on his face as he managed a lightning-fast grin.

"Fine night... my love..."

[Edreina]

Each time she touched him, he cringed or growled quietly at her. This was so... un-Razkar that Edreina nearly smiled. He had either gotten better at acting or was letting himself feel his wounds for once. "Didn't know you've turned into such a-" the word for it in any language is entirely unpleasant but fit the nature of the cesspool in which they were currently ensconced. She stilled briefly when his hand caught hold of hers, fearing he was about to make some equally unattractive remark. Though, oddly enough, the childish grin she found to be so charming would have unnerved others.

When all was just about said and done, Edreina's ears unconsciously pricked to a new pattern in the swirling of motion around them. These steps held purpose and, by the sound of them, some element of excitement. Probably the mercs from earlier, she reasoned silently, pressing the damp towel to yet another abrasion on the warrior's chest.

This is what led her to start when a rodent cleared its throat behind her and she turned to be nearly even with the top of Freddy's floppy little hat. Somehow, his company had kept her from noticing his height. "If you've got a moment, Ms. Edreina, I have a particular proposition to which I mean to make you privy."

Almost protectively she stepped more deliberately between Freddy and Razkar; he was, after all, her prize-fighter. "I would like to know where our winnings are, first." She may have attached little value to a metal coin, but they did. Part of her worried that not doing the same would make her stand out even more than she already did.

A reedy laugh bounced off of the weaselish (though Edreina had only the descriptions of stories to go off of) man's vocal cords and he nodded, raising his hands complacently. "You'll have it shortly. My men are just working out the percentages. I'm sure you know how that is." His response was a noncommittal shrug and the barest hint of a smile. "Anyhow. I wanted to key you in on an opportunity, of sorts." The scent of filth and of alcohol choked the Svefra when he stepped closer.

"Say what you will and waste no more of my time." Or my ability to smell.

Her icy edge and obvious annoyance caused Freddy to take an instinctive half-step back. This woman did, after all, manage a fighting Myrian. One knew not what she was capable of herself. "Right... Well, I'll make it quick, then. I do have a club to run, after all." Ah, the old, assert your dominance through any means, ploy. Edreina was so impressed, she managed to suppress her rolling eyes out of sheer respect for a man so well off. "Bets tend to run based on performance and rumors. But, there is a way for one to use this against itself... If you so choose, and make me aware, I can have a few men talk Razkar up through his next few fights and then, when the pickings are fattest, we can bet against him and reap the rewards of his oh so unfortunate loss... Do you follow me?"

"You mean to be dishonest." People the world over slapped their foreheads in exasperation with one so naive; Freddy seemed on the edge of doing the same. But, to a woman who worked with others for the good of all, took only what she needed and otherwise lived as honestly as a Svefra could, such a thought was off-putting to say the least.

"Of course. Most of what goes on, and manages to be profitable, is dishonest in some way. My proposal is no different. We can use our wits and wiles to walk away the victors and claim for ourselves the most bountiful spoils. But..." He took another step back, eyes thoughtful and appraising. It was at this moment that, though his eyes were the same shade of black as Razkar's, the young Svefra so very far from home realized that she was able to make out an entirely different light in Freddy's. There had been a time where she saw expression, emotion, and soul only in the dancing blue eyes of her kin. Now, even the dirt managed to sing of a soul masked below. Anyhow, back to the rat. "It is entirely up to you. I'll let you think on it." In order to assure he had the last word, Freddy scurried back through the crowd and out of sight.

Edreina turned back to Razkar, fighting the urge to sag onto the bench beside him. After a moment, she managed to work up the will to ask his take on the situation. Morality will not get me everywhere, it seems...

-----

That night, before they left, a shady man in shady clothes palmed Edreina a bag heavy with Gold-rimmed Mizas. Their winnings, it seemed. "Smaller bag inside has your ten percent..." he growled, and then he was off. The Svefra kept the purse close to her chest as they moved through the city. They could count int once they were in the safety of their room.

Total WinningsIf all is agreeable to you,

Odds were 6:1 favoring Me'ton
Bet = 55 GM
Winnings = 330 GM
Amount After House Cut of 10% = 297 GM
As usual, Razkar will be giving Edreina the entirety.

(c) Gossamer