Solo [Tall Johnny's] Volunteering for a Brain Bashing

[Kreig Messer]

47th of Spring 518 A.V., 7th bell, 15th chime. The title Champion of Sunberth was something revered by the people of Sunberth. Those who held it were figures that were feared and respected, considered heroes for going undefeated in Tall Johnny’s caged fights with an impressive streak of victories to affirm it. It didn’t matter what sort of people they were, so long as they held the title they were the sort of people the average Sunberth citizen wanted to buy a drink for and tell their mates that ‘Yeah, I bought the Champion of Sunberth a drink and I didn’t get my brains bashed in throughout the whole thing’. Even the gangs, big and small, had respect for the title. Because of the respect it held, that made it a powerful recruiting tool; who didn’t want to fight alongside the champion? There was enough idiots about who’d think that if they want to get in good with the champion then they ought to share his colors. It was also a great tool for intimidation as well; it told the other gangs that they were not be messed with. For the small gangs it gives more bite to their bark, for the bigger gangs it made their blade all the sharper. Losing the title dulled it, of course. But not by much, even a former champion was something to fear, someone to respect, and was someone who could feasibly retake the title if they could keep another undefeated streak going. For Olav Errickson, known to all as the Gatekeeper, that respect barely dulled. The title of Champion of Sunberth was something that be gained and loss within days, seasons at max. Olav kept for years before Fate decided he should lose it. Back in the day he was big and mean, little difference to a Sunberth thug in attitude. But Olav had, and still has, skill that put him above all others that made him one of Johnny’s best fighters. It was safe to say his skills hadn’t really rusted at all since his diminished presence in the Cage. Kreig knew this because the head of the man’s wooden mace narrowly missed his head as he stepped back from the big man’s overhead strike. “Not petching good enough Kreig, I said dodge. Not take a shyke step as if a petchin’ vase just barely missed you!” Olav shouted, voice deep and coarse. It was easy to mistake his voice for being that of an idiot, but those who mistook it for that often found their heads dug in the dirt with their bums in the air. Kreig for his part was impressed a man could swear so much angry words without actually being….well, angry. It was if Olav was a calm educator in a school somewhere except that educator had a mouth a sailor could gawk at while the educator would continue teaching unaware or just outright ignoring people’s reactions. In the mornings when there are no fights to be had, it was common for the Caged Pit to be used as a training area for use by Johnny’s fighters. Whether for spars or just regular training it didn’t matter, Johnny’s fighters used the space for their own use till it was time to clear out. Kreig wished he knew that before, but he hardly spent time with the other fighters so it was his own fault. It was also his own fault for asking Olav for training tips because the older man had took it for ‘Could you help beat me to shape? My shyke-spewing rear would sure appreciate it!’ because now here was, wearing all his armors pieces, having smalls weights attached to his wrists and feets, and having to avoid a butthead with a wooden mace because he thought it would build character. ‘It was as if I was facing Sera Natasha if Sera Natasha was a bald, mace-weilding behemoth with a course tongue with enough words to shame my ancestors since the Valterrian!’ He was starting to miss Syliras.

[Kreig Messer]

Olav brought his mace into an upwards strike following his overhead, Kreig found himself stepping back again but being unaccustomed to the excess weight whilst moving meant instead of a simple move back he’d tripped and fell on his rear as the mace head whizzed passed him. “I said ‘dodge’ kreig, an’ I’m pretty sure falling on your arse don’t count” Olav bellowed calmly as he raised his foot and jabbed it forward, Kreig let out a quick curse as he raised the back of his fists to block the heavy foot as it pushed against the vambraces “Pretty sure that still ain’t dodgin’ “ He said in a dry tone as he pulled back his foot to raise the other for another, much harder, jab. “Oh petch you” Kreig responded as he rolled out of the way and onto his knee “When I asked for pointer’s Olav I was expectin’ somethin’ like a word or two” Olave merely shrugged “I’m feelin’ that this’ll do just as good, ya ain’t really good at dodgin’ kid. An’ with how you often ya take heavy hits I’m bettin ‘ ya ain’t gonna last long enough to be a good investment for Johnny” With that Olav launched forward with a mid-swing that would have aimed for Kreig’s head, had Kreig not read the obvious signs and took to dropping to his back. Of course Olav didn’t let up as he raised his foot for a stomp, which Kreig rolled away from, then another, and another until Kreig found himself against the metal walls that was the cage. ‘Oh shyke in a handbasket’ Kreig quickly sat up, turning his head only to find the polished wood of the practice mace mere inches form his face, sweat pouring down his forehead as he glanced up to Olav “An’ that’s you dead. What, I’m I gonna have to teach ya to check your surroundings too?” He lifted the mace and rested its head against his shoulder, giving Kreig a look of disdain “Listen you arsewipe, I know you get by a lot when readin’ folk’s bodies an’ all that. But readin’ there bodies ain’t gonna mean shyke if ya can’t petchin’ react fast enough to do anythin’ about it, an’ it ain’t gonna mean shyke if ya can’t petchin’ read it before it comes in the first place” Kreig grunted, getting onto his feet. He got what Olav was saying, more or less. Overall what blows he saw coming and did dodge were usually by a hairs breadth, and the ones he saw coming but couldn’t dodge or guard were doozies of a hit even if seeing them lessened the surprise factor. “Alright, I get what your sayin’, but is makin’ me wear all this weight really gonna help me learn how to dodge?” Olave smiled at Kreig “Petch if I know, but at least you could say you’re muscles are getting’ a workout” And with that Olave swung his mace again.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig moved again, ducking his head and sliding to the side not wanting his brain bashed by the man’s mace as he swung towards his head in an overhead, diagonal, angle. Training weapon or now Kreig did not relish the thought of finding himself with caved in skill because the much more muscular Olav didn’t know to hold back. Though even if KReig said that he knew the man was doing just that, holding back. It was his inadequacy with the excess weight that made this entire thing difficult. Oh he was definitely getting a workout from it, his armor pieces plus the weights strapped to him made sure he was carrying their worth. Sweat dripping upon his brow, his breath going in and out at an increased pace, and the soreness of his muscles so much of it. Problem was Kreig hated being in a one-sided fight, whether it was on his side or the other. Olav wanted Kreig to dodge, that was fine with him, he’d no choice most of the time but he’d be damned if he couldn’t find a way to fight back. Olav turned his hips as he swung his mace across and Kraig had to step back with his fists raised as the mace head grazed his armor “Almost petchin’ had ya” Olav announced cheerfully as he stepped forward and brought his mace in a forward shove, Kreig had to turn his body at this, rotating his hips and form then stepping back as the mace head passed forth and back. Kreig seeing an opportunity, threw his right fist in a backhanded strike aiming at Olav’s bald head, but a bit of fatigue and the excess weight made the blow slower than expect and Olav caught the fist with a free hand “Nice try” Olav said with a hint of amusement as his own hand slipped form Kreig’s fist to wrist and kept a firm grip, his left foot shooting out to kick Kreig in the back of his leg forcing him to his knee, then he raised his mace and brought it down like a gavel, stopping mere inches from Kreig’s face before wacking him gently on his head which still reasonably stung. “Pfft, like I ain’t been in the business long enough to see something like that. Respect ya for tryin’ though” Letting go of the brawler’s fist, he took a number of steps and beckoned Kreig to come at him again. Kreig sighed, at least he was beginning to enjoy the challenge.

[Kreig Messer]

Once more he moved as the mace swung overhead, ducking quickly then raising his arms in a guard as Olav went for a kick, the heavy mass behind the kick threatening to break through despite the armor. Even with the handicaps on himself Kreig was sure Olav had a chance on winning through pure brute force alone. Just like in that first fight he had, it excited him in a way, it galled him to know that he had to fix these weaknesses however…. Kreig liked to go all out in a fight, even with handicaps. But he also liked to have fun in a fight, he liked the excitement brought, that feeling of living. The better he got in fighting, the less opponents who could face him one on one. Even as he engaged in this spar, those thoughts came. Even as that excitement build him, a dread of losing the excitement of a fight disgusted him. It was as if a play suddenly lost all passion in the middle. As the mace struck again, Kreig stepped back, stood up and turned as the wooden potato masher whizzed by. In that moment he swung his leg in a low motion, aiming for Olav’s opposing leg, metal upon flesh met combined with Kreig’s strength. Olav paused only for a bit in surprise that much was apparent. But the former champion did not fall, and retaliatied with a reverse swing of his mace, forcing Kreig to leap back, Olav then jabbed forward with the pommel of the practice weapon, but the movement was apparent as Kreig stepped to the side only to stumble briefly. That was enough for Olav to retaliate with a low kick of his own to sweep Kreig off his legs. Landing on his Back, Kreig gasped yet grinned at that feeling of excitement. It was what he craved for years, but he had more important things than it now. Yes, Kreig had things he wanted more than a good fight… he had people to protect, a city to challenge, thugs to take down a peg. All of these things were a step above his desire to fight. Funny how one’s priorities in life shifted, before Syliras Kreig would have probably been merely content with fighting and dying on the streets of Sunberth. He was in service to his blood lust, now his blood lust was in service to these goals. Kreig rolled aside so that Olav’s mace would meet dirt, moving to his knees then quickly standing with his guard up. Kreig grinned, feeling never better.

[Kreig Messer]

Grade :

Kreig Messer

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Endurance	2 XP
Strength	2 XP
Unarmed	2 XP
Acrobatics	3 XP

Lore

Olav: A Nasty Way with Words
Anticipating Attacks: Useless if you can't dodge it
Bodybuilding: Combat Training with Heavy Weights

Notes :

Feel free to PM me with any questions concerning your grade.

Credit goes to Trickster for this lovely Template

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