• PM To Join • [Four in Hand] Punch Drunk (Merces)

Once an isolated and dying township, an influx of academics, adventurers and thrill seekers have made Scalvoris Town their home. From scholars' tea shops to a new satellite campus for Viden Academy, this is an exciting place to visit or make your home!

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Rowan
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Posts: 100
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 11:24 am
Race: Human
Renown: 50
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[Four in Hand] Punch Drunk (Merces)

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Night, 18th Ashan 718
Rowan had always enjoyed drinking. It was probably best described as a vice, although it certainly wasn't an addiction. There were plenty of reasons to imbibe and damn good ones as well! He drank to celebrate, when he wanted to forget, when he wanted a bit of courage, when he simply felt like it or when he was irritated about something. He was currently drinking for at least three of those reasons, none of them pleasant. The fact that he'd been dealing with his own personal hell for the past few trials, carrying around a constant reminder of what he'd been born as hadn't done any good for his mood. Actually, it was accurate to say that he was even more foul-tempered than normal and that was definitely saying something. If he was in a bad mood while sober, it only intensified when he drank.

He'd stumbled upon this place during his wanderings, a hub of activity that seemed to cater to many different types. There was a casino for gamblers, a restaurant for those who wanted a bite to eat (it didn't seem popular though), accommodation offered upstairs and a bar to keep everyone in alcohol. The young man didn't much care for most of what the place contained but he was content with the atmosphere and the alcohol it offered. It was a seedy sort of place in truth, a real dive but right now, that suited him just fine. It was the sort of place that he wouldn't care if he was barred from it and thus, he'd come with an ulterior motive. All he had to do was come with a sufficiently foul temper to begin with and then once his alcohol levels rose, he'd be raring to smash someone's face in. If he got his own face smashed in again, he might be lucky enough not to feel it - at least for tonight.

Sitting at the bar, he drank first one mug of ale and then another. Mug after mug vanished in quick succession, the cheap alcohol sloshing a little queasily in his stomach; it didn't work out well with the cramping in his abdomen but he could suffer until it took effect. It was easier to get drunk on shots of liquor, down one after another and then wait for them to quick in but he also knew how easy it was to overdo with those, misjudging the amount that his body could handle. Unfortunately, things like ale and beer could be more than a little sickening if you downed them one after the other. He'd sooner have harder liquor but his pocket wouldn't much fancy it. Thus, it was cheap booze, which got the job done well enough.

After five ill-fated mugs of ale, he could feel the effects beginning to creep in. It was a matter of waiting a few bits more while he contemplated having another one, watching those around him and feeling his irritation build as gamblers moved from the casino into the bar, ferrying drinks back and forth as they set about having their fun. They were too jolly for his liking. It was enough to make him want to punch them all in the face but his temper wasn't really ready to boil over. It wasn't until one of them jostled into him as he came to the bar, elbow smacking into his own although the other man didn't appear to notice. At the same moment, he felt the twist in his stomach, growling in a mixture of pain and irritation as he elbowed the guy right back, throwing his whole body into it so that the guy almost face planted on the bar.

"How abou' you watsch y'self, misser?" he slurred, the blond vaguely registering that he was more inebriated than he'd first thought.

"Oi! What's your problem, mate?" the gambler snapped, turning to see who'd pushed him.

"You bump'd inta me," he snapped back.

"Didn't!"

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"My fist says you did, ye bastard!"

"You wha- ARGH!"

The blond punched up, catching him under the chin and sending him flying into his ill-fated neighbours. There was the clatter of stools, the fleshy smack of falling bodies and the unhappy shouts of those who thudded down. Although the establishment had a no fighting rule, it was fast forgotten as angry patrons started up, ready to take chunks out of those nearby.

Rowan snatched up an empty mug from the bartop and proceeded to beat some loud-mouthed lout over the head with it as he tried to ram into him.He might get thrown out, he might get his ass beaten but by Syroa, he wasn't going down readily.
word count: 829
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Mercedes
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Joined: Sat Nov 04, 2017 2:37 am
Race: Human
Profession: Sorcerer
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[Four in Hand] Punch Drunk (Merces)

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Drinking had always been one of many guilty pleasures enjoyed by Mercedes. Although more often than not intoxication resulted in foolish decisions. There were a multitude of people who chose to attend the Four in Hand. Typically there were rules that went into being present in a vicinity like this one, and the first had been no combat. After several shots of the booze; the sorcerer felt his face become completely numb. With his vision blurred, and doubled he threw a punch at the nearest patron to himself. The drunken sorcerer missed and found the misguided strike lead to his equilibrium being taken from him. He fell over, and face planted on the ground only to rise again

The fall made him feel far more sober than he had been previously, and when he stood again he saw another young man. However, by the time he recovered there had been far more posture in the bar than he thought there was. The chaos erupted, bottles flew and liquor spilled as to cover the ground beneath the feet of the fray. Many of the staff members erupted into a full blown panic, but slight intoxication did not stop Mercedes. He was a motivated man with a drive for combat; he needed to become a better unarmed combatant anyway. The sorcerer took yet another drunken swing, and this time it connected with the very man that made an attempt to strike the boy. The man fell backward from the aforementioned strike by Rowan, and had been followed up on by Mercy.

With his impaired vision he could clearly see the strange bright coloration of the boys hair. He had a slightly feminine appearance, but Mercedes did not question that. The sorcerer cared not to ask questions, but preferred the delivery of results. Why would he allow a man of such small stature to fight on his own. The fight continued, and another man broke the glass of his bottle against the counter-top of the bar. The truth became clear; they were in danger not only from the other people, but from the environment too. Shattered glass littered the floor beneath them, and The sorcerer took another series of swings. Yet, he received nothing but a strike to the right side of his rib cage, and lost the air in his lungs momentarily.

“Think ye' tough motherfucker? Let me sho' ya what we do in scalvoi's” Spoke one of the multiple drunken patrons. This one in particular had a visage littered with scars of various sizes, and shapes. He launched a heel directly toward Mercedes visage. Yet, the heel had been narrowly dodged as the sound of wind bypassing Mercedes's ear had been loud. The drunken sorcerer returned with a vicious attempt to grapple with his adversary. With his right arm raised, and his left arm outstretched; Mercedes latched on to his opponents belt loop. With what little strength the sorcerer had; he pushed forward only to cause his opponent to slip. The wood floor beneath them had been slick with alcohol. When the man struck the ground with a loud thud and made an attempt to recover, Mercedes crawled forth to get on top of him.

Many of the tavern-goers continued to press the attack, and beat each-other relentlessly. There were staff members that made attempts to break up the fighting. However, that effort only resulted in them being involved in the combat too. They were beaten just as brutally, and savagely as those involved directly in the battle. Who started the chaos, and why had they chosen to fight as opposed to simply run away?

Yet, Mercedes never ran away from a good skirmish.

“I'm going to fuck you all up! Get the fuck away from me!” The sorcerer screamed aloud.

word count: 636
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Rowan
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Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 11:24 am
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[Four in Hand] Punch Drunk (Merces)

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Some people would use any excuse to fight and it made them truly come alive. Rowan certainly liked to fight but it was a way to blow off steam. He wouldn't fight endlessly, wouldn't be malicious about it but some would continue endlessly, unwilling or unable to put a stop to their wrath. Such an individual seemed to have appeared in his vicinity, throwing himself into the fray, not because he was reacting to a slight or defending himself but actually going out of his way to beat on others. The blond was only responding now, dealing with those who threw themselves into his path, trying to smash his face in, to send his teeth spraying across the bar floor. Maybe this guy was a bit of a psycho but at least he appeared to be on his side - for now.

The young man snatched up his stool, using it to defend himself as someone tried to attack him with a broken bottle. In a brawl like this, he didn't have to rely purely on his own physically; his environment could be used to his advantage. The stool certainly helped with that, the bottle smashing against the food instead of his head, turning his face away so it wasn't filled with glass shards; it ended up in his hair instead.

Rowan used his stool to push his way through the battling bodies, utilising it as a ram and as a means of shielding his torso and face. Unfortunately, he had been drinking so his balance wasn't what it could have been so when someone kicked out at his shin, it threw him off and sent him stumbling forward, dropping the stool and then managing to trip over it. The blond went sprawling, managing to bring his arms up when he smacked into beer-sticky floor. Sharp pains told him that broken glass had gone through his shirt, the white material quickly colouring red as he bled. He didn't think they were too deep but it was difficult to tell; alcohol had numbed things somewhat.

Struggling to his feet with a wince, he managed to stumble towards the tall dude who'd come to fight on his side. He was roaring a challenge to the room, effectively declaring himself hard enough to take them all. A sober part of him managed to roll its eyes as he reached his side, holding his hands out flat to show that he came in peace.

While most of the staff had been struggling, the appearance of a striking and unusual woman seemed to have a noticeable effect, especially when she got up on the bar, visible to everyone. "What are you shower of bastards doing? What's the rule? No fighting! This is the kind of thing that pisses me off! I'm gonna break some heads!" she screamed, whispers of 'Anida' circulating as she brought a club down on the nearest guy's head, making him collapse to the ground, apparently unconscious.

"Thin' tha's our cue, mate," he slurred, trying to clap his hand down on the other's shoulder and managing to bring it down too far to the side. He had to make another go at it. "C'mon, le's get out o' 'ere. Don' need m'head broken."
word count: 563
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