Orik didn’t usually invest in performative art, instead having a preference in things that could be created, or traded. However, the local plays seemed to have everyone in Rharne enamored, as they seemed to be the talk of the town lately. He had a bit of downtime, so he decided that he would attend a viewing to see what all of the fuss was about. This particular play, was heavily inspired by the attack on Mummer’s Ball. Some of the spectators were feeling antsy, but this atmosphere was wasted on Orik, as he was simply unable to comprehend why everyone around him seemed upset about the performance. Even though he had his own preferences for entertainment, he did think that the actors provided a somewhat satisfactory experience. By the end of the night, Orik was the loudest clapper in audience, hoping to show everyone how to truly appreciate the show that was provided for them.
But when it seemed apparent that the troupe was going to provide an encore, that was the deciding moment for Orik to bow out from the scene. Their performance was commendable, but not enough for him to want to sit through it a second time. What started out as a small walk around the Dust Quarter, eventually escalated into a jog as Orik decided that he needed to focus on improving his stamina. He reduced the extraneous movement of his arms and legs by keeping his arms close to his body, and keeping his knees close to the ground as he moved forward. In addition to the physical movements, he also focused on maintaining his breathing at a slow, consistent pace by matching his inhalations and exhalations with every fourth step made by his right foot.
The voices of the actors faded into the background the further away from the show he went, only to be replaced by new voices from
The Pit.
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“Listen. I’m only going to say this once. You better turn tail and run before you piss me off. I just heard from Shayla that the shipment of Boars was delayed, so now I have all this extra energy and nothing to use it on. So if you don’t want my fist to have a date with your face, I suggest you go find someone else to bother.” Vinyar Name: Vinyar Slekwich
Race: Mixed Race (Ellune/Human)
DoB: Ashan 63rd, Arc 686 (36)
Tier: Dust Tier (Intermediate)
Skills:
Intimidation: Expert
Unarmed Combat: Expert
Deception: Competent
Appraisal: Competent
Endurance: Competent
Tactics: Competent
Strength: Novice
Athletics: Novice
Frosti takes little from her Ellune parent; namely her skin is bit more grey-ish than the normal human. She does however embody the harsh cold of her mothers home in her gait. Frosti is very, very stone faced to top off her intimidatingly sharp features. Tall and lanky, she makes her name for her cold speech and harsh fists. Frosti for all her seeming faults is perceptive and adapts her fighting style on the fly. She's known for being versatile in almost any brawl and tries to change the tide in her favor through getting in quick, hitting hard, and getting out. Frosti is also good at giving her opponents the slip; when she speaks to them she seems meek or frightening depending on what she thinks will throw her opponent off more. Afterwards she switches up, and will leave you frozen. Vinyar takes little time out of the arena and when she does its usually to get drunk and drown whatever is bothering her at the time. Though a heavy drinker, Vinyar doesn't have a high tolerance and will refuse to drink on any given day if she has things to do.
roared at the seven men whom were too cowardly to show their faces.
“Hey, I thought you said she—” a voice uttered from one of the hooded men, only to be cut off by another.
“Those are some tough words coming from a napper. I’ve seen you thundered at the Copper Prince before, Frosti. You’re not as tough as you talk.” the man said as he lowered his hood and revealed his face. He held a defining scar under his left eye, something he received after being hit in the face with a glass mug after a heavy night of drinking. A sinister smile stretched across his face as he pulled out a dagger from his pocket; and the remaining six men followed his lead by pulling out blades of their own.
“Hey whoa there tough guy, I was just kidding about what I said earlier. A girl like me can never be too careful, especially when I’m all alone on a night like this one.” Frosti said with a gentle, sycophantic tone as she held her hands up as if she were surrendering. “Whatever would I do, if I didn’t have you all here to help me get home.”
“See,” one of the thugs said as he nudged his apprehensive partner. “The boss was right, these taverns will sponsor just about anybody whether they know how to fight or not. Let’s hurry and get this over with.”
One of the men lunged at Frosti, but unbeknownst to him, he had been baited and fell directly into the ploy that she created. One of her primary features was her wingspan, which was often underestimated by her opponents. She grabbed the man by his wrist with her left hand, and delivered a swift punch into the inside of his elbow with her right hand. The sudden shock and jolt of force was enough to cause him to drop the knife and stumble backwards while holding his arm in pain, looking back at the woman in bewilderment.
“Looks like I can go another trial without those boars after all.” Frosti said as she cracked her knuckles.
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Orik’s jog came to a screeching halt when he stumbled upon what looked to be an unsanctioned brawl. There were three bodies laid out on the ground, men who were knocked out cold, while three others held a woman by her arms and hair respectively. There was a fourth, who stood in front of her with an object in his hand, but Orik couldn’t quite tell what it was from the distance he was standing.
“Boss, we’re being watched.” One of the men said as he nodded with his head towards Orik, whom was slowly walking towards them.
The man with the scar, slipped his dagger into his pocket before turning around and greeting Orik with his open, welcoming arms. “Tonight is a nice night for a stroll. We were just about to have some fun with this one here, so I suggest that you run along now unless you care to join us?”
‘Oh great, another one.’ Frosti thought to herself as she spat on the ground in front of her. The men weren’t particularly great fighters, but they managed to overwhelm her with their sheer numbers by using the first three as decoys. She had a few cuts and bruises across her arms while defending herself, but the adrenaline kicked in and numbed the pain. Her biggest concern was the fact that the more lackeys the man with the scar surrounded himself with, the more difficult it would be to disarm him from his dagger. As long as he held that weapon, she knew that her life was at risk. “You’re nothing but a coward. A tiny man, with a tiny ego.”
Some of the words made sense to Orik, but most of them escaped his understanding in their context; but he was able to notice the change in the man’s expression when the smile on his face faded into an angry scowl. In a rage induced fury, the man swiftly returned to Frosti and gave her a back-handed slap across her face before pulling out his blade again. While the words may have been a mystery to Orik’s ears, the sound of the slap and the sight of the dagger removed any sense of confusion he may have had.
Feeling disgusted by the scene that was unfolding in front of him, Orik charged at the man holding the knife, grasped his arms and forcefully shoved him into the man that was holding the woman’s left arm.
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The collision of the two men was enough to give Frosti the use of her arm back, so she quickly took advantage of the chaos by grabbing the collar of the man whom was holding her other arm; and pulling him onto the ground with her.
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The suddenness of the exchange caused the man that was holding Frosti’s hair to let go, and sprint towards Orik with a flying knee to his face. The Biqaj stumbled backwards as he grasped his nose; revealing a small stream of blood that had been shed. Orik sniffed heavily as he decided that he would have to tend to the wound later and just ignore the pain as best as he could for now. He began bouncing to and fro as he shifted his weight between his two feet, with his hands raised to cover the sides of his face. Orik’s upper body seemed to follow suit with his bouncing, shifting his shoulders in an almost hypnotic rhythm.
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Frosti managed to climb on top of her foe, and proceeded to take advantage of her superior physique over him by repeatedly pounding his face with her infamous right hook. While she was grateful for the distraction that the new man’s interference provided, she knew that she still needed to remain cautious, so she quickly dismounted and provided space between her and all other parties.
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After hitting Orik with his knee, the man tried to follow up with a straight jab, only to find that his punch was too direct, and easily predictable. Orik dodged with ease by maintaining his established rhythm and weaving his body into the open space and pressing his shoulder into the man’s chest to push him away. He was feeling quite proud of himself, only to be slashed across his left arm by one of the other men.
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Frosti’s eyes shifted away from the sight of Orik’s scuffle with the two men and scanned the environment around her. The odds were now much more favorable, since she had already defeated four men, and the others were occupied, this meant she could give her undivided attention to the man with the scar. He was the one they referred to as their boss, and his dagger looked a little more expensive and refined compared to the knives that the others had. In an act of desperation, the scarred man threw his dagger at the woman and tried to tackle her to the ground as soon as she dodged it.
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Orik grasped his arm when he felt the tear of his flesh, but he didn’t have time to think when he found himself being ambushed by the two men. One of them punched him in stomach and caused him to hunch over, while the other one proceeded to pound his back with the handle of his blade. Their combined effort was enough to force the Biqaj to his knees, holding his hands up to his face to try and protect himself for as long as he could, while they wore down the rest of his body. Orik took deep breaths to maintain his composure , but before long, his beating ceased, as the two men were quickly dispatched by the woman.
“Thanks for stepping in when you did. You saved me a few extra cuts and bruises.” Frosti said as helped Orik to his feet.
As he stood up, Orik looked around and saw all seven of the men had been single-handedly defeated by the woman. Though what was most surprising of all, was the speed and efficiency that she was able to do it. He was physically there, and didn’t even get to see or hear how she was able to do it. Everything had ended just as quickly as it had begun, that it seemed evident that the woman was a more skilled fighter than he was.
“Welcome.” He replied.
“Listen, you should probably get yourself bandaged up. I don’t think any of their knives were laced with any poison, otherwise I would have felt it by now, but there’s still the risk of infection. Maybe you should head home or to the Order of Adunih. I’m sure a green, or maybe a blue cloak would help you to feel good as new.”
“Order of Adunih.” Orik repeated, etching the instruction into memory. Most of what she was saying was superfluous, since he couldn’t quite translate everything, but he thought that he had a general idea of what she was going on about.
“Those damn Knife Gangs.” Frosti said under a muttered breath. “They’re getting bolder by the trial.”
