Almund is a thriving township with a dark side. With houses made from the wooden bodies of decommissioned ships, there are many opportunities here, coupled with many dangers.
"Nellie's tits!" Gregory roared with both fists slamming down upon the rickety table with a force so blunt the legs moaned with distress. The Rusalka across the table was all smiles. "I'll take that," she reached both arms forward and pulled the short stack of coin in from the middle of the table. Gregory visibly fumed. Even if she didn't know Rakahi, she could've figured out which flurry of curses he was spitting with such angry fervor. "Calm down. Look, since we're all friends here, how about you play me again? I'll give you a chance to win half your coin back." The aged pirate rose and hurled his cards down onto the table like a child in the midst of a tantrum. Maxine rolled her eyes and coaxed the lot into her coin purse with an elated smirk. "Fine. Anyone else want a chance to win back Gregory's coin?"
The high stakes with potential for real reward spurred those lucky enough to have heard the challenge. Immediately there was a battle for the seat on the other side of her table. The backs of shirts were tugged, even a fist was thrown for the opportunity. To everyone's surprise, however, it was Gregory who put the squabble to an end. He unseated the last victor for the chair by unceremoniously hurling him from it. Then the sore loser lifted up the chair itself and smashed it to splinters upon the floor. Max sat back and crossed her arms with an unamused shake of her head.
Three. Two. One. And...
"Dammit, Gregory!" Hector's voice boomed over the frantic cheers of his rabid gamblers elsewhere in the building. "You break my fucking chairs, I break your fucking legs!" Max tsked at Gregory just before the den's bald, barrel-chested owner roughed his way through the crowd until he was in full view. If Hector's imposing figure wasn't standing beside where she sat, there was a very real chance Gregory might've tried to wring her neck for the taunt. "Here," the Rusalka fueled tensions by reaching in her coin purse and dropping a coin into Hector's palm. "It's from Gregory. He says he's sorry about the chair." "You little bitch," the ex-pirate growled. "You can't hide behind him like a dog between its master's legs forever!" "Motherfucker, does it look like I'm hiding?" Max extended her arms out with a raised brow, snapping up out of her seat like the Hound at the end of its chain that she was.
"Alright, easy you two," Hector interjected. He slipped the coin into his pocket and snapped his fingers at a pair of young boys waiting in the wings for their boss's command. At the sound of his fingers they rushed to clean up the broken chair and returned shortly with a new one. "I don't want to buy any more furniture to replace the ones people break. You throw a fist in my den, it'll be your last. Play nice." Gregory spat on the floor but shouted no further insult. Max did likewise, easing back into her chair and gesturing toward the new one across from her. The ex-pirate looked about and folded his arms. "Rematch," he ordered. "This time, no cards. This time we make sure only luck decides." Max could've laughed out loud. She nearly did. Somehow, she managed to hold it in and solemnly nod in agreement. Gregory seated himself again and procured a pair of dice from his pocket. He placed them upon the table.
"Okay, Gregory," Max sighed and leaned forward with palms on the table. "What are we playing?" "My game. An easy, quick game." "Great. The rules?" "Simple," Gregory huffed. "There's three rounds. Each round, both of us roll the dice once. All you have to do to win the round is to correctly guess whether it's gonna be higher or lower than a total of six."
Oh. My. Gods. You're kidding me.
"I...just have to guess if it's higher or lower than six? That's all I have to do to win?" Max asked in disbelief. This was literal child's play. "Wrong," Gregory chastised her as though to make his game seem more complex than it really was. "You have to guess it three times to win." "Right..." "I'll start." "Of course you will," Max stated dryly, dropping half of her previous winnings on the table and leaning back in her chair. The most challenge she planned to find in this task was manipulating both die rather than one. First the ex-pirate threw down his bet. Then he rose from his chair. No, actually, he didn't just rise. That wouldn't have been enough theatrics for him. He rose and dramatically shoved the chair far behind him to make plenty of room to stand. He scooped the dice from the table and held them in his cupped hands. The Rusalka crossed her arms and watched the man with one arched brow. Her gaze was practically devoid of life. An onlooker might've wondered if she was paying attention to the game that just began at all. She was truly that enthralled. Gregory brought his forehead down upon his cupped hands and closed his eyes.
Is--is he...praying? Fuck. This is just going to be sad.
When his plea was finished he stood straighter and eyed the table like a pitcher would a catcher's glove. He gave his hands a shake, breathed in, and with an exhale let the dice loose from his possession onto the table. Max watched as the cubes bounced and dashed about the worn surface in every which direction. Eventually the pair settled. A six and a three. Yes!" he cheered with violent excitement. Everyone looked at each other with confused expressions. Only Gregory seemed confused as to why. "First round is mine." "Nope." "Nope? What do you mean 'nope'?" the ex-pirate fumed. Max rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms. She looked to the spectators crowding their table to watch the feud. "How many of you heard him call out higher or lower? Anyone? No?" Sure enough, no one raised their hands much to Gregory's embarrassment and distress. "Great. So, Gregory, what's the penalty for not calling when you release the dice?" "It's a re-do!" he barked and snatched the dice back up from the table. "Of course it is. Well, don't just stand there diddling your dick. Have another go!"
One might think the humiliation would've made Gregory want to hasten his silly process before he let the dice fly. One would be wrong. He went through all the motions all over again at the same speed. This time he managed to remember to shout his bet for a higher number before the dice scattered. Lucky for him, his bet was a correct one. A three and a five. Max sighed and scooped the dice up for her own attempt. "Which god are ya gonna pray to help ya?" a spectator called to her in an attempt to heckle Gregory. The Hound smirked at an opportunity too good to pass up. She feigned praying hands and looked up with equally faux piety toward the ceiling. "I pray to whichever god Gregory just prayed to...and I pray... that that god can kiss my fucking ass."
With that she let her dice free, calling out a bet for higher while she focused on the will of the cubes. With this much gambling practice, they broke easily to her will. The first die settled on a six. After a bit more tumbling the second rested steadily with a four. The grand total of ten placed her well beyond six, and thus the grudge-match was squarely even.
"Beginner's luck," Gregory grumped as he took up the dice with a grimace. Max shrugged from her seat. Yet again the egg-head went through the entirety of his routine despite the mockery before calling out for lower. The dice bounce. The dice settled. And...
No shot!
The dice added up to a nice and low five with a three and a two. Gregory gave a shout and threw a fist in the air. Somehow the big idiot had managed to guess correctly twice in a row. While that normally wouldn't bother her, she'd come to understand that her ability to influence her own luck in a gamble had its limits. Each draw resulted in a little less luck to spare, and she'd used a bit of it in the game previous to this one. She pressed her lips into a line and shook off her misgivings. Max took up the dice and focused a bit harder on the outcome of a high set of numbers. "Higher!" she shouted clearly before dropping them upon the table. Nervously, she watched the dice go. It felt like an eternity before they both settled. The air rushed from her lungs. A six and a one for a total of seven. She'd skated by but barely.
"Still a tie. No pressure," Max teased. If her Rusalkis ability was waning, her head game certainly couldn't at this point. "This will decide it, won't it?" "Sure will," Gregory grinned a little too broadly for Max's liking. He should've been far more anxiously than she was. Sweating, even. He'd already lost a big sum of coin. Why wasn't he more concerned? Her comfort in her position of power evaporated in that instant. Something was very, very wrong. "Here goes nothing! Lower!" He threw the dice, and Max could've hit someone. The dice added up to a three. THREE. A one and a two. Gregory and his cronies wildly cheered, but Max and her fans were eerily silent. Slowly she reached down and lifted the dice. Rather than immediately throw them or focus on the desired outcome, he studied them just as they were. "I have a feeling your luck's about to run out," Gregory taunted her with more truth in his words than he realized. Instead of firing back with a devastating response, she continued to let stare at the dice. She rolled them in her hand. Her thumb grazed the edge of one of the die's busted corners. Then she looked up at Gregory's stupid, sneering face.
You son of a bitch.
The serious accusation she was prepared to make wasn't the kind one could wantonly hurl about. Not in a place like Hector's. She tossed the dice in her palm a couple times while she thought. Then, with a call for lower just as Gregory had done a moment before, she dropped the dice upon the table. They rolled. They rolled. And they rolled. The Rusalka hadn't even used her influence on the cubes this time around. Adrenaline rushed a bit in her veins. Her eyes darted between the moving dots and her hard-won coin sitting up for grabs on the table. Finally they stopped their rolling. The onlookers murmured excitedly to each other. Max's expression darkened. She snatched up her coins from the table, strode over toward Gregory's grinning face, and crushed it with a unforeseen right hook to his chin. The giant pirate found himself surprisingly on the floor. He held his jaw and a hush came upon the crowd. Forget the game. Someone had just went directly against Hector's warning. One of the boys ran into the crowd.
"What the fuck, you crazy bitch!" Gregory snarled and quickly set to finding his feet. "The game is tied still! We just keep going until someone loses the round!" Someone grabbed the ex-pirate's shoulder before he managed to return the Rusalka's favor. Hector appeared not a moment too soon. "Maxine!" he roared over the excitement of his patrons. He didn't have to ask if it was true. The red, bruising mark on Gregory's chin told him all he needed to know. He was about to man-handle her right there in front of everyone to prove his threats were far from empty, when Max gestured with a raised hand for him to wait. "Empty your pockets, Gregory," Max demanded. "What? No! Piss off," her opponent resisted with an incredulous expression. Everyone eyed the Mixed Blood as though they indeed were beginning to believe her to be crazy. "I said empty your gods damned pockets!" "What are you getting at?" Hector asked her with a sudden change in demeanor. Max walked back to the table to scoop up the die revealing a one and the second a four. She dropped them into Hector's hand he once meant to use to beat her. "That piece of shit is cheating," Max accused. "He's been switching out the dice. This last round was the first time one of the corners were knicked. I'm telling you, Hector, check his pockets." "Hector, come on!" Gregory half-chuckled. "You don't believe this. You've known me for arcs!" "Empty your pockets, Greg," Hector commanded coldly. "Fine, fine," the ex-pirate seemed to relent. He began to reach a hand into his pocket, only to turn and make a mad-dash for the door. Unlucky for him, the whole exchange had drawn too many eyes. Those eyes included those of the bouncers, who quickly managed to get a hold of the man and hold him still.
Hector sighed and strode up to stand eye-to-eye with the man. His began searching the man, and lo' and behold, he found a couple extra die tucked away. The proprietor shook his head and stared down at the dice, tossing them in his palms before unloading them into Max's skeptical hands. When she inspected them for herself, she found the evidence for her accusation beyond damning. Each one had been subtly mutilated. He could probably feel the characteristic marks of each die he switched out, ensuring his outcome every time so long as he could count right. He was more than a cheat. He was skilled in slight of hand. Everyone stared at Hector awaiting his judgement.
The offender hadn't just broken furniture and been involved in a physical altercation. Gregory, the scarred, graying ex-pirate had run a con in Hector's gambling den. The running tab of sins weighed heavily on the minds of everyone in the room. Certainly the proprietor had to respond to such severe crimes to preserve the integrity of his establishment, and warrant the continued respect Almund had always owed him. Old friends or otherwise, something had to be done. Something harsh. But what?
"You disgraced my place of business," Hector spat with a curled lip of disgust. His furious gaze looked the restrained man up and down before he turned his back on him altogether. "But it was Max you tried to cheat." All eyes turned curiously toward Hector, who had not approached the Rusalka with his arms resting patiently behind his back. "Take him to the basement." "Hector!" Gregory sputtered, digging his heels into the wooden floor as bouncers tried to drag him away. "Please! How long have we known each other? Ten arcs? More?" He kicked like mad, knocking over tables and chairs in a desperate attempt to avoid his fate. "We can work something out!" "We just did," Hector commented with a cold sincerity. Someone was so kind as to open the door for the bouncers, and they practically threw the wretch down the stairs to hasten his descent and ease their work. Hector raised his voice so all his guests might hear his decree. "Max here will be the one to dole out our justice! Won't you, Max?"
The Rusalka's face darkened. Of course she liked the idea of knocking Gregory's cheating head off his shoulders. The rabid cheering paired with Hector's sinister gaze, however, left her with an uneasy feeling. Her success with Merces in securing the last one known person to cheat him had earned her a place at Hector's proverbial table. Yet she had still thrown a fist in direct violation of his wishes just bits before. With so many eyes, she wasn't so sure being his primary mercenary would mean much now. It was time to play the game. She nodded. It was all Hector needed. He snapped his fingers and his remaining bouncers set to boarding up the doors and windows to impede any further entry. Then the crowd, including Max, was ushered down into the basement.
Down in the bowels of the den was a dirt floor. A white rope trailed around the middle of the basement to form a large circle, wherein the bouncers held Gregory squared to the spectators in its center. What could only have been drops of dried blood still colored the ground. The Mixed Blood's fingertips tapped innocently on the hilt of her sheathed sword. The crowd, clearly knowing the drill far better than she, eased back from her to leave her alone at the white rope's edge. A shot of adrenaline dripped into her veins. It was as though her instincts knew what was about to happen long before her brain caught on.
"Since our girl Max likes to throw hands whenever she feels like it," Hector loudly addressed the crowd, "I think we should let her be the one to get her hands dirty for us. What say you?" The crowd immediately roared their agreement. Max's fingers went from dancing upon the hilt to curling tightly around it. Hector tsked at the subtle change and his bouncer quickly began to approach her. "No weapons! No mercy! Just knuckles." Hector moved close enough to place a calming hand on her shoulder. "Easy, Hound. My men will keep your things safe until its over. Just make sure to kick the shit out of him," he leaned down to whisper quickly. Then the man moved away as his men moved in to relieve her of his weapons and coin. She had little choice but to relent. She was outnumbered, and more importantly, she was completely trapped. Victory was her way out and there was more to gain than the satisfaction of a good bare-knuckled brawl. With the eyes of only Almund's more trustworthy, notable citizens allowed in Hector's den, there was respect, notoriety, and wealth to be gained in theory, too.
"No rules. No mercy," Hector reminded both combatants. Max stepped into the giant circle and threw her cloak to one of the bouncers. Gregory shrugged the hands of his captors off him with a deep grunt. Each of the den's employees backed out of the circle, leaving the two to brawl the moment Hector gave the command. The bald-headed bully was no fool even in this moment though. Already his men were weaving through the crowd, calling out the new opportunity to bet the fight. Only then did Hector shout for the commencement of the brutality.
Gregory fell quickly into a well-practiced, old-school boxing stance. His fists were out ahead of him and his body was slightly leaned backward. Other than hide hid middle, the ex-pirate seemed to be readily protecting little else. There was not so much as a quiver in his stance. The man was ready, and he proved as much by immediately inching closer toward his adversary.
Max, on the other hand, really had no formal instruction like this man might've. All she'd learned was from trial and error, and most of her growth had most certainly come from absolute, agonizing error. She stood with her left foot forward and body slightly more squared than Gregory was to her. Her elbows were in close, knees bent, and fists closer to her face. Her drive came not from just from the streets or from putting men and women alike in their place while at sea. It came from a place of instinct and emotion rather than forethought. The anger was in her eyes.
The Rusalka didn't just stand there waiting for Gregory to make the first move. She was set on making her own luck from the get-go even without her ability to influence it with Chrien's blessing in this instance. She threw a jab toward his eye line. Naturally, Gregory reacted to parry with his right hand and make an effort to quickly counter with his left. The feigned initial jab pulled back too quick for the man to really make contact with it, and by the time he threw out his left fist, Max had already made the decision to roll under and deliver a powerful cross into his rib cage.
The crowd cheered while the ex-pirate let out a groan and pivoted to find her again. Rather than stay on him like a better fighter might have, she withdrew from her advantage to create space again. The break didn't last long. Her opponent moved back in as though to show his resolve to win as he should. Max of all people should've known lightning rarely strikes the same place twice. She tried her first trick anyways.
This time Gregory was ready for it, and when she went to look for the body shot again, the more experienced boxer hooked her jaw with his right the moment he realized she never returned a hand to guard it. There was more power behind the punch than she expected. She struck the ground and a plume of loose dirt rose up like smoke in her wake. Hector unhappily crossed his arms with a hard expression.
She tongued her cheek only to find the taste of blood was indeed palpable. Her next mistake was taking too long to appreciate her new state of being rather than rushing to find her feet. It was exactly what the ex-pirate was hoping for. He stood over her and grasped her by the collar with one hand. The other lifted and fell to rain knuckles upon her. Max's eyes went wide when she spotted the first strike coming for her. Her hands and forearms did their best to protect her from the punishment, but it would only be a matter of time between he either busted through her defenses or realized there were better open targets to exploit.
In a panic, her hands dropped to hug his hand holding her collar in place and her left knee rose to brace against the straightened elbow. Then she quickly slipped out from under him to change the tide. He found his shoulder driven down against the ground with her knee pinning it there. With both hands she rapidly tugged upward on the wrist of the straightened arm with all the power she could manage. A sickening crack echoed above the noise of the spectators. The sound only made their shouts turn to roars of excitement in time with Gregory's shriek. This time she wouldn't let advantage pass her by.
Max abandoned his broken arm to jump onto his exposed back. She wrapped her right arm around his neck and tried to secure the rear-naked choke. The ex-pirate immediately began to distress beneath her while she squeezed. Adrenaline proved to be a damn good drug. With one arm he managed to find his feet while she clung stubbornly to his back like a monkey. His face was turning beet red and she could feel him physically waning. Yet just when she was sure she'd won herself a knock-out, Gregory threw his entire body backward toward the dirt. It all happened so fast she never had the time to react. Her back slammed against the earth with enough force to extinguish the breath from her lungs. Her hands dropped from around his neck while she wheezed. The ex-pirate rolled over onto all fours and began to regain his presence of mind far quicker than she was.
He scampered toward her in an effort to mount her again. She rewarded his attempt with a well-timed heel to his nose, sending him back with yet another broken body part to nurse to buy herself time. Max turned her head and relieved her mouth of blood on the sand. In pain but finding her bearings, she managed to get her feet under herself again at the same time Gregory did. The man huffed and removed his good hand from his nose. It was a gnarly sight, the way the bridge was knocked sideways and blood spilled from his nostrils like a faucet. He grit her teeth at her and even from a short distance she could make out the blood in between the spaces of his teeth. This fight was far from over.
Out of the corner of her eye she managed to spy Hector. He was staring intently at her, almost as intently as she stared at a deck of cards or rolling dice. Her mind happened to wander inexplicably to the words he'd uttered just before the match.
No rules. No mercy.
Max blinked and focused back on her opponent. The darkness in his eyes seemed to indicate that he had every intention of returning the favors she'd granted him. Her brow furrowed. He was moving in. She returned to her fighting stance just as he eased in range. Times felt slow. Her eyes darted to his right shoulder, noticing the smallest movement that suggested the arm intended to move. With Hector's decree echoing in her mind, she snapped her leading shin upward between Gregory's legs before he even threw the impending punch. His eyes widened and he crumpled onto his knees with his hands cradling himself. The Rusalka marched in, grasped his head firmly with both hands, and thrust her knee into his face. He fell onto his back and any sound he made upon impact was deafened by the betters surrounding the circle.
Maxine leaped onto him to seat herself high up on his torso, pounding her fists and elbows into his already beaten face repeatedly. Before long any evidence of his consciousness faded. His body went limp under her assault. She pulled back, coming back to a stand with chest rapidly heaving with emotion and exhaustion.
"No!" Hector yelled over all over voices. Max furrowed her bloodied brow and looked at him quizzically. He shook his head. "You fight until you're told to stop." She pressed her lips together and drew air through her nose. Her eyes drifted to Gregory where he existed in a mental haze, broken and bloodied. Hector couldn't be serious. "Keep going!" Max spat more blood into the sand and found the bouncers still possessing her belongings. She exhaled deeply through her lips and then set back to work. Back atop Gregory, she let her bloodied knuckles continue to pummel him. Sometimes they found his face, splashing the ample supply of blood pooled there up onto her body and face. Other times, especially when her knuckles became sore through the adrenaline, she softened his body with beatings.
The Rusalka was half-concerned Hector had driven her to kill the ex-pirate when two sets of arms grasped hers. The bouncers dragged her off Gregory while another pair pulled him along the sand outside the circle. They presented her to Hector among the spectators, some which cursed or hailed her depending on the bet they'd placed. The den owner grinned broadly at her and tugged a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He wiped away most of the blood and dust mixture that coated her bruised face. His men returned her sword and sheath to her waist, tied her cloak back around her shoulders, and dropped her coin purse in her palm.
"You did well," Hector commended her steadily. "You may be my Hound, but this is still my house." He shook out the handkerchief and tucked it back in his pocket. "You understand now, yes?" Too exhausted to respond with words, Max managed to nod. "Good. My boys will take you up to my private quarters on the second floor. You can wash there." Her arms and legs felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds more than she did. Hector didn't wait for her to respond. His men gently coaxed her toward the stairs upward and battled a path for her through the crowd.
We don't get enough of these proper, nasty brawls around here.
Really dug this thread. Enjoy your points.
@Max
Points
XP: 10/10
Loot/Injuries/Overstepping
Bruises
Loot: 50 GN
Fame -4 for winning a vicious fight
Knowledge
Detection: A Gambling Cheat
Unarmed Combat: Faking a Jab
Unarmed Combat: Escaping a Top Mount
Unarmed Combat: Using Ground and Body to Break an Arm
Unarmed Combat: Ground and Pound
Unarmed Combat: When in Doubt, Bank on a Nut Shot
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