Arm Wrestle Hustle
Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2020 7:23 am
In the decked halls, tables and chairs were set for competition. A flurry of activity bounded in the hall, women and men from all over the Island had flocked to the Halls in hopes of claiming prizes and earning money from bets. It wasn't too often that the Decked Halls staged such a competition. Most of the time the men in charge of the operation were happy to just let combatants wallop each other until one of them gave up. But the scene had gotten more respectable of late. There was the word that the place might become somewhat legit.
Of course, when the phrase 'Arm-Wrestling' got out to the public, it was only a matter of time before it reached the ears of Rakvald. Rakvald was confident, even while in the totem of his old biqaj man, that he could wipe the floor with half the people coming in to test their strength. And if he had some help in the form of a strength rune? Well, nobody would be able to beat him!
So it was, he spent the bulk of the prior night, brushing up on old magic he'd learned, in a prior lifetime. He'd only remembered that the magic resided in him, some two arcs ago. And then he'd not dared touch it, for fear that it would recall a horrific fate to be visited upon him, as it had the first time. If he remembered correctly, the initiation had killed him in a prior lifetime. Before he'd lost his immortality, his ability to be reborn...
Yes, Rakvald had a complex past, more complex for the past few arcs that had proceeded from it. He'd acquired all manner of strange mutations, as well as even stranger memories. He could tell a tale or two if push came to shove...
But his main focus was on shoring up his advantages for the arm-wrestling competition.
From what the journal of Tobol told him, many hone mages had their own way of drawing runes. Some used their hands, or fingers, or even writing utensils. Others used weapons. Still others drew the runes with chalk, or some form of paint. Rakvald wasn't sure how any of this might be useable by him. He wasn't exactly an artist. Then, it came to him! He could write upon his own flesh with graft! Yes, he would make incisions that healed in the shape of the runes he was seeking to emulate.
So, as he looked at the runic diagrams on tobol's grimoire, he began tracing with a small scalpel on his right arm. He held the scalpel with his tentacle hand, the left, which was a fair bit more dextrous than the right since transforming. He scrunched up his bat-like face in concentration as he drew the runes, wincing slightly as the knife cut into his skin.
However, just as he was getting underway with infusing the etheric energies into his scar tissue, the bell to his shoppe sounded. Someone came into the gaming room lobby where he met with clients. It was a large man, with big muscles, brown hair, and about 6'3". He reminded Rakvald of himself, once upon a time. Although less handsome, of course.
"Ildred!" He shouted in southern accented tones. Soon enough his wife arrived to the parlor, and gave him a look, as if to say his business better be important. "Você vai traduzir para mim?" Will you translate for me?
Ildred sighed, uncrossing her arms, and then going over to greet the strapping lad that had entered the house. She began speaking in common, and he back to her. Then she spoke in vahanic back to Rakvald. "He heard you can make his arm stronger... for the competition."
A competitor was coming to him for help in the arm-wrestling competition?? Rakvald had intended on enrolling himself, but he didn't for a moment think that he might be able to sponsor someone in the contest... This opened up a whole new realm of possibilities when it came to betting. He could arrange for a fall, and hustle his brains out! It was ingenious!
Suddenly putting his grimoire to the side, he rose to his feet and greeted the man. "Olá" He said in common, reaching out to shake the man's hand... and what a grip he had! This man definitely had it in him to be a contender. "Posso torná-lo mais forte com certeza. Eu só preciso que você assine algumas renúncias." I can make you stronger for certain. I just need you to sign a few waivers.
Ildred translated for Rakvald, sighing heavily as she did so. Rakvald's eyes narrowed as he saw the way this muscle-bound man looked at his wife. He said something in common, which made Ildred blush. Rakvald frowned, "What did he say?"
Ildred sighed and laughed, gently pushing Rakvald by the shoulder. "He asked if I'm your daughter." Then she went on to respond to his question in common. Rakvald was near fuming at this point, but he couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way of business.
"Tell him I'll bring him downstairs, once he signs the papers. Then we'll get underway..." Rakvald grumbled as he went off to climb the stairs to his laboratory.
Moments later, Rakvald was there with the large muscle-bound lad, and ready to start his work. There were a few ways he could've approached this, but for the most part he wished to utilize his arts of graft. Hone was too... unreliable, and he wasn't yet skilled enough to make a reliable trigger mechanism. He could really only rely on himself for hone enhancements.
So without waiting for much time, he laid hands on the man's wrestling arm, as he indicated which one he'd be using. Without trying to limit the pain he inflicted on the young man (Probably because he was jealous that the man had eyes for his wife!) he began tightening the muscles in the man's bicep. These were the muscles used during arm-wrestling, for the most part. Even though the bicep only made up 1/3rd of the upper arm's muscles, it was pivotal in the flexing motion of arm-wrestling.
Changing the nature of the way the flesh worked was a difficult and somewhat new process to Rakvald. Although he was confident of his knowledge of the muscular system, and the skeletal system, this was his first time performing such a procedure. As someone who was strong, and knew how to throw his weight around, he was also knowledgeable about how to leverage strength. Which lent itself to an even greater understanding of how he could alter the man's arm to make it stronger for the very specific task he set out to accomplish.
So Rakvald began making connections at certain portions of the muscular tissue's connections. The man writhed uncomfortably under Rakvald's care, but the biqaj merely slapped him upside the head, and told him in Vahanic (which went straight over the patient's head) to be still. He returned both hands to the process of improving the man's muscles. Until at last, he'd achieved a satisfactory result, or so he thought. He had enhanced the man's strength, at least in one arm. But now he was uneven... Nevertheless, doing both arms would cost him extra, if that's what the lad had in mind!
Ildred presently wandered down to the laboratory and waited as Rakvald put the finishing touches on the man's arm. When at last he was done, he spoke in his Southern-accented vahanic, "Tudo feito. Você não terá problemas para superar a competição." All done. You will have no trouble overcoming the competition.
Ildred translated for him, and that was that. Or was it?
The man said something to Ildred, waggling his eyebrows (which set off Rakvald's jealousy once more). Ildred smirked at the man, and then spoke to Rakvald, "He wants to know if he can test his strength against yours?" She smirked at Rakvald, the intrigue evident on her face. Oh how sharper than a serpent's tooth! Ildred's tongue! But that was part of what made him crazy for the woman.
"Very well, tell him I need a moment to prepare..." Ildred did so, and soon enough they were clearing a nearby table, and pulling up stools to facilitating the contest.
Rakvald still had drawn that rune of strength on his right arm, and would be ready come what may. He was an old man in this totem, but he still knew how to use his strength, and had the power of hone on his side! It would be an intriguing experiment, to see how well his graft magic stacked up against an entry-level hone enhancement.
They placed their arms on the table, and locked grip. With one caress of the runic scar on his elbow, Rakvald counted down from three in vahanic. At the last count, they began pushing against each others arms. A surge of strength rushed through Rakvald's arm, but the lad was strong. His muscles well-enhanced by graft. Rakvald had given him fast-twitch muscle fibers to make him get off to a strong start. However, Rakvald's rune persisted and was able to fight back against the push of the lad's arm.
Rakvald flexed his arm mightily, and for a moment thought to win the contest... But then, he remembered he was getting paid for improving the lad's chances. What good was his graft magic if it couldn't help him against an old man? But then, he couldn't suffer humiliation in front of Ildred! What a dilemma! In the end, he opted for expanding his purse of nels, and let the lad win.
The lad slammed his hand down on the table, after a mighty struggle, and then rose triumphantly. He spoke something to Rakvald, which Ildred translated, "He says he's pleased with the results, and that you are pretty strong for an old man." How Rakvald's blood boiled at that, but he kept his cool, accepting the man's purse before seeing him off.
Ildred and he were at the door, watching the young man strut away. Ildred's eyes lingered on the man a little too long for Rakvald's liking. "Ildred!"
She was struck out of her reverie by his voice, and then shrugged at him with a sly smile. Perhaps it was time to shelve the old man's totem for a more attractive one.