Legend of Ransera

Faine stared down at the small pouch of coins in their hands, its contents lamentably lacking. The Fae sighed. It was going to be a hard season, and the day old bread they had been chewing on for dinner harder still.

Even with every advantage they had at their disposal, from Glamouring their metabolism to decades of experience in survival, Faine swore the bite of Frost air felt sharper than usual. It did not help that they had been forced to prune their hair once again, the weight of bare branches and brittle leaves having grown unbearable. Without a proper scarf, any snow on their head became icy unpleasantness that dripped down their neck. The slightest breeze nipped and their ears were eternally numb.

Festering nettles, how Faine hated Frost.

They walked past various merchants and hawkers packing up their wares, closing shop for the day in anticipation of warm meals and beds, no doubt. Sometimes, the Fae wondered how different life would be if they had chosen to live within the city proper. How comforting it must be to know there was always someone close by, ready to lend a hand or strike up conversation.

But then the thought of walls and sounds and smells followed, spreading with no end in sight, and the appeal faded as quickly as it had arisen.

A waft of warm air hit Faine's senses, drawing them back to the surface. They looked up to find that their feet had brought them to High Hopes. The tavern was as lively as ever, waves of laughter and clinking glasses rolling through amber windows, lifted high by the music of several bards.

Maybe it was the bitter cold. Or maybe it was just their growling stomach. Whatever the case, Faine stepped into the din without a second thought, eager to brush the snow off and find something warm to eat.

"And what will you be having tonight?" the barkeep asked, smiling wide and bright as Faine slid onto a stool.

It made them feel rather weathered, all of a sudden, seeing such deep dimples on rosy cheeks. They managed to muster some semblance of a grin in return. "Just a hot plate and jug, miss, please and thank you."

Some coins were pushed forth and not longer after were replaced by food and drink, as requested. Faine marveled at the speed of it all. The pace of city life never failed to surprise, even when they thought they had surely grown used to it. Out of the corner of their eye, they could feel the barkeep watching them as they dove appreciatively into the warm food, pausing only to sate their thirst with equal gusto.

"Haven't seen you around for a while," Astrid mused, head cocked to one side. Her dark hair gleamed in the light. "Thought maybe the wolves and bears had finally figured out how to outsmart you. That, or you've befriended them all and live like one big happy family. I have trouble deciding which is more likely."

Faine looked up in surprise, then grinned in earnest. "Nothing of the sort, miss. The snow makes it harder to travel is all."

Scoffing, the lady turned, though not before pointing a dirty rag in Faine's direction. "One of these days, you will address me by name. You and your bloody manners."

The Fae feigned ignorance and continued eating, leaving Astrid to bustle about with another set of new customers finding their seats. They never did really understand why their formalness bothered some folk. It was, if nothing else, a way to hold onto civility. Aside from the order within their little garden and cottage, there was not much preventing Faine from turning full wildling. Mother had always warned them against it, insisting they recite poems and practice conversation to stave off feralness.

"Well, here's to remembrance," Faine whispered to the air before taking another swig, rice wine gliding down and blossoming into a satisfying pool of heat in their stomach.

Right at that moment, the music died abruptly. Faine turned on instinct, dreading trouble, but finding instead a familiar face standing at the center of the tavern. It was Astrid's father, a jovial old man with a potbelly and impressive mustache. He was quieting his rowdier patrons down and there was a sense of excitement hanging in the air. Curiosity piqued, the perfumist put down their fork and drained the last of their jug.

Something special was happening tonight.

Another day, another fight to be had within the ring. To be honest, Rickter hadn't actually fought here in a while, having simply been too busy preparing for his next trial. Though Telion was good at insisting they take breaks every now and then, even the wolf couldn't help but feel restless when he started to stand still. Truth be told he was looking forward to shaking loose a little, having the need to let off steam after sticking with just one training partner. Not that he complained really, he just needed someone he could at least unleash on, let a little aggression out on to keep him calm when the next session started.

Rien and Margo were setting up the ring as the other barmaid, Astrid as her name was, greeted a peculiar fellow who entered the High Hopes for a drink. He certainly didn't look as though he agreed with the cold, then again Rickter hardly had much room to think otherwise, since half the time he felt like a walking furnace. "You get full yet?" Telion inquired as the barmaid came along to clean up the spot, briefly smiling at Rickter and Telion as the wolf grunted softly with a nod. He couldn't help but quietly burp with an excessive exhale through his nose, looking over to Telion as she lightly giggled in turn. Now that he'd had food, and the ring was set, he was ready to contend with the other pugilists. "Do you really?" The bard questioned as she glanced at the way he looked, raising an eyebrow at him with an expectant grin.

"What?" He hadn't forgotten what happened the last time he brawled... But that was a season ago. Why should that keep him from punching other guys for fun?

"Come now Telion, we do need to start making bets before the match starts." Hannah added in as the brunette walked closer to the pair, a hand planted at her hip as she tilted her head their way with a grin.

"I guess." Telion lightly agreed, and yet, Rickter could tell there was that hint in her tone. The kind where she was okay with it, even though she would've rather him not. A most peculiar thing he would start to pick up on recently... Still with the tugging of his shirt, he started over toward the ring, removing it to expose the light few scars raking inches below the left collar bone. The runes on his body were also visible, as he dropped his shirt on the nearest chair to the ring.

"Alright," Rien started as he called out to the crowd gathering around the ring, "first to start off our spectacle tonight will be Ricky there, he's fillin' in for Aoren tonight. Any takers?" As the wolf approached the ring some of the other patrons exuded a blended reception, mixing piqued interest with a memorable ode to he as a person was. Rickter the fucking wolf of Kalzasi. He looked about as those who were present debated a bit, weighing their options with a few sips of their drinks as he stood centered in the ring. There the wolf waited to see who'd step up, while his companions Telion and Hannah lingered near the ring ready to observe.

As the two women that accompanied Rickter earlier had chatted to themselves, Hannah noticed the subject of Rickter brought up at the bar by no stranger in particular. She couldn't help but grin in the general direction, as she hoped to determine just who had started talking about her lucky "Wolfman." While she expected him to become legendary in due time, Rickter himself had only one thing in mind once he was in the ring. Pain. Right now he needed it to remember again, to keep him focused on the now rather than wherever he was before. Sure, he had come reasonably far since then, but in order to brave the future, one must either carry or leave behind the past.

Thus he stood proud in the ring with his eyes observant of the spectators, his gaze curious as he waited to see which soul would come forward. A gruff-looking guy whose labor smelt of trees and sawdust, which led the wolf to determine him either a carpenter or lumberjack. One of the two. Either way, he was shorter with much more stock in his frame, and for a moment the burl of his biceps instilled a small apprehension in Rickter. This was gonna hurt some for sure. Admittedly the tattoos were interesting to see on the bald man's head, granted the only hair he had prevalent was a lengthy beard akin to the wolf's own. Enough for a winter coating more than anything, but it was more the rigid arms he carried that the wolf was concerned with.

As he stepped forward into the ring Rickter took a few steps backward, so that he claimed one side of the ring as his opponent entered through the other. Ought'a be carpenter. The wolf still pondered as the more likely option, before Rien called for the match to start, and the tattooed guy charged at him with his right arm hooked for a blow. Rickter shifted so that his left shoulder pointed away just as his feet shifted, and his left leg pointed out an angle away from the direction of his right as he leaned slightly forward by a couple of degrees. Here it comes! He observed as he very well felt the urge to move out of the way, and yet, lingered for a moment when he saw the arm soar toward him. By the time he finally pulled to veer away the fist was already there, the stroke of the knuckles grazed across his cheek as the wolf turned into the momentum with it.

Slight fire but nothing he couldn't get past, as the clench of his jaw only stung for a moment when he pulled further away. His right hand brought up to grasp the base of the carpenter's forearm, Rickter balled the fist of his left hard as all the runes on his body glimmered at the same time. Just as he threw the hook in his left arm the crowd started cheering, as the jab of his fist into the ribs under the man's arm merited a stern grunt upon impact. Rickter went in again with a bit more curve with his knuckles this time, determined to land another good hit in while he had the opportunity. Solid payoff. Though not as heavy-handed as he was the first time around, the carpenter felt enough force from the blow to roll back a second, before he writhed himself away toward the edge of the ring with a hand covering the bruises made there. Rickter corrected his stance with his arms upright and angled protectively near his face, with his head hung low as he watched his opponent with patience.

The bastard's face turned redder than a tomato as he stiffened up once more, clearly challenged by the wolf now that he'd seen only a bit of him in action. This time he drew close with fists raised, ready to guard with an interception if Rickter lashed out with a fist. Though the wolf did not, however. He went in ready to test and see if he would be struck at, hands ready to catch fists as he veered forward only to pull himself back. The carpenter flinched but never threw a fist his way, and for a moment Rickter's eyes honed solely on his figure before he shifted. His opponent had shown apprehension and for a moment, the runes around his left shoulder area glowed once more in response to his focus. He went in for another feign with a fist half thrown this time, and sparked the carpenter to flinch with his own hand thrown out.

There were quite a number of ways Rickter could've honestly finished this, but the best one he had was the immediate grab of the carpenter's wrist, just as he regained his own footing to pull the man closer toward him. Just as he jerked to pull his opponent toward him, Rickter brought his hand up to the man's chest with his palm flat against bristled skin. The sudden shift in momentum caused the carpenter to recoil back, as the force of the push was directed downward to slam the poor bastard down on the floor. A quick roar assaulted his ears as many of the patrons that'd bet on him cheered, with Rien calling him the victor moments after he watched the carpenter submit to defeat. Rickter stood victor of the first round in tonight's boxing games, and admittedly it felt really cathartic to him now that it was out of his system. But now he had a standing victory to uphold, and Rickter was determined to see that through to the end. He was filling in for Aoren after all.

As Rien called out for another challenger to be ready to tackle the 'Wolf of Kalzasi' as he was dubbed, Rickter looked out among the crowd as many faces were a mix with prideful grins and shitty frowns as bets were taken. Not that the wolf didn't worry about that part of the night, since his daytime job was consistent enough as it was. Then out of the blue stepped forth an interesting challenger, a creature Rickter could only assume was kin to the Fae in some way, for she smelt of nature but almost in a... spicier way? The best comparison the wolf had with her was to raw cinnamon, which severely burns the sensitive nose in larges doses... Regardless her form was absolutely intriguing to behold, as the wolf was vividly interested in appraising her. A natural defense on the outer surface, it seemed she had a sort of shell plating or exoskeleton to her actual form. What surprised him, even more, was that this challenger was of the female persuasion!

"Yes!? You!" Rien called out above the crowd to the challenger, as the spectators were all there to do just the same as Rickter did. As the bar owner waved for her to approach, he spoke above the general ambience of the crowd with his hand cupped near the mouth. "Who, may I ask, challenges our wolf?"

Rickter could only look about the lady with intrigue in his eyes, never quite making direct line of sight with her as he observed. Telion sat at the table nearest of the ring, while Hannah had decided to approach the other interesting creature here as well. "Did I hear that right? You bet on your friend, against the mighty Wolf?" The rogued brunette inquired with enthused curiosity in her tone, her back turned to allow her to rest against the bar as she observed the match with the creature.

"Dialogue" Monologue
"Telion" "Hannah" "Patrick"
"Common" "Synskrit" "Norvaegan" "Vastian"

Ricky

Lores: (8 eligible, 0 Requested)

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8, may not be used for magic

Comments: Shame the thread ended early. It had such lovely potential. Maybe next time.

---

Faine

Lores: (8 eligible, 0 Requested)

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8, may not be used for magic.

Comments: Shame the thread ended early. It had such lovely potential. Maybe next time.