The Necromancer's Guild

[The Good Hunter]

After a rough start, the bout seemed to be underway in earnest. All three of the raccoons had realized who exactly their opponent was (not the guy with the sword) and attempted a coordinated attack. They would need a coordinated attack to beat this foe. The coordination was there, the three raccoons attacked in something like a ‘Y’ shaped attacked, two attacked from the rear (the smarter pair of raccoons appropriately) and one attacking from the front, a half berserk barbarian of a raccoon. Nyrrigos could have sworn he saw the creature foaming at the mouth. Instinctively, he took a step back, assumed a more defensive stance in case it tried to attack him again, and tightened his grip on the sword’s hilt.

The spider, it seemed, did not have such apprehension. Quick as lightning, the spider turned the tables on the oncoming attackers, spinning and spraying a blast of sticky web material at the rabid raccoon (the only way Nyrrigos could keep track of which was which). The web didn’t fully encompass the raccoon, hitting him in the chest and knocking him flat on his back in the sand. He wasn’t bound, but it would take him a second to get all the webbing off. With their plan of attack rapidly going awry, the raccoons couldn’t react in time as the spider rushed forward, barely leaving prints in the sand as she moved, within a few feet of them, she sprung, bounding like the tiny annoying spiders Nyrrigos found infesting some of the back rooms of his dwelling. He shuddered involuntarily. She knocked one aside, sending him tumbling in a spray of sand and, with fangs jabbing, managed to nick the last raccoon as he tried to go for her legs. He managed to wrap up a single leg before he was bit though. He was now clinging on for dear life, alone in a direct face-to-face confrontation with the spider.

Nyrrigos felt something slither passed him. He looked down, instantly ready to stab one of the raccoons if they attacked him, but found nothing. That unnerved him. The sand shifted a bit, like an insect or rodent was burrowing into it. His eyes bugged. The sand was already awake? This was going to be rough bout. As casually as he could, he moved away from the cannibal sand as it shivered and stretched itself, already hungry for another meal, spider, raccoon, or human, it made no difference to the sand. Meat was meat.

Round 2:
The Raccoon Brothers @Fuin Elda (missed a 6) – the three pronged attacked failed to result in a hit, Reginald is covered in spider web and must remove it so that it does not impair his movement or attacks. If he does not, the attacks and his balance checks will be at disadvantage. Bob has been knocked across the arena, leaving Hob all alone, grabbing onto the leg of the spider.

Rissud @Call of Cthulhu (hit on a 12) – countering the raccoon attack, Rissud was able to turn the tables and separate her foes so as to deal with them one by one. It’s a smart tactic, but risky as any wrong step can lead to disaster.

Speaking of any wrong step, the Cannibal Sands have awoken and are hungry for flesh. In addition to the attack rolls, I will be rolling balance checks to see if you can maintain your standing position as the sand swirl around you and start to bite (a 10 or higher will keep you standing) so be sure to adjust your fighting styles accordingly.

The Raccoon Brothers – 23 HP
Rissud – 25 HP

[Aduchil]

Aduchil and the Myconid Mead Companion

Aduchil glanced around the room. The entertainment in this place seemed doubtful, as in, the Elf doubted it was real. From what he knew of raccoons, they would have disemboweled their opponents long ago. Touching a scar across his stomach from his tussle with the raccoon garbage disposal mafia, Aduchil had first-had experience of that. Probably this was some pretend affair, where they simulated to leave people stimulated. Pathetic. As a connoisseur of stimulants, the Elf only respected the real thing.

The tiny creature's muffled noises reached him, and in turn, he reached a long arm over to grab it and plop it onto a chair. This also allowed enough time to pass for Aduchil to parse the earlier question. "How can you control others unless you first control yourself? Knowledge is power, francis is bacon," the culinary maestro declared. "You must first conquer inward before you can rule outwards." Words were feeble; how to show this stool for toads?

Absent-mindedly, not just in this moment but in general, Aduchil touched the small package inside the folds of his clothes. What was this? Digging it out, he took a sniff. Even through the package, he knew exactly what it was. Perfect! The Elf had no idea why he had prepared a consigment of his finest wares, but it had to be his incredible foresight; so much fore, he did not even realise he had sighted it. Afore. Was that a real word?

Never mind. To the matter at mind. Hand. Aduchil opened the package. "This, my diminutive dilettante, is what you need." He showed the contents: the most delicate, dried death caps harvested from dank domains beyond Dorwinion. "Dig in."

[Zôrzimril]

Shroomîsh

A large hand lifted Shroomîsh onto a chair. It was not the seat it had hoped for, but it was better than being stuck under the table. It could see part of the tall being’s face, and it could see what was going on in the pit: the vast spider and the three raccoons had begun their struggle against each other. Shroomîsh observed for a moment, wondering when the action would really begin. It scowled. Blood must be spilled! The fight must go faster!

It had no idea what or who Bacon was, let alone why the tall one had invoked their name. But there were some things that Shroomîsh knew innately. “Control myself? Why, I was born ready to control myself. But it is ordained that I should control others as well.”

It stood on tiptoe (did it even have toes?) to peek into the parcel revealed by the tall one. If Shroomîsh had had eyebrows, they would have shot up in shock at what it saw: its distant brethren presented in a shriveled, deathly form. It satisfied itself with a horrified squawk. “What… What happened to them?” Shroomîsh asked, squeaky voice quavering. Was this a threat? An act of war? Is that what a “date” was? A prelude to battle, a dance of dominion?

“Such slaughter is unnecessary when you are equipped as I am,” Shroomîsh sniffed, recovering its composure. Perhaps it had misunderstood the tall one’s intentions. It was still rather new to life, after all. It would give its companion another chance. “Allow me to demonstrate what I mean. Then perhaps you can decide for yourself if you’d like a sample.”

The little mushroom’s face scrunched up in an unmistakable expression of exertion and focus. A shrill “HNNNNNNNNNN” sound escaped its mouth as, with a final, strenuous push, it ejected a large cloud of spores from the top of its head. The cloud floated purposefully toward the spider, which had just attempted to bite one of the raccoons.

“This fight is far too dull,” Shroomîsh intoned. “Let us spice things up a bit. With these spores, I shall make that spider tap-dance, and then its mind shall be so overcome with the power of my spores that it will forget the limitations of this physical world. It will have strength untold!!” For the first time in its short life, the belly button mushroom cackled.

(OOC: GMing of the spider done with Frost’s permission)

[Fuin Elda]

Three Raccoons.

Reginald snarled in rage at the sticky web on his face tearing it off, and a goodly portion of his own fur fortunately that was thick and luxurious and honestly it would not be missed except perhaps the one whisker that had pulled out of his face with the webbing as he ripped it off. Of course his hands were still absolutely covered in the stuff and he worked to wipe it off on the arse end of the spider itself, this time being more careful about where the spinnerette was and where it was pointed he decided as soon as his hands were free of the horrible mess he was going to start tearing the spider apart from that particular appendage first.

Bob for his part tucked and rolled and regained his feet a long ways from the action, his sharp little teeth showing in a snarl before he charged right back in to help his brother who was holding onto the spiders leg, Hob was going to need help soon this spider was trickier than it looked but Bob as on his way back and Reginald it seemed was looking like he too would be back in the fight right away though he was not able to help Hob this round. HOb for his part decided being alone that the best option until Reginald had his hands and face free and Bob was back that he would have to simply hold on for the ride and try to make sure that the spider didn't manage to bite him

Defend

[The Good Hunter]

The raccoons were slow playing her now. None of them were going in for an attack. She clicked her chelicerae in giddy expectancy, the closest thing a spider could do to convey its happiness. They’d been reckless before, charging at her without regard for her abilities. She’d taught them a lesson. They weren’t all stupid though. The one she’d blasted with webbing was flying further in a berserk rage, she could sense his screaming through the tiny vibrations along the hairs of her leg. She clicked her chelicerae again and pointed one her limbs at him, challenging the raccoon, hoping to draw him into something reckless once he was free of the web and able to attack again. The second one was watching and keeping his distance. Likely studying her movements, she surmised. She wished him luck. The only concern she had was the raccoon currently in a death grip on one of her forelegs. He was going to be hard to shake off. The more she tried, the tighter his grip seemed to become. She was going to need to pry his grubby little hands off her leg before she would be able to attack again, the angle was all wrong as it stood now.

Then something happened. She took in a breath, but that breath felt different, like she’d breathed in something other than just the musty air of the fighting pit. She paused for a second, trying to figure out what had just happened to her. But when nothing happened, she tried to resume her attack on the raccoon clinging to her leg, when she did something happened and she felt and uncontrollable urge to dance. What was this? Her legs, all eight of them, began to move to the rhythm of something unheard music. What was going on? She was only vaguely aware that something was wrong with her. She lost all interesting in the raccoons, her brain sending her messages to her limbs that she ought to start dancing.

And so she did. Spiders, however, have no natural rhythm. Whatever it was that she had breathed in though, provided the rhythm she required. She began to tap and tap and tap and taptaptaptaptaptap until all eight legs were tapping and clicking to the rhythm of the music. What music? There was no music. But she could feel it. Her brain was sending her messages, telling her there was music coming from somewhere and if she didn’t dance, she’d… her brain was unclear on what might happen. Would she lose out on meal mate? Would a predator fly down and snatch her up? Would she lose out on prey susceptible to hypnosis? She wasn’t sure. All she was sure of was that she needed to dance. Click, tap. Click, tap, tap, click. Click, click, tap. Tap, tap, click. She was full of energy, her feet tapping the sand, alternating jumping from one set of four to the other, from he back legs to her forelegs and back again.

What the heck? Her brain cleared and immediately sent her a message to stop whatever it was she was doing. What had she been doing? She was no in the same place she’d been just a moment before. Somehow the raccoon and been tossed off her leg, but she had no memory of how that happened. Her pedipalps tested the air, sensing anything amiss. There was a strange, earthy odor that she tasted, but nothing beyond that and even that was too odd and obscure for her to understand how it might be connected. She’d have to figure that out later, right now she had a raccoon to savage. Her fangs extended and she went in for another bite.

Attack

[The Good Hunter]

A normal fight, that’s all he wanted. Two combatants, beating the every loving pulp out of each other until one of them falls over and gets eaten by sentient, hungry sand. Was that too much to ask for? Nyrrigos didn’t think so. And if that was the case, why in Sauron’s black earth did he have to put up with this nonsense? A fight between a spider and a trio of raccoons was dumb enough, but did he really have to watch the spider tap dance around the pit? What the hell was going on here? The orc squinted and looked out at the audience; from what he could tell, they seemed to be enjoying the fight. No one was booing at least (not that they would, as booing would get them kicked out by Korgrîn before they had a chance to close their mouths). There was an elf and what looked like a mushroom closest to the pit, the mushroom looking very angry and interested in the fight. He rubbed his eyes. A mushroom? Nyrrigos was going to need a very strong drink after this fight.

Once the spider stopped dancing though, as inexplicably as it had begun, the fight resumed in deadly earnest. The raccoons regrouped, well perhaps regroup was the wrong word, reassessed would be more accurate. They’d previously gone headlong into the spider and that had gotten them covered in sticky webbing or clinging to the spider’s leg for dear life. They were smarter now, coordinating their movements with each other to keep out of range of the spider as it performed the strange little ritual dance, but staying close to one another should the spider decide to attack at random. The one covered in spider web looking like he was going to have an aneurysm if he didn’t attack something, Nyrrigos could sympathize with that. He watched as the raccoon tore bits of his own fur out in order to get the spider web off him, a little more than eager to rejoin the fight. Had he ever seen a bald raccoon before? Did he want to? The image in his mind was both hilarious and terrifying. He coughed, better focus on the fight and worry about hairless raccoon nightmare fuel later.

The spider managed to free herself of the raccoon on her leg, shaking it hard enough that the tiny paws of the creature slipped off, it managed to roll out of the way of the clicking feet and not get stomped. The spider went in for the bit as the raccoon rolled away and managed to snag him on the foot. Nyrrigos winced. Spider fangs hurt when they were normal sized, a bit on the foot like that was going to sting. Blood trailed from wound, tiny red splotches on the sand. They only lasted a second though, the sand swirled and skittered and made some sort of chewing sound as it covered the blood stains. Nyrrigos groaned.

Round 3:
The Racoon Brothers @Fuin Elda (no attack; rolled a 2 on balance check, taking 2 points of damage from the sand) – the fighting pit itself seems to be against you right now. Despite having a sound strategy of keeping your distance until you can regroup, the spider manages to snag a bite on poor Hob. The blood awakens the sand right next to him and it skitters up his leg, tearing away part of his hair as it tries to get to his meaty flesh.

Rissud @Call of Cthulhu (hit on a disadvantaged roll with an 11, dealing 3 points of damage to the raccoons; rolled a 4 on the balance check, taking 4 points damage from the sand) – whatever it was that possessed you to dance (despite everyone watching) managed to help you get into a better position to attack the raccoon. Unfortunately, the sand nearby was alert to your presence and nearly chewed through one of your back legs before you managed to shake it off.

The Raccoon Brothers – 18 HP
Rissud – 21 HP

[Fuin Elda]

Three Raccoons

Hob let out a little growl as the sand skittered up his leg and he thought it was just a really bad case of sandfleas which were horrible and itchy things, he jumped away attempting to shake it off the sand and the bite, his brothers had gotten back in the fight though and the Hob lunged at the spider seeing that it as now wounded in one back leg they Hob decided to try to keep the spiders attention on him going back in to try to grab a front leg to try to further lame up the spider not realizing it was the sand that had harmed the creature and not his brothers. If Bob and Reginald could tear off another leg on the same side as the other damaged one they'd probably have a much easier time of bringing the fairly large and tasty looking spider down.

Bob and Reginald were now both on the rump side of the spider and wary of the webbing that had shot out, both had heard Hob yelp, but he was the toughest out of all of them having lost part of his tail to Fang a few years ago, so a spider bite, shouldn't be too horribly bad in the end as long as they managed to kill the spider before it killed them. The sand eating the leg was, a little off, but Bob gave a low chitter to Reginald, noticing the lack of blood and the sand consuming it as it were. If they could get the sand to take down another leg that would be fantastic. They bounded in closing the distance quickly seeing Hob lunge back in at the spiders front legs trying to give them a distraction so the spider wouldn't sense them until it was too late just before them making sure that he had the beasts attention. Both aimed for the same leg, beside the already damaged one in an attempt to topple the spider into the sand so that the sandfleas could eat it and help them out. After all they didn't really want the gooey leg juices... they wanted the crunchy shell.


Attack

[Aduchil]

Aduchil and the Funky Fungus

Aduchil watched his compact companion with scepsis. Only someone of dubious character would refuse an offering from the guru of gastronomy. The Elf checked that his emergency cutlery was in place, just in case this came to blows. For now, he would allow this experiment to unfold. He turned his gaze onto the spider, waiting for the effect as foretold by the tiny tot. It was true; the spider began some manner of charade, which could be characterised as dancing. While digging into a box of snacks conveniently already in his hands, Aduchil watched without being particularly impressed. To someone who had once resorted to the pasodoble in order to escape a tribe of marooned marauders turned cannibals in the icy wastes of Forodwaith, the spider's dancing was amateurish at best. Though admittedly, it was better than any other dancing spider that Aduchil had ever come across; mostly because he had never come across any.

As his fingers dug around his box of snacks, Aduchil looked down to see one slice of mushrooms left. Oh dear. That was probably rude of him to have eaten nearly all of them. Certainly that pink oliphaunt in the corner was sending him death glares. Who was playing the marseillaise, on a trombone no less, and why could he see the sounds? He thrust the box towards the... badger? Whatever creature was at his table. "It's eat or be eaten," Aduchil said; famous last words of a certain frosty cannibal just before the pasodoble had sent him into a coma. With a smile, Aduchil grabbed the last slice of mushroom and threw it in his mouth.

[The Good Hunter]

Things had been going well for Rissud, until the sand came to life and nearly gnawed off one her legs. She didn’t scream, not exactly, as spiders don’t have the ability to scream or make any sort of vocalization; but anything close enough to her would have been able to feel in their heads how much that hurt. Giant spiders had a whiff of psychic abilities (how else would the great mother Ungoliant been able to communicate?) and even Rissud, tiny as she was in comparison, would have been able to send out tiny mind knives as she was briefly consumed in the agony of the sand ripping through her legs.

She staggered back, the legs hanging by a few fibrous threads. She was weakened, but she was still managing to hold her own against three opponents. They were again coming at her in a ‘Y’ formation, this time trying to take her from the rear. She clacked her pedipalps together angrily, forcing her broken limb to move in concert with the other seven. Electric bolts of pain seemed to fill her entire body as she moved, but as she tried to reposition herself so that she could at least see all three raccoons out of her periphery the pain shifted into the background. She needed focus. Her lungs took in a full breath of air.

With nothing short of arachnid grace, she danced forward into the middle of the pit, her hooked feet barely touching the ground as she darted back toward the three raccoons. She opened her jaws as wide as she could make them and raised her front two legs so high off the ground that she doubled in height. Recognizing the leader of the trio, the one that had been able to hang onto her leg before that weird dancing interlude had distracted from her focus (thankfully she paid no mind to the critics in the crowd), she aimed a quick stab downward from her front leg into the creatures kneecap, hoping to hobble him enough that he’d have to fall back so she could deal with the lesser two trash pandas. Again, quick as lightning, she aimed her spinnerets and shot a line of her strongest silk toward the opposite wall. Once the web was firmly attached, she launched herself, injured leg and all, along the silk so that she able to find purchase on the wall, away from the hungry, biting sand. She needed no second lesson in how dangerous it could be.

Attack

[The Good Hunter]

The sand always made things interesting. When the fight was boring (or it was a bunch of bloody animals putzing about) the sand knew how to turn the fight into something a little more. Instead of a fight between two sets of combatants simply trying to kill each other, the fight turned into a battle for survival, sacrificing one’s opponent to the hungry, shifting, strangely alive sand. Nyrrigos was very happy the sand started moving early in this fight. Spiders and raccoons were stupid opponents and he didn’t want to have to officiate this fight any longer than was necessary. On a scale of one to ten, this bout was a measly two, the sand made it a three. The orc stifled a yawn, and looked up at the private boxes he knew had been filled. There was going to have to be some groveling and apologizing to a certain anise scented eldritch terror later for the lack of good entertainment.

The raccoons were back to their tried and true three pronged attack. Two attacked at once this time, leaving the third as a distraction for the spider. However, their attacks went astray when the spider jolted out of the way. The movement was janky and uneven, and the spider nearly toppled over as she tried to overcompensate for the injury to her leg, the same leg the raccoons had gone for. They hadn’t managed to injure the spider, but their attack did throw her off balance. She jabbed a foreleg into the defending raccoon, the one seemingly meant to distract her and her hooked foot found meat. The attack, however, was off balance and thus the wound itself was only superficial. It was just enough, the raccoon screeched and took a swipe at the spider’s great abdomen. The blow landed but the spider was moving too quickly for the raccoon’s claws to penetrate the thick exoskeleton. The spider then flittered away, using it’s spinnerets to throw a strand of silk to the opposite wall where it clung, out of reach from the sand. The raccoons, too, recovering from their failed attack on the spider were nimble enough to dance away from the sand as it tried to attach itself to their paws.

Nyrrigos shrugged noncommittally and stifled another yawn, his attention to the fight wavivering. At least they were moving around more.

Round 4:
The Raccoon Brothers @Fuin Elda (missed on a 6; rolled a nat 20 on balance roll, taking no damage from the sand) – the spider has managed to get away from you, despite the well planned pincer attack. Thankfully though, you were not distracted by bickering about whose fault it was that the attack failed and all managed to get away from the sand before it start biting into your legs. Reginald though, is a bit hobbled by the spider’s attack. How will you regroup and attack a spider that has remembered it can climb along the walls of the arena?

Rissud @Call of Bearthulhu (hit on a 16, dealing 2 damage to the raccoon brothers; no roll for balance as the character did not end up on the sand) – Still hobbled by the injury, you manage to escape what could have been a very bad situation by the hair on your legs. You managed to do some damage, but again that only seems to enrage your opponent rather than make them fear you. The good news is you’ve remembered you’re a spider and can climb along the walls, but the raccoons have seen you as well and will likely do everything in their power to knock you over.

The Raccoon Brothers – 16 HP
Rissud – 21 HP

[The Good Hunter]

Oh now this was just getting stupid. Nyrrigos growled and clanged his sword against the wall circling the pit. Neither of the combatants were doing anything. They were hissing, spitting, and raising their legs at each other, doing their very best to threaten and intimidate but aside from useless posturing, neither the raccoons nor the spiderling were trying to fight. The orc could feel the muscles and bones in his fingers begin to strain the tighter he held onto the hilt of his blade. This was a serious event for serious contenders. The fact this these four idiots decided to run in and make a joke of it all rankled him.

“Alright!” he finally blurted out, slamming his blade into the surface of the sand. “You bastards are done here! All of you! If you can’t be arsed to actually fight in the fighting pit then you’ve got no need to be in the Necromancer’s Guild at all!” He pointed at the spider with an accusatory finger. “If I see you in here again, you can rest assured I’m going to tear that heart out of you.” This little display had only confirmed his utter distaste for all things relating to spiders. They were nasty creatures that served no purpose other than to get in the way and make a mess of things. “And you three!” he swung his gaze to the raccoons, all of whom looked to him like a bunch of gormless sneaks, “I ain’t never had grilled raccoon before, but if I catch you anywhere near my establishment again I will make sure that’s the special on the menu.”

He wrenched his sword free of the sand. He could tell the sand was angry, it swirled around his sword, trying to find something organic to slice into and devour. Thank the black stars he was standing far enough away from the angry bit of sand to escape its ravenous notice. That would have capped a delightfully stupid and misguided round of combat. “This is what I get for allowing anyone in the fighting pits,” he muttered.

The pits were open again, though after such an embarrassing display of ineptitude, he wasn’t sure anyone would actually want to come in and try it. “Stupid fredegar spiders.”

[Romeran]

Conscript Daethir
@Sorceress

The Necromancer's Guild had always seemed, in Daethir's mind, to be about necromancy, and when he had received an invitation to be there, despite his recent catastrophic demotion, he had originally been quite excited at the prospect of meeting with and learning from a the great necromancers of Mordor. But it was not so as he arrived and saw the crooked and decrepit sign. He walked in and found himself staring at a circular pit filled with red dirt and sand with stones and within the pit there appeared to be fighting. Was this some sort of underground fighting pit? He thought to himself, he wondered why it needed to be 'underground' he hardly thought the legion commanders would care too much.

Daethir began to wonder why he had been asked here. If it wasn't an honor to be here, which he had originally thought, perhaps it was a challenge. Daethir had always been more one for subtle combat, a dagger in the dark or a short-sword in the back, but it appeared, looking at the open circle where people were fighting, that such an approach would not be permitted. This didn't mean, however, that he needed to be an honest fighter, Daethir thought, but he would be unable to use his stealth to his advantage.

The summons was clearly a challenge and whoever had summoned him there would either be currently watching him or likely aware of his success or failure. He assumed this wasn't something he should reasonably back out of, if he wished to regain any semblance of the power and station he once had. Stepping forward, Daethir approached Nyrrigos who appeared to be the one in charge of the bouts. "I'm here to fight." he said, handing over the scrawled invitation he had. Daethir didn't look like much of a fighter, cowled as he was in a long hooded cloak. He bore weapons in their sheaths and should Nyrrigos ask he would, reluctantly, hand them over although he would insist particular care taken with his ceremonial short sword.

[The Good Hunter]

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do after the travesty and embarrassment of that last “fight”. He hated spiders, they were good for nothing but target practice and bonfires. The boss had a soft spot for them though, and he didn’t have a choice. He hated raccoons too, and the boss had no predilections toward the rodents. The spider skittered off, running back to the dark corners of the walls to hide in cobwebs. The raccoons, well who actually cares about the raccoons? Nyrrigos didn’t need to bother with them. Maybe someone would turn them into meat skewers. He’d never had raccoon, but he would be willing to try it if someone offered. The question remained though, what the hell was he going to do? The fight had been an embarrassment and while it was never stated in his contract that the fights needed to be entertaining and bloody, but it heavily implied that fights ought to be like that. It had been half and half so far, the first bout ended in someone getting eaten and the crowd had eaten it up, not literally, but there was still some time left today for that. This was a blood thirsty crowd, they demanded blood. He looked at the picked-clean skull of the woman from the first fight. What had her name been? Did she ever say it? He shrugged. In the end it didn’t matter, she was dead and no one was ever going to come looking for her.

He began to twirl the hilt of his falchion through his fingers, dexterously moving the great, heavy blade in a gentle oblong pattern. It was hypnotic, a good distraction from his lack of work to do. He leaned against the stone barrier and felt himself beginning to nod off. He closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. When he opened them, Hadira was standing in front of him. The waifish Easterling girl looked like something had spooked her, hands behind her back and head down. She shook himself awake, feeling the slow beginnings of a headache coming. “What do you want girl?”

She mumbled something unintelligible, still staring at the space between her feet. He stood up, grumbling. “Speak up, girl. I can’t understand you when you bloody mumble like that. Come on now, out with it.”

She swallowed and looked over at the door. A newcomer was just coming in, becowled and becloaked. “One of the special letters M- Mr. Spider sent out has come in. He wants you to get him into the fighting pit.”

Nyrrigos looked at the person coming forward. The boss wanted this one to fight? Who was he to judge who fought and who drank? “Alright girl. I’ve got your message. Have Mozran give us a few beers. I don’t care what kind and don’t let him talk forever, just get the beers.” She bowed and scurried off.

“Well stranger,” the orc said as the man approached, taking the invitation from him. The boss was always one for theatrics. He cast a glance up at the box seats where he assumed he was watching and waiting. “You want to fight? That’s good with me. Gonna have to set aside your weapons though. This is ain’t that kind of fight. It’s a test of physical strength rather than skill with the blade. You’ll get it all back after the fight,” he smirked and pointed toward the skull. “If you live of course.”

“SO THEN! DO WE HAVE A CHALLNGER FOR THIS MAN? ANYONE HERE GONNA TEST THEIR DRUNKEN METTEL?” Time to stand back and wait for a challenger to show their face, and it had better not be a f.ucking spider.

[Moriel]

Spectating, Box 5
-> Fighting

Sombelenë watched the Man in Black keenly as he produced the bottle of sand, at last, and deliberately, swiveling her golden gaze from Swiltang. The man placed the bottle on the arm of her chair, and she took it up in languid fingers, spinning it slowly and watching both grains and glass catch the light as he offered the story of how he had come to possess and sate the sand. At the mention of spells, the slightest of amused exhalations came from her nose, though her eyes remained fixed on the sand. She knew what lay beneath the cloth that covered the Man in Black’s arms. After a moment’s further study, she uncorked the bottle, and poured its contents into her hand. Swiltang rolled his eyes as the witch took hers away, knowing the moment had ended in stalemate. He poured the goblet of mead down his throat, then refilled the vessel Sombelenë’s bottle. The Man in Black had mouthed some bravado about how Swiltang ought to fight if he wasn’t top proud to test himself, which he ignored. It had been eons since he’d needed to prove himself to anyone in a fight, not least some mortal who would be dead and in the ground before Swiltang could turn around twice. Nevertheless he allowed his gaze to return to the man briefly in silent challenge. Across from him, Sombelenë had become absorbed in the bottle of sand: it would be foolish to think that she was not still paying attention to every blink either he or the Man in Black made, but clearly she was otherwise occupied for the moment, and Swiltang knew when interrupting her was worth his time, and when it was not. Instead, he watched as a bizarre succession of combatants passed through the arena below: raccoons, a spider, a fungus of some sort- at length even Nyrrigos had had enough.

“As I was saying about the quality of the establishment,” Swiltang growled dryly in the direction of the Man in Black, as Nyrrigos threw all the wastrels out of the pit. But then, someone new entered the pit. Having emptied Sombelenë’s mead bottle while she was otherwise occupied, Swiltang arose, catching up the bottle he had procured from Mozran on his way to the box, and taking a hearty swig directly from it as he stepped to the edge of the box and looked down at the man (Daethir). The recruit. Interesting. And admitted after a message delivered to Nyrrigos? Who then looked up to where he knew his employer to be? Then Nyrrigos roared for a challenger, and Swiltang decided he could find better entertainment, for the moment at least, than sitting in silence with the ingrate and the witch. He corked his bottle, and tossed it at (rather than to) the Man in Black. “I expect a healthy cut of those bets you mentioned,” he sneered, before with an anachronous grace, vaulting over the edge of the box. Swiltang hit the sand of the pit with an impact that did not seem as hard as his form warranted, and straightened at once to stride over to Nyrrigos and Daethir. The lean, twisted orc swordmaster brought with him no weapon but himself, and turned his burning boldog’s eyes on Daethir as he spoke to Nyrrigos.

“Drunk, no. Mettle, yes.”

Above in the box, Sombelenë ceased whispering singsong words to the sand, which had taken up a braidlike dance of strands about her fingers.

“Oh, this could be fun.”

[The Good Hunter]

His challenge was met by a few shuffles of feet, a few awkward gulps of ale, and generally eyes looking everywhere but on the arena. Silence fell over the crowd save for a few cliched coughs. Nyrrigos rolled his eyes, this lot loved to watch a good fight but apparently the idea of actually participating sent them into a tither. The orc snarled his agitation at those gathered, drinking themselves drunk and stuffing their gluttonous faces. When the orders came down from on high, this lot, ready and willing or not, were going to be pressganged into the army, they were going to be in for a very rude awakening. Nyrrigos wasn’t an old man and hadn’t fought in half a dozen wars, but he felt jaded and angry all the same. Very likely, he could sweep the floor with this entire lot and still have enough balance to drink a flue of sparkling wine.

Just when he’d given up hope that someone might be shamed enough to speak up, he turned to the human, Daethir, with a look of consolation. Then he heard a voice. But it was not a voice he’d expected to hear. He furrowed his brow and turned to see. Surely it was someone pretending, someone playing a jest. But no, no. When Nyrrigos turned to face the voice, it was indeed Swiltang. He was taken aback. Surely the man didn’t need to prove himself on the sand? What was— an idea sprang into his head. The boldog was coming down from the private boxes upstairs, the same place that the boss was known to haunt. The two were, rivals might not be the right word, mutual agitators of each other. The boss must have done something to annoy him and now Swiltang felt the need to take out his frustrations on this man. Nyrrigos snorted, this was going to be an entertaining fight after all.

“You honor us with your presence, sir,” he said nodding his head once the boldog arrived at the pit. “I assume you both know the rules. I want a good fight, clean or not. You’ll be tasked with making everyone forget that raccoons found their way into the guild and ran amok.” He still had that mental note to find them, catch them, and turn them into stew. “May the luckier fight win!”

Nyrrigos could feel all the eyes in the place on him again, but this time they weren’t awkward, blank stares it was wide-eyed awe. The Maugân against a complete unknown, a stranger? Whether it ended in a beat down or an actual fight, the exchange of coin was going to be frenetic. Mig was going to have a hard time keeping up with all the bets, but the little goblin was at least going to be busy after that fracas with the raccoons.

He clanged his falchion against the stone around the arena, sending a keening, high pitched chime across the guildhall.

Fighters, take up your positions and ready yourself for round one

[Romeran]

Daethir
Renown: 16

It was bad enough that Daethir had been tricked into coming here, fooled by his own arrogance over what he thought the Necromancer's guild was, that he would now be fighting barehanded against who knows what would challenge him was an even worse prospect. The sequence of unfortunate events which had brought him to this particular scenario had come wholly unexpected to Daethir who had become accustom to his prior station and power. If someone would have told Daethir that he would now be standing in a crowded and dark fighting ring preparing to go fight some unknown attacker only a few months prior he would have laughed in their face. And yet here he was. Daethir laid down his weapons outside of the fighting pit as instructed. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around the shortsword before placing it along with this dagger down. With his cowl removed, Daethir's form was revealed. While he was not a large man he was lean and tightly muscled. Surprisingly athletic in appearance for what he was known for, but Daethir had learned at a young age that strength in mind would never suffice. Compared to the larger uruk-hai and even large men, Daethir was not an imposing figure, but he was strong despite his more average size.

It was some time before anyone stood forward to accept the challenge, and Daethir began to wonder what would happen if no one would accept. Did that mean that Deathir would be released from his bond? He would have been surprised if it was that simple. However long his punishment was going to take, he did not expect that it would be over so quickly. Eventually, however, a most unlikely candidate stepped forward, Swiltang. Daethir of course knew of Swiltang, most of those here he assumed did as well. He cursed under his breath. Once he had learned the nature of the Necromancer's guild and why he had been sent here, Daethir had assumed that whoever he would fight it would inevtiably be a form of punishment. He hadn't expected it to be the Swiltang.

There was not much else to do for it, and if he had to be here, Deathir was at least going to go down with a fight. He knew that he might at least gain some level of respect if he fought with viciousness and courage rather than cower and try to avoid taking his licks. When they were prepared for the duel and set up to each side, Deathir leaned down to the ground taking some sand in his hands as if to dry the sweat from his palms. He did this openly, but secretly he kept a small handful of sand in his fist. He wasn't allowed any weapons, that was true, but nothing said he couldn't fight dirty. Deathir had made up his mind quickly, as he was wont to do, and had decided that he would go on the offensive, perhaps it would surprise the orc. But mostly it would give him at least one opportunity to attack, if he simply defended there was a reasonable chance it would simply lose before he got a chance to attack.

As soon as the the command to fight was given, Daethir dashed forward, not in a straight line but rather he dashed quickly left and then immediately right as if to break any attempt to use Daethir's initiative against him. He went to throw a punch with his hand but the fist got closer, instead, he released the sand aiming to blind Swiltang.

Attack