"Do I look like I carry that much coin on me? Anyhow you have tortured the poor creature to near death so its worth a tenth of the normal price."
"Bahaha! 2500 gold, but the dragon can keep its hoard," his laugh is wicked, almost as if he's congratulation himself on his accomplishments.
"I'm willing to give it a go, I suppose," Pagrip says quietly to Caulder. "We dwarves are indeed hard to topple, but if you think you've got some divine enhancements that will give you the edge, then by all means, be my guest. Of course, that leg of yours might cancel out any enhancements you can give yourself."
He grins. "Not about what I can do for me but what I can do to him. Depends on the opponent being strong of body but weak of will, though. Without knowing what we'll be facing, there's no reasonable way to determine which of us would be the better bet. Why don't we let Abadar decide?" He digs a gold coin out of his pouch. "Call it, dwarf. Heads or sails*?"
"Sails."
Caulder flips the coin, catches it in the air, and slaps it on the back of his wrist. He grins at Pagrip. "Looks like Abadar thinks I need to be around to patch you up afterwards, dwarf."
Esme waves dismissively at Devargo. "It's like hammering your head into a brick wall and expecting a different outcome." To Caulder and Pagrip she adds {b}"Good luck."[/b]
"Good luck, Pagrip. Break the next one's jaw, for me," Ten commented while nursing his wounded pride. Luckily, Ten doesn't have that much pride to nurse.
"Well done, Reginald. That's one extra gold piece for us...
Caulder drops what's meant to be a comforting hand on Esmerelda's shoulder. "If you took that one away, he'd just acquire a new one to toy with," he consoles her. "We get this information, you can make a nice, hefty donation to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Pseudodragons. I'm always chasing the damned do-gooders off street corners for not having a license to raise funds."
Esme lets out a small sigh "I suppose you are right, Caulder. Though I do sometimes feel the funds the SPCP acquires does not always make it to the pseudodragons that really need it."
As a new man enters the room a cheer goes up from the youths: a tall, black-suited Mwangi man wearing a white bandana. His face is strongly set, with noticeably angular features framed by thick dreads of hair. An impromptu chant of "Bob! Bob!" circulates the room, even a few more guests arrive, following in Bob's wake.
Bob Makihara is a noted underground combatant. He's fiercely independent and values his privacy, but when in public often has an impromptu group of onlookers, fans, gawkers and opportunists who follow him at a cautious distance. He's fond of attractive women of the seedier persuasion, making him a regular in Korvosa's red light areas.
Devargo smiles, genuinely pleased with the arrival of the man. "That's even better!" he exlaims, "Not my champion enforcer - but a more than acceptable representative. ...so?! Will it be the dwarf then?"
"'Bob?'" Caulder mutters incredulously. "Where do foreigners come up with these ridiculous names?"
"The dwarf does have a name, you know," Pagrip says as he heads over to the table. He turns to the newly arrived man with the bandana. "So, Bob, is it? What do you say we get this party started?"
The dreads resettle themselves as Bob turns his head down to Pagrip. His frame is about as tall as Ten's, with nearly as much muscle - with the lean toned features common to warriors of the Mwangi expanse. "Bobu Makihara," he stretches down his hand, offering a very firm handshake to the street dwarf. "No match is a party," he intones seriously, "but I'll welcome the dance."
"Yes! Yes!!" The Spiderking positively radiates, eagerness to see the next encounter, "Quick then, let it be known the terms: Pagrip the Dwarf will face up against Bob Makihara. Apart from the usual bets, should Pagrip win, he may buy certain information from me at a cost of 400 gold, but should he lose, he is compelled to buy the information at 800 gold. Now! Make ready the floor!"
There is the tiniest flicker of irritation on Bob's features, as he keeps hearing his name pronounced "Bob" instead of "Bobu".
This time an area about half again as large as the table is marked out on the floor as the battle ground. A good 20 spectators, other than Devargo, the heroes, and Bob Makihara are crowding in - though at Devargo's order the remaining youths take up positions to make sure the edge of the fighting floor isn't too crowded for the match.
Pagrip shakes Bobu's hand. "Good to meet you, Bobu. To the dance then." He steps into the marked area and waits for someone to tie the rope to his wrist.
As they wait for the preparations for the match to be complete, Caulder asks Esmerelda, "You think we should recommend the Bank conduct an inquisition into the financial practices of the SPCP? You know, for the good of the pseudodragons?" The very thought of shining some light on the undoubtedly sloppy math of the charity's books makes his eyes light up.
"There are many organisations that need a good inquisition. And not just for the good of the pseudodragon. Though it would be a start. I was thinking of this one for example."
"This Bob seems familiar somehow."
Two youths are helpful enough to swiftly secure the rope between Pagrip's and Bob's right hands. The King of Spiders prepares himself on his throne, then when he's sure both contestants are ready: "Three, two, one, let's go!"
Pagrip is still adjusting his footing as the King of Spiders calls for them start, so he's not quite ready to react.
Slower than his usual start - but still well ahead of the dwarf - Bob quickly spins his right arm around the slack rope quickly covering the distance between his own hand and that of Pagrip's. He ends up with his right hand clamped over Pagrip's wrist, clenched hard.
With his left hand the big black man digs through the coins, grasping for the dagger inside - but he comes up empty. Now that the battle has started, Bob's teeth are a shining white grin and there's certain suave flow and rhythm to his moves.
Pagrip grunts from the pressure on his wrist, and attempts to reverse the situation.
"Heh," he says when he fails to even budge the Mwangi. "You're pretty strong."
The crowd releases a collective swoon as Bob pulls his right hand - and with it Pagrip's hand - to the floor while leaping the rest of his body upward. For a moment he is suspended above Pagrip in a one-handed handstand, before his big body descends to eclipse the dwarf.
Pagrip suddenly finds himself rapidly running out of options as the bulk and angles that Bob exerts on the dwarf severely hamper all his motions. Bob even has enough spare time to dig through the coins again, find the dagger, then toss it out of the way; not out of the ring, but at the very far edge.
"Oh, this was a fair match," Caulder comments sourly. "'Bob' the jungle wrestler versus a wizard-school drop-out."
"For Abadar's sake, dwarf, this is the City's money you're playing with," Caulder reminds him with irritation. "Instead of handing it over to the Spiderkind, it could be used to ... fund orphanages and rescue wayward girls," he flails, trying to come up with some civic project that would appeal to Pagrip. The mere thought of investing it at a tidy percentage probably wouldn't motivate the dwarf as it would Caulder.
"Orphanages? I didn't think you were the type!" Pagrip grunts as he tries to slip free of Bobu's grip.
Murmering under her breath
"Really, Caulder. I am surprised at you. I will have to watch you more closely when we are around any...wayward girls."
To Pagrip she shouts
"Take the coins, Pagrip! The coins! How is hugging the Mwangi going to help?"
"Orphanages, workhouses ... what's in a name?" he mutters. Despite the tension of the match, he offers Esmerelda a sidelong grin. "You won't be watching me that closely if Captian Horace and his beard are around, will you?"
Pagrip's grunt becomes a muffled yelp as the big man twists the dwarf's arms in ways that aren't meant to be. The compact nature of dwarves makes this a fairly hard-to-do proposition, but Bob manages with almost theatrical ease. He's eyes the nearby coins and probably weighs his options on maintaining a full grip on Pagrip and using a hand to fetch some coins.
Esme says with a far away look in her eyes "But what a beard..."
To Caulder she adds "You are not thinking of putting a little hair on that chin, are you Caulder?"
"C'mon Pagrip. You going to let some Mwangi slap you around?"
Caulder frowns and pulls at his clean-shaven chin. "Depends, Darkbane. You planning on being a little wayward?" He flashes her a wicked grin
"Let's see you do any better," Pagrip grumbles in response to Esmerelda. He tries once more to get free.
"But Caulder, then I would have to watch you all the time. Which might not be so bad if you had a nice beard."
"On a different note, do we even have 800 gold?" queries Esme as she digs around in her pack. "Unless there is some sort of miracle, we will need it."
"Yes, Reginald, I prefer it when mom and dad fight.
"Esmerelda, Pagrip hasn't lost yet. He still has a chance," Ten replied.
"Bobooh!" Ten shouted at Pagrip's opponent, "Where is your Mwangi warrior pride? Would your fathers be proud of your actions here?"
"On a different note, do we even have 800 gold?"
Esmerelda nods, a little grimly, "He sounds delightful, how much gold do we have to work with?"
Cressida hands her five subtle pouches, each jingling quite pleasantly. "There's 20 platinum in these, make them count."
The paladin hands one of the pouches to Pagrip, Ten and Caulder, filling one of the pouches evenly into the others such that there are 25 pieces to each pouch, "Okay, this should keep our resources safe. Let's go see this scourge and remind him that his loyalties lie with this city."
Bob's got Pagrip cradled in an uncomfortably position, the dwarf's expression is one of slight alarm, anger and angles. Perhaps overconfident, or perhaps toying with his prey, the black man gestures dismissively at Ten then uses the same hand to grab for some coins and pocket them - while using his other hand to keep Pagrip perfectly still, if breathing somewhat more heavily. The crowd are split between admiration for Bob's obvious skills, and derision at the apparent ease at which the contest has currently run.
Caulder crosses his arms and waits impassively for the end.
Pagrip continues to struggle to free himself, but his hope is quickly eroding away.
The crowd's displeasure ceases abruptly, as the King of Spiders himself smiles these words at them: "Don't fret, Bob Makihara is one of the best - not because he finishes fights quickly, but because he believes in the dance." There's something about the way he emphasizes dance that is encouraging. Almost as if on command, first the youths and then the crowd at large begin chanting 'fight fight fight!'. The clapping and foot-stomping begin to merge into a unified fast-paced rhythm. The blood boils as the pulse strains to match the beat.
This doesn't leave Bob cold, he stops midway of trying to grab some more gold; his hold on Pagrip slips - finally leaving the dwarf with free room to act. When he finally looks up his bleary vision coalesces into Bob who's now standing a few feet away, apparently oblivious as he drinks in the beat and chant, his hips move with the rhythm, his feet stomp to the beat, his head is lifted to the ceiling a broad wide gleam of teeth smiling in ecstasy. Suddenly he looks at Pagrip again, a hunting grin on his face - matched by a body that keeps dancing to the beat.
Bob grins right back at Pagrip, his twists and turns getting more pronounced - then suddenly the world flips an uncertain color of dark as a foot streaks passed the dwarfs face; fortunately leaving little more than a scrape. When it is clear what happened, Bob completed the cartwheel kick and has returned to his dancing form. A few more coins jostle in his hand.
"You're pretty good," Pagrip says breathlessly, grabbing for some coins. "Whatever happens, know that I have a lot of respect for you." He makes as if to move to one side, while actually going to the other.
Bob isn't fooled by the feint, carrying his own body along with the feint and reversing it with a sweeping attack to swipe the dwarf's legs out from under him. But despite the bulk he can put behind the attempt, the dwarf is undeterred.
Pagrip sighs when he realizes Bob isn't falling for the feint. He hopes he can use the man's momentum against him and attempts to trip.
For a moment it looks like Bob simply floats above Pagrip's trip attempt, balancing almost precariously from limb-to-limb. Too precarious. As he tries to take advantage of the dwarf's inexperienced trip attempt, he falls short of Pagrip's very experienced street fighting smarts. His swipe goes wide and the actual trip hits just the right supporting leg at just the right time. With a whoop from the crowd the big warrior lands on the floor.
He's quick to respond though, with jungle-man like grace he propels himself at low level towards Pagrip, trying to wrap his legs around one of Pagrip's and take him down - likely to proceed with some kind of leg-lock. Fortunately Pagrip has more than enough presence of mind to dodge the attempt.