Dalton heads off to collect his winnings. He eyes the crowd for the sign of those eyeing Bjorkus - particularly though who'd lost large sums.
With the fires of battle dying down and his thundering heartbeat slowing to a more natural rhythm, the pain from his injuries catches up with him and the 'tiefling' groans in pain. The stone-man had kicked like a mule and was unbelievably agile, moving with impossible quickness. Gotta be some kinda magic.
As he waits for his turn, Asterion watches the masked figure closely. What's their deal?
After leaving the secret underground lair Lindale heads back to the city. The image won't quite be enough, I need to see the man. He wanders through the markets, observing those there, watching to see if he was being followed again, looking out for the man in the sketch he had, checking out some of the slaves(if there is a slave market/auction) and anything else that caught his eye.
As the sun went down he headed back to Jaware's to meet up with the others and find what progress they have made and whether Bjorkus/Ares/Whoever-he-is-now had won the fight. If they aren't back(fights go on into the night?) then he will head to the circle instead.
1 monk
2 turtle style
1 natural AC (oread)
1 dodge (monk feat)
5 dex/wis?
Bjorkus tries to read the masked man, but well, he's masked. From the skin he can see at his hands the man is humanoid. Once the oread is awake and in better shape the man gestures for Bjorkus to come over, beginning to heal him.
Jaware informs Lindale that the rest of the party isn't in for the night so he heads to the Circle of Stone, where once he is searched for weapons he is admitted. Things are already moving with a pair of singers on stage and the drinks flowing.
Asterion grunts and gives the oread a nod of acknowledgment, a mix of well fought and don't forget it. When his turn comes, the massive tiefling raises one arm and uses the other to point out the pained areas of his torso - the purplish bruising difficult to make against his dark hairy hide.
The last masked healer had given Bjorkus some cryptic advice. He watches this one for a hint of recognition.
"There are a few such buildings in the northern district but most are owned by a master already. We would need to speak to the owners of the homes and see, I am afraid my contacts do not reach that high up."
The masked healer does not give Bjorkus any special recognition, he silently treats his wounds, barely even looking up. It's like he's in his own world where he sits at a chair and faceless injured bodies are brought to him.
The oread puts his hands together, pinkies and forefingers extended, giving a short bow to Bjorkus. He then walks off, working around what must be a very sore jaw.
The healer finishes healing Bjorkus's wounds, giving him a short gesture to walk off. The healer picks up a half-worked stone and begins rubbing on it with a file, drifting back into his own world.
Ithel grabs Bjorkus by the arm, pulling him back into the circle. "Our next match, Asterion the horned devil versus Boris the strong!" A massive human stands on the opposite side of the ring. He's just as tall as Bjorkus and at least twice as wide, a heavyset man made of muscle and fat. He has thinning hair and crooked teeth, staring dully at Bjorkus as Ithel calls for the round to being.
The man gives a dull roar, charging forward and bringing down a meaty hand on Bjorkus. The fist barely connects, and while this man seems a lot less controlled than the monk he certainly hits a lot harder.
Bjorkus pauses to take measure of his massive new opponent only to be surprised by his lumbering charge. The meaty blow leaves the ‘tiefling’ seeing stars but it’s hardly the worst he’s taken.
Once he’s steady on his hooves, ‘Asterion’ rears back with a big punch of his own.
This fight stays a lot simpler than the complicated maneuvers of the monk; this man appreciates the same approach to a fight Bjorkus does.
Enjoying the company of a kindred spirit, Bjorkus spits out a gob of blood and throws another meaty hook.
Bjorkus finds no problem landing a hit on the man, although his punches seem to hurt a little less than on a skinnier opponent.
Despite enduring another solid shot to the ribs, Bjorkus sucks it up and gives the big man a brutal blow of his own. The 'tiefling' covers up afterward trying to ward away the retaliatory punch.
Defense finds little place in this fight as two more blows are landed. It appears to be more like animals fighting with little thought of self protection.
In its own way the previous bout had been a dance as the oread claimed, a combination of grace and power. This battle was all muscle and endurance - a test of strength proving physical superiority. The hulking tiefling was hurting bad now. One eye was swollen shut and that lance of pain from broken ribs was back. Regardless, he powers through the suffering to slam home blow after blow.
The next hit makes the man blink a few times, and Bjorkus can see he's pretty shaky from head trauma. However he's still on his feet and delivers the next blow.
'Asterion' was in really bad shape now, blood trickling into his good eye while the other is swollen shut. Fortunately the honest nature of the contest made vision less than mandatory. With a grunt he throws another fierce hook.
Lindale grabs a drink and looks for Yix. "How goes the night my friend?"
Bjorkus hits the human square in the jaw, twisting him to the side in a blow that he doesn't turn back from. After a moment the man collapses with a gigantic thud, granting more cheers and jeers from the spectators.
Yix sits at a table with half a dozen halflings with what must be a private meeting from the guards who scowl at anybody who gets close, but after concluding his business stands and greets Lindale with a smile. "Aeris, welcome my friend. It's good to see you here, how can I help you?"
When his massive opponent crashes to the ground, it takes ‘Asterion’ a long moment to process the situation or the roaring crowd pressing in around him. Finally understanding that he’d won, the brawny ‘tiefling’ immediately begins teetering on his hooves. He raises one arm (an act of will alone) and gives a grunt of satisfaction – not quite the victory roar he’d hoped for but it was all he could manage.
Despite the deep pain working its way through his body, ‘Asterion’ works with the big man that carried his last opponent away to get the unconscious bear of a man to masked healer. As he does, he studies the crowd. He keeps an eye out for anyone that might be overly interested in what’s going on or his companions. He also keeps an eye out for potential company later.
Rilka watches Bjorkus and the oread with an impassive demeanor at first. As the blows start to land, she cringes as if she’s been on the receiving end of a few beatings.
When Boris appears and a classic slugfest begins, Rilka winces each time Bjorkus gets hit. She studies the crowd, looking for the patrons that are the most excited. She’s also intrigued by the healers and will watch one perform its magic when needed.
Dalton watched the bull closer this time. Certainly, fist-fighting was not my calling. He reactions were swifter than his could have ever been, and his tolerance to pain easily surpassed his own. Lucky he's on our side.
Bjorkus and Boris are moved to the healer who tirelessly begins closing the wounds. He uses a wand a large number of times, running out and pulling out a new one at one point.
Ithel steps over to Bjorkus once he's in better shape. "You got another in you?"
‘Asterion’ stretches after his healing session and claps Boris on the shoulder once he was conscious. ”You put up a good fight. We should scrap again some time.”
When the half-elf reappears offering him another bout, the ‘tiefling’ pauses to consider. He was sore all over – remnants of his twice broken ribs, busted cartilage in his snout, and multitude of cuts and bruises. Still, the bull had come to the Spider for a workout in preparation tomorrow’s performance and he was far from spent. If the rest of the rounds in the arena were anything like the first (including that ogre), he’d need to be stronger – a lot stronger.
‘Asterion’ nods. ”Who do ya got left?”
Boris gives Bjorkus a strong handshake and a surprisingly warm and friendly smile. "Devil man fight like Boris, Boris like good strong fight."
Ithel nods. "Oh I got plenty left, just wanted to make sure I wasn't pushing you too hard. I'm going to cap you out at three rounds tonight, come by around noon any day and I'll schedule you in for more matches."
After a few minutes for the spectators to relieve themselves and buy new drinks, Ithel drags Bjorkus back into the circle. "Asterion the horned devil versus Firyin of the silence!" A tall, lean half-elf steps into the circle. He has black hair and a somewhat grey complexion. He stares at Bjorkus with eyes that are completely black. His hands have no rope and hang loosely at his side.
Bjorkus opens his mouth to gripe about the cap but he stops himself. Even he had his limits and calling an early night wouldn’t be so bad.
Sizing up his opponent but not entirely sure what to make of him, ‘Asterion’ instead chooses to work the crowd. He beats his chest and starts a ribald song.
The oldest of the virgins;
She was a vandal lass;
I showed my mighty weapon;
And she showed me her ass;
The crowd laughs and cheers, some of the men playing out the story with a passing serving girl who slaps them for grabbing her. Ithel laughs too, sending a man over to stop things from escalating.
As Bjorkus grins at the crowd's approval of his song, he glances something out of the corner of his eye and gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. The half-elf is standing still, face stoic despite the merriment around him. His palms are together and a creeping darkness emanates from them, eventually filling the circle. As Bjorkus's dark vision kicks in he sees the half-elf mouth two unnerving words. Your move.
As the darkness envelopes the field the crowd groans and yells their disapproval, but Ithel speaks a command word and a small red light appears above them, allowing anybody outside the circle to see inside it as if they had darkvision.
Bjorkus was a bit unnerved by the elf's lack of mirth amid a crowd so pumped up with contagious excitement. One of Lindale's kin maybe. He's gotta have ice running through his veins. Knowing starting a fight distracted as he was would put him at a disadvantage, the bull redirects that energy into a jibe appropriate to the song now being carried by the crowd.
"You're never gunna get laid with a face like that!"
The crowd laughs, some of the drunker men have tears in their eyes. A few even start jeering at the dark half-elf. The crowd is clearly on Bjorkus's side for this fight.
The half-elf's only reaction to the jibe is lowering his hands back down to his sides, letting them hang loosely again. He makes direct eye contact with Bjorkus, clearly having to trouble seeing in the dark.
As soon as Bjorkus lifts his arms to defend himself the half-elf shoves off the ground. The ground gives a slight shudder as his bones and skin stretch and morph, and in half a second he appears as much bear as Bjorkus normally appears bull.
He brings down a hairy hand, but instead of a fist he has abnormally thick and pointed nails extended that slash Bjorkus across the shoulder. A small patch of skin lays in ribbons, flowing blood.
Bjorkus’s eyes grow wide when the half-elf suddenly becomes some kind of bear-elf. He covers up but the bear-elf’s claws just tear bloody holes in his forearm. Despite the pain, and his continuing confusion, the ‘tiefling’ keeps his crowd going. ”That’s the spirit. Some ladies like a man with some hair on his chest. I should know!”
His laugh turns into a roar as he throws a wild haymaker.
Bjorkus's punch lands and he feels the coarse bear hair on his opponents face. The half-elf-bear-thing recovers quickly, still saying silent and now bringing both claws down. His right claw lands and he continues to maul Bjorkus with his bear hands.
Bjorkus grunts in surprise as he's painfully clawed again. He rears back with another big punch while continuing his performance.
The elf-bear takes the hit, returning a bloody slash in kind. Bjorkus again manages to sidestep his second blow.
Feeling the weight of the crowd on his side, Bjorkus slams another meaty punch into the bear-elf’s maw. He notes, briefly, the weakness that comes with massive blood loss.
Bjorkus makes the elf-bear twist his neck around from the force of the punch, but he still stands and rips back with his claws, this time the left one raking across Bjorkus's face.
The crowd is losing it and Ithel has a smile from ear to ear. He gives Bjorkus a C'mon look, like why hasn't he floored the elf-bear-freak of nature yet?
Bjorkus doesn't even feel the blood pouring down his snout for the most recent blow. The pain is distant and muted against the thunder of his heartbeat within his own ears and the roar of the crowd around him. Clenching his gory fists, the bullish tiefling abandons all caution and slams his fist into the elf-bear. One. More. Time.
Bjorkus brings down both of his fists on the elf-bear's head in a hit that breaks a bone in his hand despite the rope. The elf-bear takes one step back, shakes his head, then his eyes roll up in his head and he drops.
The darkness dissipates and with a gesture Ithel puts the odd light out. On the ground the half-elf is back to normal, a dark haired half-breed with a gray complexion.
Needless the say, the crowd is nigh-uncontrollable. They begin to swarm Bjorkus, but as the half-minotaur's fury calms he finds himself light headed. Ithel pushes through the crowd, grabbing Bjorkus by the head and shouting something at him, but Bjorkus is deaf to the words. A moment later he passes out.
He awakes a few seconds later at the feet of the healer as the surrounding crowd continues to cheer him on and do poorly performed reenactments of his singing. The half-elf is sitting on a wooden still, conscious but still extremely beat up. He sips at a cup in his hand, looking down.
Still dizzy from blood loss even if his wounds were mending, Bjorkus sits up and clutches his head. He offers the masked healer a grunt of thanks even though he knows his words will fall on deaf ears. Reaching for the first hand offered to help him up, the bullish tiefling struggles to his hooves. He quickly finds the cheers to be a better balm than any healer’s spell.
”You didn’t say wild animals were allowed in the fights”, he rumbles hoarsely.
Ithel laughs, going to clap Bjorkus on the shoulder but thinks better of it with his wounds. "Oh he fights like an animal and has the fur to go with it, but he's very much in control." He puts a leg on a chair, leaning in closer. "Honestly I expected you to lose that one, Firyin shreds through most that aren't ungodly strong or tricky. You lost me some money on that." He grins, leaning back out. "Either way you're done for the night, I have others on the schedule who need to get through. Make sure you come back though, keep the crowd going like this and I'll give you free drinks and board!"
Hearing the description of the half-elf’s prowess (something he personally witnessed a moment ago), Bjorkus nods. ”The boy’s claws are sharp alright. I don’t know how you even find fighters fool ‘nuff to go toe to toe with ‘im. Though if they’re down here, I ‘spose they’re damned fools already. ”
At the long-term offer, Bjorkus laughs and then winces. ”At least you sods know how to scrap. Throw in some girls and I might be on board.”
Spotting Dalton counting coin but looking increasingly uncomfortable, Bjorkus nods toward the pudgy elf. ”My master will be wanting to be goin’ now. Tell Boris I’ll be ‘round to scrap again and let Firyin know I’ll be back to remind him he’s not the only animal in town.”
'Aries' socialises at the circle, keeping an eye out for the man Lucian had given him a picture of. If spotted he will wait and see how early or late he stays. If he stays very late 'Aries' leaves at midnight and waits in an alley nearby if possible for when the man leaves. If he leaves early he will also leave and try to follow him a little.
After moving to collect his bet - avoiding the stampede in the opposite direction - Dalton watches the ringleader. He must be more than just a simple facilitator. Though Bjorkus was done for the night, Dalton still had a few cards left to play.
He waited a few minutes for the crowd to dissipate to a partable state, then made his way to Ithel. "Those are some hardy fighters you're honing. Surely this can't be the only battlefield they have in mind."