Jakob Jones's page

Resistance +1
Armor attunement +1(clothing)
Weapon attunement +1(unarmed strike)

[dice=Fort]1d20+11[/dice]
[dice=Ref]1d20+7[/dice]
[dice=Will]1d20+5[/dice]

[dice=Acrobatics]1d20+10[/dice]
[dice=Athletics]1d20+14[/dice]
[dice=Bluff]1d20+1[/dice]
[dice=Craft(Mechanical)]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Diplomacy]1d20+1[/dice]
[dice=Disguise]1d20+1[/dice]
[dice=Driver]1d20+7[/dice]
[dice=Escape Artist]1d20+7[/dice]
[dice=Intimidate]1d20+13[/dice]
[dice=Knowledge (Local)]1d20+6[/dice]
[dice=Perception]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Profession (Barkeep)]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Profession(Bouncer)]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Ride]1d20+3[/dice]
[dice=Sense Motive]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Stealth]1d20+3[/dice]
[dice=Survival]1d20+1[/dice]

[dice=+1 Unarmed Strike]1d20+12[/dice]
[dice=Damage]1d8+11[/dice]

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[ooc]Flurry[/ooc]
[dice=+1 Unarmed Strike]1d20+10[/dice]
[dice=Damage]1d8+11[/dice]

[dice=+1 Unarmed Strike]1d20+10[/dice]
[dice=Damage]1d8+11[/dice]

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[ooc]Flurry/Power Attack[/ooc]
[dice=+1 Unarmed Strike]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Damage]1d8+15[/dice]

[dice=+1 Unarmed Strike]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Damage]1d8+15[/dice]

---------------------------------------------------

[dice=Rend]2d6[/dice]

Jakob Jones
Male human Brawler("Back Alley Boxer") 4th
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +8 (+6 when further than 10 feet from a fallen ally)
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Defense
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AC 20, touch 20, flat-footed 16 (+2 Dex/+1 armor/+1 dodge/+6 Defense bonus)
hp 64 (4d10+16Con+4feat+4fc)
Fort +11 (+4base/+4con/+1resist/+1racial/+1trait) (+2 trait vs. poison/drugs, +4 vs. alcohol; +2 racial vs. poison, spells, sla)
Ref +7 (+4base/+2dex/+1resist)
Will +5 (+1base/+1will/+2feat/+1resist) (+2 trait vs. charm, compulsion, and fear)

Defense Bonus +6
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee Unarmed strike +12 (1d8+11) or
. . Unarmed strike flurry of blows +10/+10 (1d8+11)
. . mwk brass knuckles +12 (1d4+7/×3) or
. . mwk brass knuckles flurry of blows +10/+10 (1d3+10/×3)
(-2 to attack when further than 10' from fallen ally)
Special Attacks Brawler's flurry, maneuver training (trip +1), martial flexibility 5/day
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Statistics
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Str 17/20(+2@1st/+1@4th), Dex 15, Con 18, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 12
Base Atk: +4
CMB: +10: (+11 Bull Rush, +12 Disarm, +11 Drag, +12 Grapple, +11 Reposistion, +13 Trip)
CMD: 28/25ff: (29 vs. Bull Rush, 30 vs. Disarm, 29 vs. Drag, 30 vs. Grapple, 29 vs. Reposition, 31 vs. Trip)

17,15,18,12,12,12 = 86
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Feats
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Brawler bonus Feats: (1st): Improved Unarmed Strike; (2nd):Weapon focus(Close Weapons)
Bonus feats: Toughness(Racial trait)
EiTR feats: Combat Expertise, Power Attack, Deadly Aim
Level gained feats: (1st): Deft Maneuvers, Intimidating Prowess, Iron Will(Human bonus); (2nd): Unimpeachable Honor; (3rd): Boar Style; (4th): Weapon Specialization(Close Weapons)

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Bonus Racial Traits(Dwarven)
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Hardy: Dwarves receive a +2 racial bonus on saving throws against poison, spells, and spell-like abilities.
Unstoppable: Some dwarves train from a young age to outlast orcs on the battlefield. They gain Toughness as a bonus feat and a +1 racial bonus on Fortitude saves.

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Traits
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Faith Unshakable and Unassailable(counts as 2 traits): Your dedication to your ideals is stronger than steel. You gain a +2 trait bonus on Will saves against charm, compulsion, and fear effects.
Iron Liver: Due to a lucky constitution or frequent exposure, your body is resistant to poison, including alcohol and drugs. You gain a +2 trait bonus on Fortitude saves against poison and drugs, and a +4 trait bonus on Fortitude saves to avoid the effects of alcohol.
Rugged Athlete: Whether simply “born of exceptional stock” or you spent your youth in strenuous physical activity, you are now ‘fit as a fiddle’. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Fortitude saves. In addition, you gain a +2 trait bonus on Athletic checks, and Constitution checks to prevent fatigue. In addition, you can hold your breath for a number of rounds equal to 3 times your Constitution score (54 rnds).

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Drawback:
-----------------
Overprotective

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Skills: 26 rnks(2 to Background)
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Acrobatics +9: (+4rnk/+2dex/+3cs)
Athletics +14: (+4rnk/+5str/+3cs/+2trait)
Bluff +2: (+2cha)
Diplomacy +1: (+1cha)
Disguise +1: (+1cha)
Drive: +7: (+2rnks/+2dex/+3cs)
Escape Artist +6: (+1rnk/+2dex/+3cs)
Intimidate +13: (+4rnk/+1cha/+3cs/+5feat)
Knowledge: (Local) +6: (+3rnk/+3cs)
Perception +8: (+4rnk/+1wis/+3cs)
Ride +3: (+3dex)
Sense Motive +8: (+4rnk/+1wis/+3cs)
Stealth +2: (+2dex)
Survival +1: (+1wis)

-------------------------------------------------------------
Background skills: 10 rnks(2 from Skills)
-------------------------------------------------------------
Craft(Mechanical) +8: (+2rnk/+1int/+3cs/+2mwk tools)
Profession (Bouncer) +8: (+4rnk/+1wis/+3cs)
Profession (barkeep) +8: (+4rnk/+1wis/+3cs)

(-2 to all skills when further than 10 feet from a fallen ally)

Languages: English, German
SQ: brawler's cunning, martial training, overprotective

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Gear
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Artisan's tools, Mwk(Craft: Mechanical); oil (x10); dart (x20), mwk brass knuckles, mwk brass knuckles, canteen (x2), masterwork backpack, waterproof bullseye lantern[UE], waterproof hooded lantern, whale oil (x20)

-----------------------------------------------
"Back Alley Boxer" Abilities
-----------------------------------------------
Brawler’s Cunning (Ex): If the brawler’s Intelligence score is less than 13, it counts as 13 for the purpose of meeting the prerequisites of combat feats.
Martial Flexibility (move action, 5/day)(Ex): A brawler can take a move action to gain the benefit of a combat feat she doesn’t possess. This effect lasts for 1 minute. The brawler must meet all the feat’s prerequisites. She may use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + 1/2 her brawler level (minimum 1). The brawler can use this ability again before the duration expires in order to replace the previous combat feat with another choice.
Martial Training (Ex): At 1st level, a brawler counts her total brawler levels as both fighter levels and monk levels for the purpose of qualifying for feats. She also counts as both a fighter and a monk for feats and magic items that have different effects based on whether the character has levels in those classes (such as Stunning Fist and a monk’s robe). This ability does not automatically grant feats normally granted to fighters and monks based on class level, namely Stunning Fist.
Unarmed Strike (1d8): At 1st level, a brawler gains Improved Unarmed Strike as a bonus feat. A brawler may attack with fists, elbows, knees, and feet. This means that a brawler may make unarmed strikes with her hands full. A brawler applies her full Strength modifier (not half ) on damage rolls for all her unarmed strikes.
Brawler’s Flurry +2/+2 (Ex): Starting at 2nd level, a brawler can make a brawler’s flurry as a full-attack action. When doing so, a brawler has the Two-Weapon Fighting feat when attacking with any combination of unarmed strikes, weapons from the close fighter weapon group, or weapons with the “monk” special feature. She does not need to use two different weapons to use this ability.
. . .A brawler applies her full Strength modifier to her damage rolls for all attacks made with brawler’s flurry, whether the attacks are made with an off-hand weapon or a weapon wielded in both hands. A brawler can substitute disarm, sunder, and trip combat maneuvers for unarmed attacks as part of brawler’s flurry. A brawler with natural weapons can’t use such weapons as part of brawler’s flurry, nor can she make natural weapon attacks in addition to her brawler’s flurry attacks.
Maneuver Training (Trip +1) (Ex): At 3rd level, a brawler can select one combat maneuver to receive additional training. She gains a +1 bonus on combat maneuver checks when performing that combat maneuver and a +1 bonus to her CMD when defending against that maneuver. At 7th level and every 4 levels thereafter, the brawler becomes further trained in another combat maneuver, gaining the above +1 bonus combat maneuver checks and to CMD. In addition, the bonuses granted by all previous maneuver training increase by 1 each.
AC Bonus +1 (Ex): At 4th level, when a brawler wears light or no armor, she gains a +1 dodge bonus to AC and CMD. This bonus increases by 1 at 9th, 13th, and 18th levels. These bonuses to AC apply against touch attacks. She loses these bonuses while immobilized or helpless, wearing medium or heavy armor, or carrying a medium or heavy load.
Knockout (1/day DC 17) (Ex): At 4th level, once per day a brawler can unleash a devastating attack that can instantly knock a target unconscious. She must announce this intent before making her attack roll. If the brawler hits and the target takes damage from the blow, the target must succeed at a Fortitude saving throw (DC = 10 + 1/2 the brawler’s level + the higher of the brawler’s Strength or Dexterity modifier) or fall unconscious for 1d6 rounds. Each round on its turn, the unconscious target may attempt a new saving throw to end the effect as a full round action that does not provoke attacks of opportunity. Creatures immune to critical hits or nonlethal damage are immune to this ability.

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Brawler(Fighter Archetype) Abilities
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Close Control +1(Ex): At 2nd level, a brawler becomes skilled at forcefully moving his opponent around the battlefield. The brawler gains a +1 bonus on bull rush, drag, and reposition combat maneuver checks. The brawler also gains a +1 bonus to CMD when attacked with the bull rush, drag, and reposition maneuvers. These bonuses increase by +1 for every four levels after 2nd (to a maximum of +5 at 18th level).

Close Combatant +1/+3 (Ex): At 3rd level, a brawler gains a +1 bonus on attack rolls and a +3 bonus on damage rolls with weapons in the close weapon group. Both of these bonuses increase by +1 for every four levels beyond 3rd (to a maximum of +5 on attack rolls and +7 on damage rolls at 19th level).

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Special Abilities
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Deft Maneuvers (Combat): You do not provoke an attack of opportunity when performing a trip or disarm combat maneuver. In addition, you receive a +2 bonus on checks with trip and disarm combat maneuvers, and you can make a Bluff check to feint in combat as a move action. You also receive a +2 bonus to your Combat Maneuver Defense whenever an opponent tries to trip or disarm you.
Dragon Style (Combat, Style): While using this style, you gain a +2 bonus on saving throws against sleep effects, paralysis effects, and stunning effects. You ignore difficult terrain when you charge, run, or withdraw. You can also charge through squares that contain allies. Further, you can add 1-1/2 times your Strength bonus on the damage roll for your first unarmed strike on a given round.
Unarmed Combatant Fighting unarmed gives you a +2 to grapple or defend against a grapple.
Unimpeachable Honor: Whenever you are under the effects of a charm or compulsion effect and would be compelled to take an action that violates your fundamental nature, explicitly violates the strictures of your religion, or would be an act of an alignment that directly opposes your own (for instance, a chaotic or evil act if you are lawful good), you gain a +4 bonus on any saving throw or opposed Charisma check to resist that command or break free from the effect. Whenever you are compelled to attack an ally, you take a –4 penalty on your attack rolls and damage rolls.

The Year: 1935

"Hey, Jonesy! Another round if you would for me and the boys!" Henry calls out, a long-time friend of Jakob's.

The large, muscular fellow with a shaved head behind the counter simply nods. Grabbing several glasses, he double-checks their cleanliness and catches one with a spot on it and proceeds to wipe it off with his sleeve. After filling them up and handing them to Olivia - one of the waitresses - "Make sure he tips you well, luv. Mainly the one with the big mouth," he tells her, giving a tired smile.

During all of this, a woman at the bar watches the entire episode. She grins while shaking her head. She then says to the large man, "You know, you could do a lot better than this, Jakob. You were a lot better than this once upon a time, dear, and still could be."

Wiping off the bar as she speaks, he glances over at her and says plainly, "I could also do a lot worse. And once upon a time was a long time ago, Bella. You and I both know, there's no going back." He grabs another glass and begins wiping it clean.

Losing herself in thought a moment, she takes another drink before changing the subject. "You know, all that's been going on here of late, aren't you the least bit concerned? Folks are talking as if he's back. They never did find his body. Of course, it has been ten years and not a peep, but who's to say, you know?" she says, taking a sip of her drink.

Pausing a moment, his jaw clenches as he works to control his anger. "I know how long it's been, Isabella," he says, clearly still aggravated. "And there isn't a lot I can do about it right now, is there? Especially, seeing how we don't even know if it's true or not." Scanning the few customers they have, he sets the glass down and leans upon the bar before leaning in close and saying, "To tell you the truth, Isabella, I hope this wanker is back, and he does pick me. That'll at least bring 'im out in the open. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally put an end to this nightmare once and for all." The anger in his voice is evident - an emotion he rarely shows - as his jaw remains clenched.

Running a finger around the rim of her glass, and realizing too late she hit a sore spot, "I'm sorry, Jakob. I didn't mean... I'm just concerned, is all. What if he gets to you when you least expect it? We don't know what he looks like, don't know his name, where he's from. There's nothing on him, Jakob. That idiotic tabloid The Daily Mirror just called him 'Jack' so people would think 'Ripper' and they'd sell more papers."

Sighing as he returns to cleaning the glass, "No one lives forever, luv. I've nothin' left to lose anyway," he says in a matter-of-fact tone, putting up the glass before wiping down the bar.

Oh Jonesy, dear, you're not fooling anyone, she thinks to herself, taking another drink.

The night had wrapped up earlier than usual at the Horn of Plenty, as had the last several. Business was getting slower again, people were scared. Bloody fearmongering will get the best of business. It was true that two of the ladybirds who worked the street had gone missing, but they could have been locked up or simply run off. What were their names? Bridgette and Aislyn, right. And that one bloke had been found dead, spiked on a lamplighter's pole. Wealthy businessmen, they had said, presumably in the area chasing a nasty taste, and ran into the wrong gang. But it couldn't be Bloody Jack, could it? He’d taken so much from me....

Gathering his things as he closes up for the night, Jakob heads home, lantern in his hand, and his mind wandering back to a time that feels like forever ago...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------
The morning light spilled into the room as the curtains were opened wide. Jakob had to shield his eyes from the bright sun. "Rise and shine, my darling. It is a beautiful morning," Elizabeth said, her British accent clean and proper. Her long black hair flowed down to her lower back. She wore a beaming smile that lit up her beautiful, big, hazel-colored eyes.

Jakob gave a half-smile as he was still trying to wake up. "Lizzy, my luv, come back to bed. It's still early. I just want to sleep a bit more." His accent being slightly on the rougher side as he turns on his side, facing away from her. "Just a bit more, is all," he says with a sleepy voice.

Sighing, "Now, darling, I think this is a lovely day for a picnic. It's not raining for once, so we should take advantage." She crawls back into bed and lies against him, her arm around the big fella, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "C'mon, Jakob, it'll be fun. Just you and me, out and about. Think of how jealous everyone will be when they see you with your lovely bride." She grins wryly.

Grinning himself, as he turns his eyes up in her direction, "Humble much, my luv?" he asks, still grinning. Turning over to face her, he pushes back a lock of hair that's fallen across her face. "You are quite the lovely bride, aren't you, my luv."

She gives a confident nod, grinning playfully. "I *believe* that is what I said, my darling husband."

Jakob moves his hands down to her side, right above her hips, and starts tickling her!

Elizabeth laughs and yells, "Stop, Jakob! Stop it! Stop it!" and pummels him playfully until Jakob finally relents as he's tired of getting beaten. "That ought to teach you," he tells her, smiling as he rises out of bed. "Okay, my luv. Let's go on your picnic so I can show the world my lovely bride. Not sure why all of the sudden you want to go on a picnic, but okay." He shrugs.

With a magnificent smile, "Yay!" she celebrates, giving an excited clap.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------

Jakob continues to make his way home. Nearly there, he glances around out of habit before mentally returning to a more peaceful time...

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Lying on his back with his hands behind his head as they enjoy the pleasant day, Jakob looks up at Elizabeth as she sits next to him, her arms around her knees, appearing to be lost in thought.

Looking curiously upon her, "What is it, my luv? What are you thinking on?"

Taking a deep breath, she looks down at Jakob, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, there's something I've been meaning to tell you and this just happens to be the perfect time."

Still confused, and a little concerned, "Um... okay. What is it? What's on your mind?"

Pushing her hair behind her ear, "I'm pregnant, Jakob. We're going to have a baby." She tells him with a beaming smile.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jakob arrives at his door and stops and stares. Just stares for the longest time...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------
Walking home from a long day at work, his lantern in hand, Jakob nears his humble abode. Not thirty yards out, he notices a tall, thin person, exit out his front door. Fear rises in the large man as his heart begins to race, while the hair on the back of his neck rises. "Hey. Hey, you!"

The tall man pauses, stares directly at Jakob but his face could not be seen. Between the nighttime and him being covered in all black, Jakob could make out nothing of the intruder. The tall man begins to move again, picking up his pace.

"HEY, YOU! STOP!" Jakob starts running toward him before stopping and looking at his open front door. Quickly glancing between the unknown man and his house, he swears under his breath and runs full out toward his house. Giving the door a forceful shove the rest of the way open, he stops for a lone second, noticing the house in disarray.

Ignoring it all, he raises his lantern and extends it out to get a better view. "Lizzy! Lizzy! Where are you?! Are you okay, my luv?!" Jakob's heart is racing even harder, he finds himself having a difficult time breathing, his level of fear far beyond anything he's ever felt in his life. Moving to the bedroom, the moonlight shines through the window, and he sees Elizabeth lying on the bed... barely breathing.

Running over to her, he notices the blood clearly now. It's everywhere and his eyes go wide. "LIZZY! NO! PLEASE NO!" Quickly taking her up in his arms, he pushes her hair back from her face, noticing her breathing is becoming more shallow. "Lizzy. Please, Lizzy, don't die, my luv. Please." The tears flow freely down the large man's face.

"Jakob... Is that you?" She manages through labored breath, her eyes open but apparently unable to see.

Through the tears, "Yes, my luv. It's me. It's me. I'm here. I'm here holding my lovely bride. I'm right here." He takes her hand and places it on his tear-streaked cheek, holding it there.

"Oh, Jakob... my darling," she mutters, managing to give his cheek a light stroke before her final breath escapes her, her body going limp.

"Lizzy? Lizzy? LIZZY?! MY LUV?!?!" Shaking his head furiously, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" he yells ferally, sobbing. He draws her in close and holds her tight, stroking her hair lovingly, never wanting to let go.

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Standing outside his door, Jakob's eyes become slightly watery. He rubs them with a finger before walking in. It's been 10 years. There is no way he's back... is there? Why can't this just be over? The thoughts chased through his mind as he closes the door behind him.

May 10th, 1925
Shadow boxing, Jakob sweats profusely as he readies for his upcoming bout. An older man walks into his dressing room, about middle-aged, short, stocky, sporting a whitish/reddish beard, and leans against the wall before crossing his arms, watching and waiting.

Keeping to his routine and without missing a beat, "What's up, Mickey? Is it showtime?"

Sighing, "Aye. It is, lad. Are ya ready?" he asks, his Irish accent coming through clear.

With a few more rapid jabs to the air, he stops and wipes at the sweat with the towel around his neck before cutting his attention to his manager. "You know I am, Mick. This bloke is nothin'. And I know he's caught a couple of second-place finishes - not sure how, but whatever - but that's still second place. And when I do finish him off, it'll be huge for me. That's gonna get me to the next level. This is what we've been waitin' for, Mick." He gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder while grinning. "It'll actually be good for both me and Lizzy. With the money involved that comes with fighting better talent, I can take care of her better. It'll be good."

Mick sighs, scratching at his beard while he's mentally focused somewhere else.

Narrowing his eyes at the older man, "What is it, Mick? Why you actin' all dodgy? Somethin' wrong?"

Sighing heavily, he looks up at his protégé and grins weakly. "Ummm, I don't know, lad. Have ya heard the odds between you two?"

Taking the towel and wiping it across his forehead and face, Jakob shakes his head. "No. Why?"

"Well, laddie, the odds are extremely favorable for you."

Narrowing his eyes as he ponders that for a moment, "Well... okay. So what's your point?"

"Well, if I were ta put money on ya, I'd barely win a few shillings."

Still not understanding, and starting to get a little irritated, "Spit it out, Mick. Stop dancin' around and tell me what it is you're tryin' to say. I don't get your point."

Sighing again, Mickey decides to quit beating around the bush. "Okay, here it is, lad. With the odds stacked in yer favor, if somebody were ta bet on Hans Schönrath, then they'd win a small fortune. And there are those dodgy types out there - dodgy types who might be considered quite dangerous - who would love ta make that kind of money. Basically what I'm sayin' is, I was contacted by these so-called 'dodgy types', Jakob, and they're wantin' me ta ask you ta throw the fight." Mickey's heart drops at the poisonous words he just spoke. Never in his life would he ever have Jakob throw a fight, but these people scared him, and he feared for Jakob.

With an incredulous look, "Throw the fight?! No way in Hell I'm throwin' the fight, Mick. You can forget it! This is my big break! My chance to move up and, in turn, be able to take care of Lizzy far better. You can forget it."

Rolling his eyes in frustration, "Look, lad, I'm just concerned about ya is all. There is no way in all the world I'd ever ask ya ta do somethin' like that if I wasn't a bit worried about what these people might do. They scare me, lad. And rumor has it that," he looks around out of habit, lowering his voice, "Hitler is behind it. Or possibly one of his people. Doesn't really matter, either way, it all leads to some bad people. Did ya hear that he was released from prison just a few months ago? Right around Nollaig(Christmas), he was."

Not having any of it, "Hitler can sod off. He's nothing more than a prat anyway. No idea how he got out so early after being sentenced to 5 years, but I'll not be throwin' the fight, Mick. Not for him, not for anyone. I won't do it."

With another heavy sigh, "Ya know, I didn't expect ya to, lad. And I don't blame ya. But I will ask ya this: Just think about it. That's all. The ONLY reason I ask ya is because I have a bad feelin' about this. There's something about this that don't add up and I'm worried for yer safety, Jakob. So all I'm gonna ask is ya think about it."

With a look of defiance, Jakob takes a moment or two to think about it before, "Fine. I'll think about it. But no promises, Mick."

Nodding, "That's all I ask."

As Jakob enters the ring, "Yay! Jakob!" he hears to his right. Looking over, he sees Elizabeth near the front row cheering for him. Smiling, he gives her a wink before noticing two men a few seats behind her staring at him. Both were looking quite 'official'. They didn't appear to be your typical boxing fans. "Hey, Mick, who are the suits?" He gives a nod in their direction.

Mick takes a quick glance before, "Doesn't matter, lad. Just well-dressed lads, I guess, who are probably lost. You get all kinds o' weird ones in here."

Jakob stares a moment before eventually nodding. "Yeah... I guess so."

He then turns his focus upon his opponent... Hans Schönrath. He's not nearly as built as Jakob, but he is taller. Jakob has no concern about losing to this guy, but the thought of throwing the fight to him troubles him immensely. The idea of throwing any fight troubles him immensely, but to this guy? His stomach churns at the thought.

When the ref calls them forward and explains the rules, Hans grins cockily at Jakob. "Ich werde dich brechen, Junge." [Translation: "I'm going to break you, boy."]

With a wry grin and an incredulous look, "Are you aware that the betting odds are in my favor? Probably not because you're daft. Let me explain it to you. EVERYBODY thinks I'm going to win. Which means NOBODY thinks you're going to win. So, good luck with all that 'breaking me' bit."

Moving to their respective corners, they both await the bell. Looking over at Mickey, his manager and long-time friend, he simply gives him a nod. Just as Jakob nods back...

The bell sounds! And Jakob and Hans head toward each other and begin. In the first round, Jakob throws a couple of quick jabs, working to understand Hans' tendencies. They both get a few decent shots in on the other, but not enough to make any difference. The round ends and Jakob returns to his corner. "Dang, Mick, this guy is a joke. I could probably kill him."

Shaking his head, "Don't do that, lad. Just... don't do that."

Jakob looks at his manager and simply says, "You got it, captain."

Round 2 comes and goes. A few more punches were traded, but nothing of significance. Jakob finds himself in inner turmoil on whether or not to throw the fight, and has a hard time getting into the match.

Round 3 is pretty much the same.

Rounds 4, 5, and 6 barely differ. While punches were being traded in every round, it was nothing Jakob couldn't handle. Hans, on the other hand, while still up, was looking weary. Not to mention he suffered a cut above his right eye where Jakob snuck in a decent shot on him. This bloke is a COMPLETE joke. I could destroy him. Gah! I hate this. No wonder they want me to lose. Whoever put money on this guy could probably buy all of bloody England with the winnings if the odds are as profitable as Mickey says they are.

The crowd seemed perplexed. They couldn't understand why Jakob wasn't his usual aggressive self. After Round 7 came and went, a frustrated Jakob, and an even more weary Hans, were now hearing the boos. As he sits in his corner waiting on the next round, he looks around at all the boo birds. So torn over his dilemma, he looks over at Mickey, who can only shrug. He then notices the two men in the suits still watching. Not cheering, not booing, not doing anything. Just sitting and watching as if they're waiting for... something.

Once again, his attention is drawn off to his left, "C'mon, Jakob, you can do it! I know you can, my darling!" Elizabeth cheers, smiling and clapping. A big smile forms on the "British Bomber" - as he's been called - and he takes a deep breath, ready for the next round.

Taking notice of the exchange between the two, Hans narrows his eyes.

As the bell rings, both rise and move to the center, the ref grabs their gloves and readies them to fight.

With a jerkified grin, "Wenn ich dich besiege, Junge, dann werde ich wohl deine hübsche kleine Dame ausführen und ihr einen richtigen Mann zeigen." [Translation: "When I beat you, boy, I'm going to take that pretty little lady of yours out and show her a real man."]

With a clenched jaw, Jakob stares daggers at Hans. When the ref tells them to touch gloves, Jakob punches his gloves into Hans' gloves so strongly, it rocks the German back a few steps, and Hans, all of a sudden, finds himself a little concerned. The shots he's taken from Jakob are felt keenly. What concerns him most is that he also knows that Jakob has been pulling his punches. And he finds himself confused because he was told he was going to win.

Jakob steps back and waits for the bell, while Hans looks a little lost. Jakob cracks his neck from one side to the other, and the bell rings. Clapping his gloves together, Jakob moves in. Dodging a shot to the face from a mighty right by Hans - which was more pathetic than mighty - Jakob found an easy opening. One of many he's found and has ignored, but this one... this one he did not ignore. With Hans missing so horribly and leaving himself wide open, Jakob takes advantage and blasts him with a strong right to his midsection before launching a nasty left uppercut to the chin, dropping Hans like a rock. The crowd explodes into a roar as Hans hits the deck. "Still waiting on that beating, Hans! Don't you lie to me! GET UP!" Jakob yells at Hans over the crowd.

Lying on the canvas, Hans hears something coming from Jakob but he can't quite make it out with his brain addled like it is. He struggles to regain his senses. He looks over and sees the rope. Reaching out, he grabs it with his left glove and uses it to help him rise.

Jakob paces back and forth while remaining focused on his opponent, who is slowly climbing the ropes and works to gather his senses. The ref continues to count before confirming with Hans if he is ready to fight. Hans takes a look over at his manager, who eyes him angrily. Hans then looks back to the ref and reluctantly nods.

Jakob looks over at Hans' manager, then at Hans, seeing the trepidation in his face, then he looks over at the two men in suits, noticing they remain impassive.

"Fight!" says the ref, moving out of the way.

Jakob slaps his gloves together, and the crowd gets into it. They are yelling, Bomber! Bomber! Bomber! Jakob walks straight at Hans with a purpose, his gloves down by his side. Hans sees it and swings with a sloppy right straight for his head, but Jakob dodges that easily to his right. Hans quickly swings again with his left! Jakob ducks that one.

"Still waiting!" Jakob taunts, shrugging.

Hans is tired. With the shots he's taking all night - even though they were pulled punches - they've still taken their toll, not to mention the fatigue becoming worse, and that last punch now has him nervous. He thinks his jaw might be cracked. Hans then tries to hit him with multiple jabs, jabs that have no real speed or power to them, but he gives it his all. It almost feels like a last-ditch effort by the tall German. A right, left, right, left, right, left - all blocked by the British Bomber or knocked aside. Quite easily, too. An uppercut with the right - Jakob dodges to his right - quickly followed by a left hook to the gut, which connects somehow!

"Good one! You still got some work ahead of you, wanker. My turn." Jakob bull rushes him into the corner. Hans doesn't expect it and fights to keep his feet as his back slams against the corner pole.

Once Jakob has got him pinned, Jakob takes a step back and quickly explodes into a flurry of attacks! A strong punch to the gut, which Hans partially blocks, but he can't catch up with the left to the face. That one rattles the tall German as a tooth goes flying, along with some blood. Unfortunately for the big German, he has no time to recover. Jakob then connects with a strong right, left, right, left to the midsection. Hans feels like he's getting hit with bricks, so he works to keep his face and midsection covered, but he just can't. The pain to his midsection is overwhelming; he's positive he now has broken ribs, as Jakob continues to blast body blow after body blow. Hans throws a meaningless punch, which leads nowhere.

Hans knows he's beaten. He just doesn't know how badly.

Unable to take the body blows any longer, Hans finally moves to protect himself from them, and Jakob sees the opening and launches a raging uppercut straight for his chin once again. Hans tries to move quickly to block it but he's just too slow. It connects solidly. Hans' head whips back violently, losing all grip on reality, and he's headed straight for the canvas.

With nowhere to go but down, Jakob does not allow it. He quickly shoves a forearm in the chest of his opponent and holds him up against the corner pole before blasting his face with his right, again and again and again and again and again... each one with a greater fury, taking the words of the tall German and making him pay for every single one of them.

Jakob refuses to relent as the crowd continues to roar in exultation. Blood starts flying out of Hans' mouth, his left eye is swollen shut, his jaw is shattered, his cheekbone is shattered, yet Jakob continues pummeling him until the ref finally intervenes and calls the fight.

Hans collapses to the ground, face first, his body twitching, as Jakob is forced away. "Still waiting!" Jakob screams at his opponent, bending over to make sure he hears him. Walking towards his corner while looking back, "Freaking git," he mutters seeing how he really can't be heard through the noise of the crowd anyway.

Making it to his corner, "Sorry, Mick, I almost made it. I just couldn't do it anymore."

Taking a deep breath through the nose, "It's alright. Yer good, kid. Yer real good. Yer gonna be great," he tells him, his tone sounding worrisome. Jakob gives a half-smile, unable to avoid that nagging feeling that he might've messed up.

Jakob then cuts his attention over to Elizabeth, who looks at him a little disapprovingly and somewhat sadly. Terribly dejected by that, Oh man, do I have some explaining to do. Gah. I've got to learn to control my anger. He mouths the words, *I'm sorry,* to her before looking back at Hans, who is still lying on the mat but does appear to be alive. They do have him turned over on his back now, checking to make sure he's okay. He notices that Hans is awake but looks to be having a hard time speaking with his face nearly shattered. Well, at least he's not dead.

He then looks over at where the two well-dressed men were seated and notices they have already left.

With his backpack over his right shoulder, Jakob, Elizabeth and Mickey exit the building. Not ten feet from the exit, several men move out of the shadows. Jakob stops and holds out a hand to halt the other two. "Mick, Lizzy, both of you go back inside and lock the door."

With a look of concern, "But, lad..."

"Jakob, no. Let's just leave." The fear in Elizabeth's voice clearly evident.

Looking back at them, "Now! Both of you! Just do what I tell you! Please!" he implores them.

Looking around at the five strangers, Mickey nods and quickly retreats inside, allowing Elizabeth to enter first before following, locking the door as instructed.

Once Mickey is safely away, Jakob turns his attention back to the strangers who have all moved closer to Jakob. Moving his backpack from his right to his left shoulder, "You blokes don't want to do this." Interesting. None have weapons. Not here to kill me? Jakob looks past them, noticing in the distance a person clad in black, half-seen by the part of him that resides within the light of the lamp post. Narrowing his eyes, And who are you? And why are you just standing there? Studying, perhaps?

"I'm 'fraid it's you, mister. You've gone and done sumpin' stoopid. We were told you might. And 'that's why we are 'ere." He rubs his fists, preparing for a fight.

Looking to his left, his right, and behind him, Jakob assesses the situation. "There are five of you and only one of me. Count six if you count the one near that streetlamp. Hardly seems fair."

The cockneyed speaker looks behind him, noticing the one clad in black before turning back to Jakob. Shrugging, "Don't know that one, friend. But it don't matter. We know you."

With a half-hearted chuckle, "Okay, boys, if that's how you want to play it. I'll give you 'til the count of 3 to leave out of here in one piece. After that, it's on you." Jakob glances around and notices no one appears to be leaving, and as a matter-of-fact, they all appear to be waiting for him to count to three.

"Suit yourself. One," and Jakob quickly strikes the 'speaker' with a shot to the throat! who is now fighting to just breathe.

In the same breath, Jakob lets his backpack fall off his shoulder, down his arm, where he catches the strap with his hand, and swings it hard from left to right, catching Thug #2 - who is directly to his right - right square in the head, dropping the backpack in the process, and knocking Thug #2 to the ground.

Continuing his circle, Thug #3 - the one directly behind him - comes in with an all-out punch to the face. Jakob counterattacks with a strong headbutt aimed directly at his fist. When the two collide, you can hear the thug's hand crack, causing him to yell in pain.

Thug #4 catches Jakob with a left to the side of his face, while Thug #5 gives him a shot in the back around the kidney area. Jakob goes into defense mode as Thug #4 comes back hard with a right, which Jakob dodges easily. He snags the exposed arm around the wrist area with his right hand, uses that momentum to pull him and use him as a shield to block an incoming kick coming from Thug #1(The speaker), before launching an angry left toward Thug #4's elbow while pulling his arm toward him at the same time, shattering his elbow as it now bends the wrong way. Thug #4's scream was ear-piercing.

The other four thugs now hesitate. That was a mistake. Because Jakob did not. Stepping on Thug #4's body as he lies on the ground, weeping in pain, Jakob leaps off of him, towards the speaker(Thug #1) and lands a kick to the face, breaking and bloodying his nose, knocking him down and leaving him writhing in pain. It would appear that Jakob did not crush his larynx. He immediately turns around and chooses Thug #3, the one with the broken hand, and charges.

Not knowing what to do or which way to go, Thug #3 prepares to grab Jakob as he nears. Jakob can't help but think to himself, Man, these blokes are stupid.

Jakob plows into him, sending them both to the ground, the hefty Jakob knocking the wind out of the thug. Placing his forearm on his throat, Jakob manages several mighty punches right to his face. His nose was splattered, his eye was swelling shut quickly, and you could hear his cheekbone crack. Unconsciousness now overtakes him.

The next thing Jakob knows, though, is he's getting kicked in the face, which bloodies his mouth, and gives Thug #5 some confidence. The kicks keep coming. One to the ribs. And then another. And another. Jakob rolls off the unconscious Thug #3 and lands on his back. Thug #5 stays on him. He quickly follows and is about to step right on Jakob's face. As soon as his foot gets near, Jakob rolls a full rotation to his right, and does a kip up, quickly going into a defensive posture.

Which was a good idea, seeing how Thug #5 was coming right at him with another kick, who figured he had an advantage. But he was about to find out he didn't. Jakob catches the leg with his left, grabs his ankle with both hands, and holds it in the air, forcing the thug to hop on one leg to keep his balance. "You know, I think your buddies have given up on you." With his heel in his right hand, Jakob pulls him forward and blasts him with a left to the nose, busting and bloodying his nose too. The thug covers his face as he hollers in pain, and when he does, Jakob sweeps the thug's other leg out from under him... who then hits the ground with a thud. Flipping him over on his stomach, Jakob takes the man's ankle and breaks it, leaving him writhing and screaming in pain.

Not really wanting to listen to it, Jakob flips him back over and leans down, blasting him with a massive right to his face, knocking him out.

Rising and placing a hand on his sore ribs, he glances all around, noticing Thug #2 still lying there. With a curious look, "I just smacked him with my pack. Is he still out?" Jakob goes over there and gives him a boot to the gut, which causes the thug to jump in fear. "Don't kill me, please! They offered us money and told us what we must do! If we didn't... well, we had no choice! Just don't kill me, pleeeeeeease!" He pleads, weeping.

"Shut up! Freaking cry-baby. Who hired you? Tell me!"

Spooked badly by his yelling, "We don't know who they were! We don't know. A couple of guys in suits. They sounded German. I don't know. They came across as not to be messed with. They really didn't look like boxing fans."

"But you thought it was okay to mess with me?" Jakob asks incredulously.

Shrugging, "There were five of us. I mean, c'mon, odds were in our favor."

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "No, they weren't." Sighing, "Get your buddies and get out of here. And if I ever see you wankers back here again... well, just never let me see you back here again. Understood?"

Thug #2 bobs his head emphatically, quickly rising and looking around at the carnage. Not knowing what to do, he takes off into the night, forgetting about the rest of them.

Watching the man flee, Who were those guys in the suits? And the guy by the streetlamp? Jakob looks back in the direction of the streetlamp.

The tall stranger was gone.