faderift | THE FIRST RULE ABOUT FIGHT CLUB IS THAT THIS ISN'T FIGHT CLUB

WHO:Eshal and EVERYBODY, you're all invited. You don't have to have expressed interest oocly or icly before now to participate!
WHAT: The first inaugural Riftwatch underground boxing tournament... thing.
WHEN: Feel free to hit this up whenever, presumably it's taking place at various times over the month.
WHERE: The back room of the Boar & Bat pub.
NOTES: Violence! Gambling! Anything worse than that, I'll let you know.

The back room of the pub is no special beauty, but it's workable. A dirt floor, a bar with drinks and a bartender, and a circle drawn in the middle with chalk. Eshal is on the side, acting as referee for matches, and moving through the crowd in between bouts. She's convivial, crassly cheerful, and, at 6'2", impossible to miss.

But perhaps most notable is the sign stolen from the front, and pinned to the wall, in clear view of the crowd. Beneath it, someone has scrawled into the wall: LEAVE SOBER.

(credit to Beka for the wonderful sign!)

THE MATCHES

It's time to fight! The rules are simple, as outlined by Eshal and her booming voice at the beginning of every match:

No kicking. No punching below the belt. No hitting while they're down. Stop when the referee says so. First person who can't get back up after a five count loses.

She also introduces each participant to the crowd. She gives their name (or whatever name they gave her, if you want to go under a pseudonym), and a fact about them, perhaps ...a little made up. Nothing terrible, but always something to spice up the match. Are you fighting an elf? She may imply you have something against elves. Are you rich? She may imply your opponent has a grudge against Hightown. Little things.

(Feel free to godmod what she says as needed for comedy or plotting, but keep in mind it wouldn't be outright derogatory or obviously insulting. Just some slight implication to spice things up.)

THE BETTING

Are you a bookie? Are you making bets? Time to make some money.

Feel free to handwave who's fighting or who's the crowd favorite, what the odds are, etc. Don't get too bogged down in the details. Just remember: People love betting, and bookies get a cut. It pays to know the odds.

For those betting? Sometimes you win big. Sometimes you lose. Try and be polite about it.

THE SPECTATING

It's time to just sit back and watch the fight. Boo or cheer. Who's your favorite? Your least favorite?

Or maybe you're here for another reason. Gossip, making connections, pick-pocketing... Plenty of people here, plenty of connections to make... or you could just get drunk.

IN GENERAL

Hey, just have fun. In the future, there might be signups or more complex structures for the fights, but for now, let's just be chill and punch each other senseless.

Top level and comment around, fight whoever you want or handwave; there are presumably NPCs fighting and betting, make them up as needed for your threads. Please note if you're okay with threadjacking and etc.

Let me know if you need Eshal to step in as a referee (PM, whatever)! And note: She will not be fighting, just making herself very visible as the ref.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

SPECTATING

Acclimating to Kirkwall after so long on his own, with nothing but sporadic stops in populated areas and mostly darkspawn for company, is going to be a challenge. Ellis' presence at the fight is partly for the entertainment, and partly to hasten that process by sticking himself in a crowd.

He finds a spot with his back against the wall to observe, moves slowly through the crowd by turns, eventually shoring up against the bar.

"Which of them are you putting money one?" he asks the person closest to him, gesturing vaguely at the ring. They're all strangers to him, and he doesn't have anything to bet. But might as well make conversation.

PATCH-JOB

"Need someone to take a look at that?" is all the introduction Ellis gives. It's a fight, people come out of the ring a little worse for wear. He's holding a dented cup but his expression is intent. He might not have any bandages, but he can make sure your nose isn't broken.

"If I had money," Athessa says, craning her neck to look at her options. She hmms and clicks her tongue against her teeth. "I wouldn't bet on any of them."

She shrugs and offers a tight-lipped smile. "The odds aren't steep enough."

"Only interested in long shots?"

Not that Ellis knows enough about any of these people to judge what is and isn't steep odds. He'll have to take Athessa's word for it, for the moment. Maybe next time this event rolls around he'll be in a better position to judge.

"That's one way to approach it. I suppose it would keep things exciting."

"Long shots, sure, but also big bets," she says. "Everyone over there is too busy hedging to make it profitable. Although--"

Bartimaeus is over there, with a skull in a jar for a head. "Might bet on that one for a lark." Excitement, fun, and profit are the only reasons to bet.

"You thinking the jar will win, or the big fellow?"

Though after a moment's observation‐

"If he won't hit it, he'll have to live with losing to a jar."

A jar and a...something? Ellis isn't sure what he's supposed to make of the body the jar is currently attached to. Theoretically it should be an easy match, and yet.

"Definitely odds on the jar to win. That thing's cursed or something."

Plus, Bartimaeus is doing the punching. It stands to reason that a shapeshifter--sorry, mage who can change shapes--would be able to punch well enough.

"Apparently it got chucked off one of the towers and barely had a scratch on the glass."

Six is rubbing her jaw when she steps away from her own fight, sure there will be a bruise there come a few hours - but she does not seem upset by the notion. She appears more content than she might allow herself to admit, pushing the hair from her face before she realises she is being spoken to, hesitance the main thing stopping her from moving away. She is too polite to ignore a kindness, even if it isn't one she necessarily needs.

"No, thank you," a bow of her head comes as she reaches, touching her slightly bloody nose and feeling her palm grow warm. In less than a few seconds, it is healed, and her lips twitch into a smile. "I am well versed in caring for myself, ser, but I appreciate the kindness."

Ellis lifts his hands briefly, acknowledging her refusal. There's no need to press further, not really. This isn't a battlefield. And she—

Is a mage. His eyebrows raise, but his expression doesn't shift away from his polite smile.

"You'll have to teach me that trick. Seems like it does better than a handful of herbs and bandages."

Magic typically was.

"That was a good show in there, by the way. You did well."

THE FIRST RULE ABOUT FIGHT CLUB IS THAT THIS ISN'T FIGHT CLUB

ellis | ota.

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