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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.
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!)
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.)
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.
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.
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.
here for carousing
"You could have fought me, you know," she tells him, though she comes down well within both categories: too small and exceptionally female. Her tone now is mostly teasing as she claims the stool beside him. "I'd have been better sport than the jar."
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"Most would," he grunts, and takes a swig.
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Perhaps now is not the time to needle him for waving her out of the ring. Derrica studies him for a moment, then points at his splinted hand.
"Is it serious?"
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"Nothing a little magic couldn't handle," he mumbles, "but for future reference, if they insist you punch a jar.
...don't do it."
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Is the jar going to be an issue going forward? Derrica considers and discards the possibility, satisfied with the idea that the mysterious jar-headed fighter will continue to be someone else's problem. She holds out her own hands instead, beckoning.
"Do you want me to repair it for you?"
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It takes him a moment to realize what she means, and Barrow remembers that mages can just be everywhere these days, doing their thing. He considers.
"...if you don't mind."
His hand is extended to her.
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Warmth spreads from her palms. It seeps into Barrow's hand, settles in the bone. There is a sensation of melting, and pressure, and then Derrica's hands lift and the pain is gone. She looks quietly satisfied with herself.
"There. As if nothing ever happened."
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When she's finished, he extends his hand to flex it, smiling quietly. "You're too kind," he says, and sounds like he means it.
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Maybe facetious, maybe not. Who knows what will crop up as a task in the coming days?
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"Maker, I hope I don't," he snorts, "though I suppose anything's possible if your decisions are bad enough."