“We just met a god,” Dave said excitedly.
“I know I was there.” SJ was making her way back down the street towards the inn. The afternoon sun was blazing, and she felt wonderful in her new dress. All she needed now was a long soak in a bath, and she would be ready for anything.
“A god, though, and you have been given an Astral gift. Do you realise how rare that is?”
“I have an idea from what you said before, so yes.”
“How can you not be as excited as I am by the fact?”
“I am excited. I am just not sure what all this means as of yet.”
“The fact you have just been speaking directly to a god who gifted you not one but two items and then offered to train you as a tailor is unheard of.”
“He said I need to level myself, though. I assume I will only get the basic training.”
“From a god. Fizzlewick, the name he goes by on Amathera, is one of the most famed magicians. It was rumoured he was a god, but no one had any details supporting it. You now have. Thousands have sought him out over the years, and you just happen to run into him in a tailor’s shop.”
“He is a mage as well?”
“Now, knowing he is a god makes sense, as all gods can use magic, and most have a profession they support. Alamor is the God of Alchemy, Lister is the God of Enchanting, etc.”
As SJ walked down the street, she heard a very recognisable sound she had not heard in many years: someone wolf-whistling. She turned and looked over to a group of males standing by a stall selling weapons, all laughing.
“You got a problem?” SJ called angrily.
“Not with you, love,” one of them shouted back, raucous laughter from the others.
The one who replied looked like he may be a half-orc, the muscular body of a man, but he had small tusk-like protrusions from his lower jaw.
“Good. Otherwise, I would have to teach you a lesson, you ugly worm,” SJ snapped back.
“What did you just say?” the half-orc growled in response.
“I called you an ugly worm. Can you not hear me?” Of all the things SJ had hated was walking past building sites and hearing immature, pathetic, fully grown men who were probably married wolf-whistling her as she walked past. She found it so demeaning.
“You better watch your mouth, or I will come and shut it for you.”
“Really. Don’t you need your mummy to tie your shoelaces first for you with your pathetic childish whistling?”
“Watch it, he is a level 6,” Dave said.
“I don’t care what he is,” SJ said under her breath.
The half-orc had started approaching, grabbing a large two-handed mace from the stall table as he did. The stall owner cried out at him, saying that he had not paid for it.
“You are going to pay.” The half-orc said as he approached.
“Am I? Can you not afford your medical bills?”
“Oh. That was funny,” Dave said, sniggering.
“What?” he replied, confused.
SJ took the advantage while he turned, glancing at his fellow yobs, and spun her foot around in a kick to his side. She caught him full-on, her foot striking what must have been some form of armour underneath his jacket, and he only winced slightly from the strike.
He turned back to face her, growling and swung the mace at her.
SJ stepped back out of range easily, dropping the bag she had been carrying with her other clothes. Feeling agile in her new dress and boots. She did not want to use her claws, but she would if she had to. The half-orc again swung at her. He was using a two-handed grip, and it was slow and awkward. SJ realised that for every move he made, she had time to get at least two strikes in.
She punched this time with two fast, straight jabs directly at his face. The first strike crunched into one of his tusks, her hand splitting slightly from the impact with the rough surface. She flinched in pain.
Another wild swing came at her. This half-orc was all about brute strength and had no fighting finesse. SJ had not identified him yet, and as she continued to dodge and strike at him, she triggered her skill.
Malcolm Kilgore
Race: Half-orc
Age: 19
Level: 6
Hit Points: 36
Mana Points: 30
“Malcolm, did your mother not teach you manners and that it was rude to hit ladies.”
He growled again in response, another wild swing, completely missing her as she stepped sideways, kicking and punching as he stumbled from his swing. She was doing a pathetic amount of damage to him, but he was tiring quickly with his misses and using such a heavy double-handed mace as he was.
The ongoing fight had started to draw a crowd, not just from those by the stalls but also a few others who had come out of the shops to watch. “They are betting on who will win,” Dave said.
SJ did not respond and continued dodging and weaving using her kata moves, which came in handy as she sidestepped and moved from the blows thrown at her. The developing crowd began to shout and jeer for one or the other. SJ could not tell. She was finding the dress perfect for moving in. It always flowed with her movements, never causing any restriction.
Malcolm was panting, a wild swing thundering by her, striking the cobbles with a resounding thud. As he went to lift the weapon, SJ brought her foot up and down on his arm. He yelped in pain, releasing his grip with one hand from the weapon. She took the opportunity to strike him with a fist to the side of his face. She was easily getting two hits in for his one.
He let go of the mace with his other hand and turned towards her, punching rather than swinging a weapon. She was not expecting the blow, and it caught her in her shoulder as she tried to move back. She felt the concussive blow, which jolted her off balance slightly. She jumped backwards as he went to punch her again.
Without the mace in his hand, he was still slower than she was, and she could predict and see where he was trying to hit. This kid, which is what she thought of him, was a street thug, nothing more. He was probably one of the louts that she had seen walking the streets of London drunk after a night out. Always looking for a fight, with alcohol-fuelled anger.
“You can give up whenever you wish,” SJ said as she stepped back from him.
“Screw you,” Malcolm bellowed as he charged at her.
SJ sidestepped his charge, leaving her leg trailing, and as he passed, she pushed him, adding to his momentum and sending him sprawling over her leg and face-first onto the road. He screamed angrily, pushing himself back to his feet and wiping his now dirt-covered face with his arm. Sweat was pouring down his face from the exertion. The weight of the armour and his initial weapon of choice had taken its toll on him.
Feeling fresh and strong, none of her actions were tiring compared to the fights she had been having in the forest. All she did was side-step, kick, and punch, not running from tree to tree across a clearing. Malcolm swung for her again. He was all brute force, big, powerful blows, no finesse, balance, or skill. She palmed off his punch and brought her elbow in against his chin, stepping into his attack. She was unsure where the move had come from as she had never tried it before, but it worked. Her elbow combined with his jaw, and his teeth clattered together.
He stank of alcohol this close, and SJ knew he was, as she expected, a typical yob off the streets. No inhibitions and no regard for others. This angered her, and she lashed out. Landing a punch on his cheek before stepping back away from him. He stood shaking his head slightly, the elbow to the jaw followed by the punch having caused some damage to him. He went to kick her, his wild kick completely missing as she stepped away and his momentum again turning his back to her.
Taking advantage, she kicked back herself, right in his lower back. Feeling no resistance from armour and realised that he was only wearing a breastplate of some sort and not full armour. Her foot hit hard, making him grunt. The wind knocked from him. Staggering forward from the blow, he reached around to rub his back.
He turned to look at her, panting heavily and grimacing. SJ stood in her usual stance and stared at him, watching for his next move. He dabbed his brow again, rubbing sweat from his eyes.
“You can just say sorry and give up,” SJ goaded.
“Give up to you, a poxy little fae.”
“This little fae is currently teaching you a lesson in manners.”
Malcolm’s health was down to about half after all the punches and kicks he had received. SJ had still only received one blow and had minor damage.
“It is up to you. You can either back down, or we can continue to fight. But looking at your state, you haven’t got much left in the tank, “ SJ said.
Malcolm growled in response, showing his full half-orc roar, spittle flying from his mouth as he charged again. SJ just stood there waiting. As he came in range, she brought her foot around in a swift roundhouse move, crashing the top of her foot into the side of his face as he leaned to grab her. Malcolm’s head flew sideways from the impact. His jaw looked to dislodge as she struck. Her display triggered.
Critical Hit
Your strike was perfectly timed. Critical hits add bonus damage and effects.
Concussive blows can add one more or all of the following effects:
Crush, break, concussion or knock-out.
Malcolm’s head continued sideways, and SJ watched as she saw his eyes flutter, his body go limp, and his unconscious body fall to the cobbles with a clattering thud. SJ stood there, looking at the inert form. Several in the crowd cheered, and she turned to see people handing coins to each other. Bending down, she picked up her discarded bag of clothes.
“Well done,” Dave said, pride in his voice.
“It was nothing,” she whispered, “he was drunk.”
“Still a level 6. That will earn you respect in the town.”
A deep, burly voice erupted from behind her. “Well done, lass. Well done. I have not seen a good street fight for a long time.”
SJ turned to see a rather broad and muscular-looking dwarf wearing only his breeches and a dark leather apron. In his hand, he held a blacksmith’s hammer. “Thanks,” she replied.
“Names Zej. I run the local smithy.”
“I can see, and I am SJ,” SJ replied, smiling. She watched Malcolm’s friends pick him up from the street, dragging him toward one of the buildings. The mace stallholder screamed that he wanted payment for damaged goods.
“If you need anything, come by my furnace, and we can see what we can do for you.”
“Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”
“Make sure you do,” Zej replied, grinning at her.
Now that the spectacle was over, the crowd had started to disperse, and she continued back to the inn. On reaching the inn and walking in, the bar fell silent. She froze in the doorway as all eyes turned to look at her. SJ suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Whispering started throughout the room. She walked towards the bar nervously, where a smiling Kerys stood.
“Just heard the news. You gave Malcolm a run for his money,” Kerys said, lifting a mug of ale and placing it on the bar in front of SJ. “This one is on the house.” She said.
“Thanks. Why?”
“Malcolm has been causing a scene in town since he arrived. A normal one of your kind would have left town by now, the amount of time he has been here. All he does is spend his time drinking and gambling. He does nothing in town to help and causes problems continually.”
“I don’t feel so bad dealing with him then.”
“You shouldn’t. He deserved what he got.”
“Well, thanks, I better go and run my bath. I started before I went out.”
“Can I ask before you go? Where did you get that dress? It is beautiful?”
“At the old tailor’s shop at the end of town.”
“The old grinch kept that hidden. It’s a stunner. Every time I go in there, there is nothing worth purchasing.”
“I need to go and get a bath and get changed.”
“The dress looks immaculate. Why change?”
“I am getting too many looks wearing it around here.”
“This is my inn, and you can wear whatever you please. If anyone says or does anything, I will have Bert sort them out,” Kerys said, indicating the huge troll standing at the end of the bar.
“Thank you. It is appreciated.”
“Oh, if you need soaps and towels, some should be in the wardrobe. I’m not sure if you’ve looked around the suite.”
“I hadn’t. Thanks again. I will be back down in a bit for some food.”
Kerys smiled, turning away to another patron as SJ headed upstairs.
