Faeressar- Shopping and Fighting

Forcibly dragged from a good time and facing the prospect of losing money, Val grumbled to herself the entire way down twisting roads and past numerous shops and homes. Anyone else could glance at her face- mouth twisted into a scowl, eyes bright and set into a glare- and tell at once she was irritated, but the little gnome carried on, either oblivious or uncaring. He pulled her along through the streets, forced to walk quickly in order to keep up with Kellar who was striding along purposefully after Sim.

The little hand dragging her along suddenly jerked. Val glanced up from glaring at a bakery just in time to see a tiefling snidely pushing away from Gimble after nearly spinning him around with the force of his collision. “Hey watch where you’re going you horned freak!” She snarls out, already trying to pull away from Gimble to punch the jerk.

“Val! Val look!” The awe in Gimble’s voice is enough to pause her attempts to go after the tiefling. She glances over her shoulder to see what has so aptly caught the gnome’s attention and groans. A bookstore. A damnable bookstore. “You’re on your own with that place, buddy.” She finally yanks her hand free and stands there for a moment indecisively, her head swiveling back and forth between the rapidly retreating forms of the tiefling and Kellar. “Shit,” She mutters, rushing after Kellar and calling out over her shoulder, “Gimble! Do not get into any trouble! Don’t talk to ugly people! For Gods’ sakes, don’t touch anything that might summon demons!” She ignores the varied looks of offense, confusion, and apprehension on the faces of people who overheard her words to Gimble and catches up to Kellar just as he and Sim enter The Whispering Anvil.

After a quick introduction from Sim to ‘Golden Camel’, Kellar starts bartering. Not wanting to interrupt, Val minds her own business in the background, studying the man’s shop curiously. Only once their business is concluded does she approach Golden Camel with one of her famous smiles.

“I owe him,” She nods to Kellar, “A new heavy crossbow. I sort of broke his old one….it’s a long story. Oh and let me get 20 bolts for it as well.” She counts out 55 gold pieces while Golden Camel fetches her items. Maintaining her smile, she drops the coins into his rough hands and takes her- okay Kellar’s- new items.

“Here,” She spins on her heels and thrusts the crossbow and ammunition into Kellar’s arms. “Sorry about the last one.” She gives him a sheepish look for a fraction of a second before smirking with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there are other fine entertainments in this city.”

Of course, being her and having an almost supernatural sense for getting into trouble, it doesn’t take long before she stumbles on a fighting club. “Well, well, well.” She mutters to herself as she forces her way to the front of the very large crowd. She gets their just in time to watch a vicious punch being delivered to a half elf with dreads; half the crowd reacts with a shudder as several teeth are spit on the ground. I could have taken a punch like that. What a weakling. As she watches, the half elf stumbles and half-heartedly swings at his human opponent. Val can’t help but snort at his pitiful attempt. The next punch sends him reeling to the ground, unconscious.

“The Count is once more victorious!” A loud cheer goes up among the crowd. Val snorts. If that man is a count, I’m a queen. A count of the slums, mayhaps. His torn clothes are very clearly of poor make, he holds himself like a peasant (and speaks like one too, she notes), and she can smell him from ten feet away. His dark hair looks greasy, matted with blood from a head wound, and cut at awkward angles. Val shudders. “Who dares to take on this fearful man next?!”

“I’ll take him on,” Val calls out, striding forward without a care in the world. A hush falls over the crowd, followed by a soft murmur.
“Uh, ma’am, there’s a fee to participate….” The man announcing the event stutters. With a small sigh, Val takes out 25 gold coins. “There. Now let me fucking punch someone!”

They make her take off her armor, of course- unfair advantages and all that. Her opponent, The Count, smirks at her. He doesn’t know to fear me yet. She stretches, cracks her neck, and gives him a sweet smile, all while eyeing his weaknesses. He favors his left foot, his right shoulder is clearly bothering him….

The announcer calls out for the fight to begin. The Count, underestimating her severely, charges her with swinging fists. She easily dodges and sideswipes his leg out from under him, sending him to the ground with a loud howl of pain. Only then does apprehension dawn in his eyes.

He jumps quickly back to his feet, wincing a little, but clearly still able to fight. Again he swings at her; again she dodges lithely out of the way. He’s quick, though, and makes a grab for her hair; one fist wrapping around a chunk and yanking her to the ground by it. She cries out in pain and kicks him in the knee, releasing herself. “Oh, honey, you do not go for my hair,” She snarls savagely before punching him squarely in the jaw with as much force as she can muster. Needless to say, he’s out after that.

The second fight goes much the same. “’Twas a fluke!” her competitor, a very muscular (but short) man, cries to the crowd. They cheer in response. He’s better than The Count as least; he’s able to get a few punches and kicks in, but in the end Val is able to deliver a swift kick straight to the chest. She winces as something audibly cracks and he goes flying backwards, his head hitting the ground and splitting open. “Whoops….” She mumbles to herself.

By the third win, she’s cocky and it shows. “No one can beat me! Place your bets on me, dear people, and you will never lose even a copper coin!” As usual, her egotism gets the better of her when a huge half-orc steps in the arena. “Think you can’t be beaten, little girl? You’ve never met The Crusher!”

She gives him a smirk and gestures for him to bring it on. He’s taller than a half-orc should be, and strong as an ox. Before she can even grasp what’s happening, he’s delivered several punches to her pretty face. She can already feel them bruising. With a groan, she swings back, but is unable to get enough force behind it to do much damage. A couple more punches to her face and her lip is bleeding heavily, her left eye is black, and she’s pinned under the half-orc unable to move.

She leaves with her tail between her legs, unwilling to waste the magic necessarily to heal her bruises. They’ll heal easily enough on their own. Huffing and puffing with severely injured pride, she makes her way to where the party is staying, her stomach growling hungrily as evening settles in.

---

Bought a crossbow and 20 bolts

Paid an entry fee to fight people