Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20150518062512/@comment-5543592-20150519203646

HumbleDaedricServant wrote: (@Shill: You sure you don't want to start with class-based abilities? Also, his Daedric Dagger will be only the strength of an steel dagger, but will improve as your character progresses via RP. Anyway, approved.) (Will I be at a disadvantage if I don't?  Most of those abilities don't go with his style and most seem quite useless.  Sorry, I've just never played ESO so I don't know.  And, does material strength serve a purpose?)

Daggerfall, like all cities, had it's less traveled and not quite as appealing districts. Slums, ghettos, whatever you want to call them. Where people chased rats for food and garbage-cleaning pigs roamed freely.

Scire was in one such area. He'd was low on coin, in fact he'd been low, but he just hadn't needed it until now. Thus, he found himself in a fighting ring- a dirt floor penned in by six, low, wooden walls.

He eyed up his opponant. A Nordic man, with a worn face, and a burly body. He was easily over 220 pounds. Scire was just over three quarters that. But, you couldn't get that big in the Ashlands. Not enough food to go around. He made up for his lack of weignt in hieght, though. The Dunmer was just over 6 feet, which probably made little difference to the Nordic giant however, who easily had eight inches on Scire.

"Easy does, it Farseer." His 'manager' said, reaching over the wall to roughly rub his thumbs in Scire's shoulders. Scire hadn't bothered to give the man his real name, and had settled for his Ashlander marking, what he identified as in his tribe: his rank. Scire had been looking for a fight, and stumbled upon this place, and immediately volunteered to get thrown in the ring. His manager, a slimy looking Breton man, but who apperently had enough respect and coin to back up his word, vouched for him. He didn't doubt that most thought it was a one-sided fight, in the Nord's favor.

"You're smaller than he is, stay quick, on your feet.  Don't let him land too many hit's.  He's a killer."

"Is he?" Asked Scire in his smooth, unhurried drawl, like he had all day to say his words.

"Yeah.  Slaughtered two men, right here in this very ring."

"On accident?"

The Breton hesitated. "Of course."

Scire didn't say another word. When he killed people, it wasn't on accident.

"You ready, Strasgard?" An Imperial man in a nice coat over seeing the fight called to the Nord. The big man moved from the wall, danced on the balls of his feet, rolled his shoulders, and pounded a fist into his palm.

"Yeah." The giant huffed.

"You, Dunmer?" Scire stood up from where he had been lazily leaning into the wall, and let his arms drop to his sides. He gave a slight nod to the Imperial.

"Then get to it."

Strasgard raised his fists level with his face and came at Scire, who in turn raised his own arms. Except, he held his palsm out, and kept them further from his body. Strasgard stepped towards Scire and struck out with his right fist, towards the left side of Scire's body. The Dunmer strafed away from the blow and simutanously parried it, shoving the fist away. Strasgard's right fist returned up and he swung out then with his left, aimed for Scire's right temple. Scire thrust his upper body back, and the fist sailed right in front of his face. His sense gave he a greater sense of when things happened. Right before Strasgard swung, his aura, what Scire could only call a 'glow' that emitted from anyone and everyone, blazed a bright, searing red. Thus, he could offer a preemptive dodge.

Strasgard came at Scire again, now punching low, towards his stomach. It was a short, quick blow, only meant to lower his guard, or knock Scire off balance. But Scire had wanted the Nord, practically begged the Nord to take the opportunity, by keeping his defense high. And it as part of his plan, so to speak. Strasgard hooked the hesitated uppercut towards Scire's gut, who tensed his stomach muscles in response, so that they would asorb the imapct. When Strasgard noticed the elf made no move to block the blow, he put his weight behind his fist, throwing his full power into the punch. When the blow collided, Scire saw stars, and the corners of his vision darkened. The crowd roared and cheered with the first blow struck, and Scire felt faint for a brief moment. A split-moment, and he willed himself to stay on his feet. By getting that close, Strasgard had let Scire inside his guard.

My turn.

Scire wrapped his hands around the bac of Strasgard's neck, to get a grip on the Nord, and to balance himself. He then drove his knee upward into the man's groin. The crowd hushed in shock as the Nord's eye's bulged, and then he proceeded to wail in absolute agony, before doubling over. Scire stepped back, locked his fists together, brought them high and back, and then across, clubbing Strasgard across the temple. The Nord's head snapped to the side, up and away, and spittle flew from his mouth. He stumbled backwards one step and then collapsed with a loud thud on his back.

The crowd was stunned. Men's eyes bored into Scire from all around, but the Dunmer calmly stepped back to his 'manager' and picked up a cloth to wipe his brow  He then stepped over the wall, and pushed through the crowds, away from the fighting pen. He left shocked silence in his wake.