[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/YW5kpkR.png[/img] [h2]The Merchant Kings 2 - A Match for the Ages[/h2][/centre] [hr] It was an uncharacteristically hot evening on the southern shores of [abbr=”Pakohu”][i]Sso-Hwah[/i][/abbr]. The palms stood as frozen in the windstill air - the inhabitants of the jungle sang their late night songs a little quieter as they had no gusts to compete with. At the borders between overgrowth and dry flats, rach Rose sat on a small wooden chair with a skin seat. He was hunched over, neatly chipped bone studs running the length of the shell of his long ears, his chin resting comfortably atop his intertwined fingers. He wore a leather harness that protected his torso, but left his arms uncovered to help his body stay cool; over his legs, he wore a kilt fashioned from skin strips and studded with bone, as well. Opposite of him sat chief [abbr=”Coconut”][i]Tsarri[/i][/abbr] of the [abbr=”White Tigers”][i]Hui-Prra[/i][/abbr], dressed in, surprisingly, a black shadowtiger pelt, with thick fur bracers around his wrists and long strings intertwined with tiger knuckles dangling from his earlobes. His teeth, which he bared menacingly, had been sharpened with flint. His hands held tight grips atop his powerful thighs. Both his toenails and fingernails had, too, been sharpened to almost clawlike points. The two of them had sat in silence, staring at one another. Behind them were lined up nelven warbands, all armoured for battle in the heat, most bare-chested and hardly dressed in more than kilts. They all wielded their [abbr=Fragrancian javelins - long obsidian tips fastened to jungle wood shafts][i]pi-xxois[/i][/abbr] and [abbr=Originally Akuan weaponry - wooden clubs barbed with shark teeth.][i]xwenkkos[/i][/abbr] with intimidating presence, hissing sharply at one another. With regularly intervals, the warriors almost walked up face to face with each other, flicking their tongues out of their mouths and making animalistic faces. They squatted down and flexed intimidatingly at their opponents, and some would even growl to get attention, then jump out in the middle to do gymnastic exercises, such as handstands, cartwheels, flips and more, being cheered on by their comrades and cursed by their enemies. Eventually, Tsarri rose from his seat and stepped out, doing a high squat in the middle of the field and placing two fists on his lower abdomen with a sharp, challenging huff. Rach Rose stood up to meet him, and the two collided foreheads and snorted aggressively at one another. “Ya got balls, kid, comin’ ta my jungle just like that,” the chieftain snarled to the hisses of his warriors. Rose purred in challenge. “After you snatched a whole sled full of flowers? Roses no less! How could I not answer such a challenge?” Tsarri snickered. “Where’s ya proof, huh? What makes you think we took it?” “Come on, Tsar-Tsar - we found tiger fur all over the site of the ‘accident’ - by the way, do boulders really fall like that? Fairly certain they don’t.” “Shit happens, Rosie - shit happens.” He stepped back and eyed the warriors Rose had brought. He shot hot streams of air through his nostrils. “Is this all you brought? Half look to be missing mother’s tits; the other half, wifey’s caress. What, has masculinity lost its meaning in Fragrance?” The insult brought wheezing laughter to the White Tigers. The Fragrancians unleashed almost deafening insults back, impossible to decipher on account of their volume. Rose flinched and motioned for them to quiet down. “Harsh words, Tsar-Tsar; we’ll make you eat every single one.” “Oh yeah? Do tell me how, exactly.” “How about a dance?” The chieftain raised a brow. “And which dance would that be, my lady?” The rach smirked. “[abbr=”The drum dance”, a Fragrancian war-dance that challenges the dancer’s ability to perceive the world around them.][i]Toc-saox[/i][/abbr]. My best versus yours.” There came whoops from both sides. The chieftain tugged at his stubby chin. “Alright, alright - I’ll play your little game, provided you’ll play one of mine, too.” “What’ve you got in mind, you sub-nelven brute?” “Hoo, feisty, just how I like them,” the chieftain said and flicked his tongue sharply. “Only one game can follow up a dance - [abbr=”Soaring Spears” - a game where the competitors take turns tossing one spear at each other. The throwers have to catch the spears mid-flight to be allowed to toss them back. Not catching the spear means losing the game.][i]xxois-wooah[/i][/abbr]!” The White Tigers threw their hands in the air and started grunting in a cheering manner. Rose sucked in a breath through the teeth. “You sure that’s what you want them to play?” the rach mumbled and clicked disapprovingly. Tsarri snickered and clapped his hands to his thighs. “What’s the matter, my lady? Did we scawe yoo, humm?” He drummed his chest and threw his arms out wide, stretching himself to his full height, torso musculature flexing menacingly. Rose would be lying if he said he didn’t feel intimidated. “Ugh, this is why your jungle is seen as nothing but backwater in comparison to our glorious--” “HEY, BOYS! I THINK WIDDLE WOSIE IS SCAWED!” The White Tigers roared in laughter as their chieftain jumped from edge to edge of his warband, cupping his hands behind his ear and drumming his chest to challenge his men to be louder. In no longer than a few seconds, the White Tigers were deafening whatever complaints and counter-insults the Fragrancians could throw back. Morale among the Fragrancians was weakening, and Rose felt the stares of his countrymen hardening the rach took longer and longer to think of a good reply. The other side was chanting and singing: [centre][i] Behold, the man of tiger blood: A man with skin of hardened mud; A man with bones to rival stone; A man who can’t be killed alone! HUI! PRRA! HUI! PRRA! Behold, the son of moon and beast: North and south and west and east - Nowhere in life is safe from him Yes, ev’n in death, he’ll do you in! HUI! PRRA! HUI! PRRA! [/i][/centre] The rach struggled immensely to think, and it was visible all over him. The Fragrancians had all stopped their ruckus at this point, realising that they couldn’t compete with the fervour shown now by the White Tigers. The rach was halfway ready to acknowledge defeat when he felt a warm hand caress his sweaty shoulder. The anxieties clawing at his soul were momentarily alleviated, and he felt his old, secure self return. “Where have you been, my heart?” “Yesterday’s [i]kheft[/i] didn’t sit very well with my system. Took a while to get it out,” mumbled Lavender jokingly. Rose scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Gross, Lav.” The warrior gave the rach a quick kiss on the lips and stepped in front of him. The White Tigers began to quiet down upon smelling him, and Tsarri turned away from his warriors to sniff the air. “My, my, now ain’t that just the most familiar smell. Come to dance, have we, Lav?” the chieftain rumbled and stuck out his tongue. Lavender proceeded to take off his chest harness and uncork a bottle of lavender oil. He slowly poured it over his pectoral muscles and rubbed it in with slow movements. The scent oozed forth and almost knocked the Tigers back. Tsarri cringed. “By the gods, man - in moderation, please!” “‘Moderation’ isn’t my kind of word, pussy cat,” the warrior replied and then lifted flexing arms above his head, kicked his right leg up in the air and then hammering it to the ground, entering a low lunge. The moonlight glistened on his oiled body, and his black topknot spiked the heavens like a singular horn. He hissed sharply at the chief, who recoiled and snaked his head side to side, calculating his response to the challenge. “Oh-ho, I see. You’ll step it for Widdle Wosie, is that it? Was that your plan?” The chief offered Rose a click. “Understandable, little seedling - you’re not ready to face me either way.” The chieftain blew Rose a kiss, who waved it away harshly. He then looked down at Lavender, who now had gone down into splits. “Good form, kid - not gonna lie, if you were one of my men, I would’ve adopted you as my own son.” Lavender laid his torso over his left leg and grabbed his foot with his hands, barely suppressing a chuckle. “You ask every time, and as with every time, here is my answer: Thanks for the offer, kitten, but my heart is already taken.” “Understandable,” the chieftain offered and hissed back at the rach. “Finally, you’ve brought an actual man to my borders - now I won’t have to worry about any women being hit.” He spat on the ground and the Fragracians brandished their spears. “But a chieftain can’t face a captain - that’s just not right. No, no, no - rank must face equal rank, such is tradition! Fursa, come out here!” While the White Tigers reorganised and oiled up their champion, Rose offered a scoff to which Lavender snickered. “I had hoped you would be breaking that cretin’s neck within the hour…” muttered the rach. Lavender shrugged. “I’ll be breaking someone’s neck. Don’t worry - we’ll hit him where it hurts. Someone as proud as Tsarri will be bugged for months over a defeat like this - especially after riling up his men for so long.” “So… Got a plan?” “You suggested the dance first, right?” “Yeah, yeah, I took care of it. He ate it up like unhooked bait.” Lavender ran an oily hand through his hair and took a long whiff of the air. He then leaned in. “Well, of course, he did. He’s an idiot. What did he suggest after?” “[i]Xxois-wooah[/i].” Lavender raised a brow, then bobbed his head from side to side. “Not my first guess, but not unexpected, either.” Rose took his hand in his own. “You’re not playing, right?” “You kidding me? No! No, I’ll place my bets on the dance and the third challenge.” Both of them turned to regard the Tiger champion - he resembled the chief in that he, too, was a mountain of muscle with sharpened nails and teeth, but he had a wider jaw and stronger brows. He was also bald, and the sheen of the moon cast a blinding light off of his oiled scalp. Rose drew an anxious breath. “Be careful, my heart.” “Always am,” Lavender responded and kissed him softly on the lips. As they broke apart, Lavender spun around and drummed his chest in challenge. The Tiger champion Fursa did the same, wheezing menacingly. Lavender met the wheeze with a growl, and before long, the two clashed foreheads and bent down low and forward. Then clasped hands and tested each other’s strength. The Fragrancian warriors got a second wind as they saw that Lavender could, in fact, push back Fursa. However, Fursa refused to be pushed away so easily, and the White Tigers got reason to celebrate, too, when Lavender almost lost his footing. Rose’s breathing quickened and he blurted out: “Should we perhaps get started with the games, then?” The champions stopped and the warriors quieted down. Tsarri clicked disapprovingly. “Ugh, since you whine so much, I guess we can. Again, Lavender, how can you stand this woman?” Fursa and Lavender broke apart and each returned to their own comrades’ sides while preparations were made for the drum dance. “He can be quite manly once you get to know him,” retorted Lavender with a chuckle as he pulled Rose to the side. Tsarri offered a polite click back. “Why did you do that?” Lavender hissed at Rose a few steps away. Rose shrunk. “I… I didn’t want you to--” “To what? Appear weak? Rose, come on, I -had- control.” “But--” “Ap, ap! -Don’t- steal my thunder again. You make me look bad. Calm down and let me do my thing, okay?” Rose sighed anxiously and forced a smile. “Yes, my heart.” Lavender raked his hair with his fingers. He then put one hand on each of Rose’s shoulders and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Now man up and join the crowd. This’ll be over in no time.” Eight warriors from each side formed two crescents of a circle surrounding Lavender first. The warriors all held small drums and Lavender received two lengths of thin linen, which he tied around his wrists so that each of his arms sported a long cloth. He spun and tossed himself around for practice, the sheets soaring after him like representations of the air flowing around his body. All around the ring, whether friend or foe, the men clicked and purred flirtingly at his moves. Lavender’s chuckle was somewhere in there, too - it was evident that he revelled in the attention. “Ya ready, son?” Tsarri asked and Lavender slowed down. He tightened the wraps on his wrists and took a deep breath. “Yeah,” answered Lavender and tied a third length of linen over his eyes. The chieftain clicked. “Then we will begin!” The [url=https://youtu.be/ZagsLrNzg3I]drummers started slow[/url], beats coming from all sides of the circle. This was to confuse the dancer first - keep them on their toes. Lavender started skipping in place to the beat. The beats grew louder and louder as to test the dancer’s perseverance. Lavender kept skipping, the oil on his skin hiding whether or not he had yet to break a sweat. The men around the circle started chanting: [centre][i] Warrior, warrior, warrior of the night! Is he, is he, is he born of might?! Can he triumph over death?! Can he grow as great as gods?! Warrior, warrior, warrior of the night! [/i][/centre] One of the drums sounded louder than the others. The dance had begun. With a flying high kick, Lavender skewered the air with his foot, casting himself out of the way of an incoming javelin. The javelin, being tipped with a length of obsidian, snapped, leaving the hilt and half the blade on the ground while the edge stuck up from the sand like a spike. Not a second later, he kicked himself back, snatched the javelin from the sand without getting cut on the spike and did an airborne pirouette. He landed right where the drum had been the loudest and hammered the drum with the hilt, making sure to stay on beat as he cartwheeled back to the centre of the circle. Another louder drum thundered, and Lavender flipped through the air off to the left, dodging the javelin. He picked it up and returned it to its drummer. The number of louder drums picked up. Next came two javelins, but Lavender couldn’t return both in time without missing the beat. He thus skipped around the circle for the remaining percussions of the metre before returning the last javelin. Rach Rose watched as Lavender nearly danced right into a tall, lethal spike of razor obsidian, only narrowly stopping right before it. It had no doubt been sheer luck, but the man showed no sign of surprise, merely continuing on without so much as testing the confines of the rhythm. The dance went for three minutes without a single stop, and on the final measure, the dancer had to return as many as four javelins to their owners. By the time the dance ended, Lavender was shaking, the ring filled with closer to sixteen obsidian spikes that he had all avoided. One had grazed him slightly, and blood ran down his thigh in a black line. Still, he stood, and the White Tigers didn’t even look mad at his performance - in fact, they cheered louder than the Fragrancians. “HAH! Now -that- was a dance!” praised Tsarri and slapped Lavender on the back. Lavender chuckled politely and clasped hands with the chieftain. “Let’s see your little Fursa beat that?” “Doubt he can, honestly,” the chieftain mumbled and Fursa behind him lowered his head in shame. Tsarri rolled his eyes and squeezed Lavender’s hand tighter. “Those were no sissy Fragrancian moves, son… Face it…” He leaned in to Lavender’s ear. “... You’re no flower. You were born to be a Tiger.” Lavender sighed and pulled himself away. “Alright, settle down, kitty. I’m taken, like I’ve said a thousand times.” Tsarri clicked playfully and wagged a finger. “Oh, ho-ho, I will get you yet, son - Fursa! Get ready!” “Y-yes, chieftain!” While the Tigers’ champion prepared himself, Lavender was surrounded by Fragrancians coming to congratulate him and hand him drinks and towels. Lav accepted a cup of [abbr=A weak fruit wine.]lowee[/abbr] and sat down to wipe off the worst of sweat. “How do you even do those kicks?!” asked one of the warriors. “Yeah, don’t you get super tired after just one?” Lavender chuckled. “Why, in the beginning, I did, but years of diligent training and the goodwill of the gods have given me the stamina I need to serve Fragrance as well as I do today.” There came approving clicks from the crowd. “Remember, train yourselves every day, keep in touch with your sages and have them help you take care of your body, and stay pious to the gods. The great moonfather Kipo smiles upon those who have the will to grow strong!” “Yes, Lavender!” many half-squealed in their whisper. Fursa’s dance wasn’t even close to as impressive. He frequently stepped off the beat, and while he never mistook which drummer had thrown the javelin, he often failed to hit the drum with the hilt on time. His dodges were simple and uninteresting, and while he has never hit or grazed, it didn’t feel like a dance, but more like a game of dodge-the-spear. Needless to say, Lavender was the undisputed champion. After the chieftain had given Fursa a stern talking to, he spanned his arms as wide as he could and thundered, “Next up - [i]xxois-wooah[/i]!” The White Tigers cheered and the Fragrancians shrunk. Lavender put his hands on his hips and turned to the nail-biting Rose with a smirk and a click. “Don’t worry, I won’t get hit. Remember our plan and calm down.” Rose clicked anxiously and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. On the opposite side of the field, Fursa already stood ready with the spear. The javelin used in [i]xxois-wooah[/i] was different from the standard Fragrancian [i]pi-xxois[/i]: Rather than being a relatively short shaft with a long obsidian tip that would snap upon impact, the game spear was one long shaft of wood with both edges sharpened. The goal of the game was to throw the lance at one another and for the other to catch it before it hit the ground. If it did, the catching party would lose. Lavender and Fursa stood opposite of one another with around fifteen metres of distance between them. The chieftain eyed them both. “Ready?!” Both clicked their confirmation. “Begin!” Fursa cast his throwing arm back, hopped a few steps forward and sent the spear soaring at Lavender. The man may not have been much of a dancer, but he could throw spears, that was for sure. The lance barely quivered in the air, but flew as though it was meant for nothing else, and would have skewered Lavender straight in the chest if the man simply hadn’t stepped to the side and let the lance plant itself deep in the sand. There came a collective groan of disappointment from the Tigers, and even some of the Fragrancians clicked their disapproval. Fursa threw his hands in the air with frustration and Tsarri growled. “Come on, Lav, really? This is too low for someone of your calibre.” Lavender shrugged and pulled the spear out of the ground with a bit of effort. “Am I not allowed to choose what games I participate in?” “If you wanted to do that, you should have been here from the beginning,” the chieftain muttered angrily and caught the spear as Lavender gently lobbed it back to him. “Sorry, I had shits to take that were more important than this. Shall we just get on with the third challenge already?” The chieftain exhaled hot air through his teeth. “I’m startin’ to think I might have to teach you a lesson, too, son…” “Finally! I may have my challenge yet. That’d be great!” Tsarri growled. “Oh, you want a challenge? Let’s get you a challenge. Let’s make the third game a bit bloodier, shall we?” “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Lavender took the linen from before and wrapped it around his knuckles. The chieftain lifted his arms to the nightsky. “The gods decree that, if the two games lead to a draw, a third must be had! We haven’t had a lot of physical contact tonight. Let’s make it a wrestling match to the death.” “Sounds good to me. Fursa?” The Tiger champion spat. “Hope you’ve said your last prayers, budling.” “Likewise, pussy cat.” Once again, the warriors formed a ring around the two, though instead of drums, they all held their javelins tightly. The circle was wider this time, wide enough to fit every warrior. The space in the middle made for quite a battlefield, almost a diameter of six metres. The warriors rubbed themselves in with new coats of oil and assumed their stances opposite of one another. Each combatant entered a high squat, hissing and flicking their tongues and one another. Fursa clapped at his thighs; Lavender drummed at his chest. Rose couldn’t help but grab his hand to keep it from quivering - Lavender had come out of many fights without so much as a scratch, but he never knew when his divine luck would run out. “Begin!” The two nelves collided barely even seconds later, and Fursa immediately got the upper hand, catching Lavender’s attempt to lock his arms, smacking those arms out of the way and spinning Lavender around, catching his throat in his right elbow. Just as Fursa was about to place his left hand behind Lavender’s head, however, a well-placed punch to the jaw managed to stagger him enough for Lavender to break free, bend down and almost trip over with a strong grab around his core and a foot behind Fursa’s left. However, Fursa caught himself with his right leg just in time not to fall, and did it again as Lavender kept trying. Fursa lifted his fists above his head and brought them down with meteoric force on Lavender’s back, smacking him to the ground. Lavender tried to catch the breath knocked out of him, but before he could, Fursa had already laid his legs over his back, Lavender’s right arm trapped between them. The Tiger champion cackled. “Is this -it-?! The great Lavender of Fragrance, floored in a matter of minutes?” He grabbed the struggling right arm and tilted it a bit to the left, then a bit to the right. “Nooooow… Which side should we snap it, boys?” Half the Tigers hissed ‘left’; the other, ‘right’. Lavender squirmed to get loose, but the grip was tight. He looked up at the Fragrancians, all of whom were telling him to persevere and fight on - break out of the grip! Lavender suddenly regretted having spent so much energy during the dance - he could’ve sorely used it right about now. He looked up at Rose, who was nearly in tears. If Fursa broke his arm, he would no doubt be killed by the next attack. He couldn’t do that to Rose - he couldn’t leave him like this. As quietly as he could, almost to the point where it could hardly be called ‘sound’ at all, he whispered, “Gods, give me strength…” A simple rush of wind brushed past his ear. With it came a sigh, unassuming and soft, yet to him strong enough to drown out all other sound as it echoed in his mind. Ethereal hands ran along his form, unseen but felt. Finally, a warm and compelling voice burned in his ears, louder than anything he'd ever heard, but still somehow kind on his hearing. [color=8493ca]"So long as you dance, you shall have my favour, my sweet,"[/color] the voice sang softly, and he felt a surreal touch run along his chin. [color=8493ca]"As you shall have the favour of all who watch you spin to your own tune."[/color] Another sigh rushed through his ears, and for just a moment an ethereal horned, winged woman rose from before him, her hand moved away from his chin. As soon as the image came, it vanished, as did the surreal sensation. The shock nearly made him lose sense of his struggle, and his arm went flaccid to the point where Fursa had to see if he had given up. Then, before the spectators could get similar ideas, Lavender redoubled his efforts, flexing to release his arm. Fursa blinked - in the span of seconds, he had grown stronger - much stronger; in fact, Fursa couldn’t reroute enough of his own strength to his legs before Lavender broke free of his trap and rolled away. The Fragrancians exploded into a wild cheer, and the White Tigers were speechless. “H-how did he do that?! That grip should be impossible to escape!” came a sharp whisper. Lavender pushed himself up to a kneeling position, brushed his black hair to the side and snickered. “Not for me,” he said and clicked suggestively. The spectator who had spoken up fell back into formation, blushing. Fursa charged at Lavender once more, but an unnaturally strong second wind had overtaken him, as though the cheers of the crowd infused his breath and muscles with power. He danced out of the way and skipped over to the other side of the ring, posing triumphantly with one hand saluting the moon. The crowds whooped and drummed their spears on the ground. What was this sensation? Fursa came thundering towards him again, and Lavender avoided him again, as though their fight had become a game - entertainment for the masses. “Get him, Lav!” came a shout. Ah, it was Rose, his precious Rose. Well, Lavender felt that he was nothing if not a crowd pleaser. He turned around, did a cartwheel into a backflip and planted his feet in Fursa’s chest, sending the large man hammering to the ground with unnatural force. The warrior looked to be struggling to stay conscious as he shakingly lifted his head off the sand - spots of black coloured the ground where his skull had landed. Lavender danced another round around the ring, cupping his hands behind his ears. “End him, end him, end him!” the Fragrancians cheered. The White Tigers were covering their eyes at the sight and their noses at the smell of blood. The chieftain stood there grimacing. Lavender snickered and exaggerated some searching gestures to the struggling body on the ground. “Oh, you mean this guy? Whaaat do you want me to do to him?” “Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” “Oof, such a menacing request - my, my. Oh well, as the crowd demands.” Lavender flattened himself down next to Fursa, who still hadn’t gotten his bearings. He then grabbed his arms, forced him onto his side before locking the arms behind his back and then laying himself on his enemy’s back. He locked his elbow over Fursa’s throat and squeezed. “Here we go, folks!” Then he squeezed - the man underneath him squirmed weakly to free himself, but there was no hope. Worse yet, whenever the crowds would grow quieter, Lavender would let up slightly, giving Fursa the opportunity to suck in a desperate breath, only to worsen the chokehold. Eventually, Tsarri growled. “By the gods, just let him die already!” “I dunno… What does the crowd think?” “Kill! Kill! Kill!” the Fragrancians continued, and now the White Tigers joined in in the hopes that their comrade would be shown some mercy. Lavender clicked in acknowledgement. “As the crowd demands,” he whispered and, with a final squeeze and a twist, snapped his opponent’s neck. Fursa laid limp the following second. The Fragrancians cheered as Lavender rose up and threw his arms in the air. The White Tigers had lost all the fervour they had, and Tsarri clicked somberly as he walked over and inspected the corpse, turning his limp head from side to side with morbid jerks of movement. “Didn’t take you for a torturer, Lav,” he whispered coldly. Lavender cast a glance over his shoulder and snickered. “Fighting is a show to please the crowd - one man’s torture is another man’s glory, after all.” The chieftain eyed him blankly. “What?” “You’re a crowd pleaser like myself - surely, you understand that the morale and enjoyment of the spectators must come before the wellbeing of the fighters; otherwise, they will be left dissatisfied and sate their bloodthirst through other means.” He scratched the chief under the chin. “Can’t have nelves wantonly killing nelves, now can we?” He then spun around and walked back to the Fragrancians to be carried by the warriors like a hero. To take his place, rach Rose stepped forth to meet the shattered chieftain. Tsarri eyed him briefly and clicked his acknowledgement of his existence. Rose clicked back. “Ready to hear your terms of defeat, then?” Tsarri waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Stay out of your lands and pay compensation for the roses. What do you want?” The directness took Rose by surprise, but he couldn’t let the iron cool. “Roses are valued as among the most fragrant flowers we have here - you will repay us in something that can equal or equate to its value. Seeing as your… People have nothing that can compare to roses, we will settle for three sleds of junglewood.” Tsarri sucked in a slow breath. “Fine, you shall have it. Meet us here again in a week, and you will have your carts.” He lifted one of Fursa’s cooling hands. “Did you know Fursa was our nelflings’ finest wrestling instructor? They’ll be devastated to know he’s dead.” Rose shrugged. “Shouldn’t have let him fight Lavender, then - deep down, after all, you are aware that your people is inferior to the civilisation of Fragrance; he couldn’t have won.” Just as he turned away, Tsarri grabbed his hand. “Fursa had the upper hand from the very start - then, just as he was about to end him, Lavender turned the fight completely around. How could such a thing happen?” Rose hissed and pulled his arm free. “Accept that your man lost and mine won. Maybe Fursa had a lapse of judgment allowing Lavender to break free, or maybe he was toying with all of us and had control of the situation all along. If you even consider accusing us of cheating--” Tsarri growled and lowered his head. “No, no, I would’ve noticed if he had pulled some [abbr=Magic, literally “nature weaving”. Here said in the Hui Prra dialect.]chao-ggao[/abbr] nonsense… He won with his own power, but…” Before he could finish, Rose turned away again and kept walking. “Keep your conspiracy theories to yourself, kitten. We’re done here. We’ll see you in a week - do not be late.” With that, the Fragrancians headed back north. While walking, Lavender was praised and worshipped by his peers, and many stuck close to touch and smell him, clicking happily whenever the champion would return the gestures. Rose himself kept a steady pace some distance behind, and eventually grew a little anxious at all the attention his [abbr=Lover when addressed in the third person.]oia’ssi[/abbr] was getting. He sped up, plowed through the crowd and grabbed Lavender by the arm, dragging him a little ahead of the rest of the group. “Woah, hey, I was going to get to you, Rosie,” Lavender whispered with a chuckle. Rose frowned, but kept looking forward so Lav wouldn’t notice. Lav giggled. “Oh, I get it - that jealous, huh?” “I’m -not- jealous. I just…” He sighed and slowed down, matching the pace of the men behind them. “You really had us going back there, you know… For a second there, I actually thought you… You would…” “Would what, die?” Lavender threw out as though it had never been and would never be the case. “Yes!” “D’aaaw, Rosie was worried about me…” A quick movement seized Rose’s hand and placed it to Lavender’s lips. “You’re so cute when you're anxious.” “Please don’t be attracted to my stressed side. I’m having a whole pot of tea when we get home… This whole ordeal has not been good for my heart.” “What’re you talking about - I’m doing great!” “My bodily heart, Lav!” “I’m just teasing, Rosie.” Rose sighed harshly. “Dumbass.” [hider=SUMSUM!] Fragrance is having beef with its southern neighbours, the Hui Prra (white tigers). In true nelven fashion, they decide not to settle it with war, because that would be dumb and harmful to both sides, but to settle it with games. The champions are Lavender from the Fragrancian side and Fursa from the Tigers’ side. The first game is a war dance - Lavender wins; the second game is catch, but with spears - Lavender forfeits; the third game is a wrestling match - Lavender wins with the help of Neiya. The Fragrancians win best of three and thus the skirmish. [/hider] [hider=MP Sum!] Neiya: 5/5 -3 MP - Buying Pride Consecrating a hero: The Bloodiest Showman II: This hero's strength and dexterity increase considerably whenever he fights in front of a crowd cheering for him. (Free with Pride) The Entertainer II: This hero has an almost eerie ability to sway the crowds to his side, either through impressive displays of gymnastics, song or speech. It's as if the spotlight's always on him.-2 DP End: 2/3 [/hider]