Bruma stepped onto the stone slabs forming the fighting zone of the tournament, with the sound of her boots against the ground silenced by the overwhelming hollering and cheering of the audience around them in the stands. Her ears twitched to the tune of their bellowing which nearly made the woman in white want to walk off and do something else, but she was here for Marcello and the prize money. It would go a long way in supporting her little baker’s ambitions after all and besides, she knew fully well how her husband enjoyed hitting things for the fun of it.

“Over here… we have the damsel from Iceberg! Bruuuuuumaaaa!” the announcer shouted from the sideline with the aid of a magical bullhorn that caused his voice to boom. The audience, acting as one large hype man, cheered even louder at the announcement of her name despite the fact they had never even heard of her up until this point. “And here comes the big man himself, all the way from the other side of Fiore! The Raaaaabid Wrestler!” With that announcement, a large man who must have stood at 6’5” wandered onto the same floor of stone as Bruma. He was packed with muscles, though, certainly not in the attractive sense and he even wore a mask. Bruma could not help but think he looked ridiculous, but this was meant to be something of an amateur circuit after all.

The announcer commenced the battle with, “Begin,” and the Rabid Wrestler hulked his way slowly at the woman with a cocksure smile. Bruma, meanwhile, made the first actual attempt as she whisked her hand out to her side with outstretched fingers. A magical, cyan seal appeared at her side and as she slid her fingers toward the man, a snowball emerged and went flying at her opponent. It burst upon hitting the man but didn’t seem to phase him, though, the snow itself clung to his body. The Rabid Wrestler merely snickered and slowly continued to waddle his way toward her as if offering her another chance, which she graciously took. She performed the same hand motion and created another magical seal in the same spot, this time producing an arrow made of ice that flung out at the man and went straight into his arm.

The man yelped, apparently surprised by the effectiveness of her move and immediately picked up the pace to a degree somewhat faster than Bruma anticipated. The large brute took a swing as soon as he reached her and in a strange turn of events, the woman lunged to her left but the man’s punch had already sent his body weight tumbling forward. He fell right off the metal slab that formed the fighting ring and with that, the announcer shouted, “And that’s a disqualification! Bruma is our winner for this round!”

WC: 478
WC Total: 478/500

"Oh you'll do just fine my friend, fine indeed! I'm a big fan of this little Baskan circus. Why, back in my day I-" Marcello wasn't listening anymore. The man who hired him to defeat Pug King, the reigning champion, was obviously after something, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was quietly winning, and making sure no one would thought much of the match. It was already unusual that he could wield two iron battleaxes comfortably, and Marcello didn't want his skills tested. The money of course would be used to fund their adventure, but Marcello was intent on surprising Bruma. She knew they were hired, but he set aside some pocket money to make her favorite gingerbread men. He would make them elephant shaped this time.

The Great Rock brought back some memories, but it had always been more of an extremely imposing and out of place mass as opposed to a gathering place for contests. He never liked being close to it, and now, he was standing on it. The announcer bellowed behind him,"And now....our very own joy boy fighting his first tournament! Maaaarrrcelloooooo!!!" Crows made him sick. Too much stimulation, too many blurred faces. "And here, hailing from the east, he calls himself THE BUUUUTCHERRRRR!" the crowd roared in anticipation. Maybe Marcello wasn't as well-liked anymore.

His opponent had a leather mask covering the upper half of his face, and a crooked smile beneath it. It didn't take long to notice he was sick. Trembling in the hands, despite strong arms and a towering 6'4" stature, a pot belly fit for any retiree. Jerky, sudden movements. He was drooling and laughing like a giddish pig. No doubt the butcher was a cannibal and a brutal one at that. Noticing scratches at his wrists, there were no animals Marcello knew that would scratch the wrists. Bites were more common as you held the animals head to be decapitated. People always scratched the wrists, attempting to free themselves if caught. This would bode trouble if the man remembered his face or Bruma's. It would be better to send a message to the crowd, after all.

The Butcher shuffled forward, cleaver in hand, very slowly, before breaking out into a mad dash. Marcello knew the downswing would be fast and vicious, he had to think quick. With a hunger in his eyes like a rabid dog, The Butcher raised his right arm up in the air, cleaver shining, and swung downward. Marcello lifted his left battleaxe and allowed the cleaver to slide along the handle before hitting the head. On contact, he let the axe slide from his hand. The Butcher stumbled forward, anticipating a head on clash.  With a quick side step, Marcello took to the Butchers spine like a heavy oak. One quick swing, to find a spot to start.

The crowd let out a collective "oooh" before going silent. Marcello knew his opponent would get up if he didn't act quickly, rather than go for the other axe, he continued to chop away at the fallen butcher. Another swing: the spine was not yet severed. Another swing: The Butcher was now paralyzed. Marcello couldn't quite hear the blaring calls for mercy, he saw a few frantic faces but focused on the task at hand. Now incapable of putting up a fight, it was time for a safe finish. A trick he learned from his time in Minstrel, was the efficient execution methods they had. A hole at the top of the executioners sword provided less resistance on the down swing and a familiar "SHWING" sound. Yet, they all aimed at the base of the neck, regardless. With cruel efficiency, Marcello cut through half the neck of the Butcher, and with one more swing, finished the match. Covered in blood splatter, he smiled at Bruma.

"And our winner for the round, Marcello!" Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, the Announcer toned himself down. His first match was won.

WC: 608/500

Bruma stepped back into the ring once more as her next match came up, looking just as fed up as the first time earlier today. She came face to face with her next opponent who looked as annoying as he probably was: a slim man just slightly taller than Bruma decked out in in bright blues, a cliché top hat of matching color, and even a long cape tied at the neck around an obviously fake jewel. He looked more alike to a street performer than a fighter, but he did make it to the second round so he must have had some merits.

The announcer gave his same obnoxious, hyped-up entrance and introduced her opponent as the Magician before shouting, “Begin!” The Magician was much livelier than the Rabid Wrestler evidently as he dashed toward Bruma who responded by preparing another magical seal by her side with a wave of her hand.

Before she could finish casting her spell, however, the man shouted, “Aha, my dear! What’s this in my sleeve!” With that, he quickly produced a small cloth from his sleeve and threw it in the air. It unfolded in the air and revealed itself to be much larger than Bruma initially suspected; it was as large as a human in fact. Bruma held her right hand as if prepared to fire off her spell and, in a surprised motion, swept her left hand to wipe the large cloth away. Even further to her surprise, several small knives came flying into her view as swatted the cloth out of the way. Without thinking, she released the spell she prepared to cast and held both her arms up to her face, catching the small blades in her left arm.

The woman produced a small inaudible grunt, not finding the small blades too painful but certainly finding the man annoying already. The Magician, meanwhile, was now standing in the center of the fighting ring and was bowing at the audience who swooned and cheered.

“And now… for my next trick!” The Magician removed his top hat before pointing its entrance at Bruma who gave him a dreadful glare but raised her right hand up in anticipation of the next attack. To either everyone’s or no one’s surprise, a bunny emerged from the top hat. It appeared cuddly, of course, but it jumped right out of the hat and all the way toward Bruma before exploding in a fiery display. The crowd cheered again and the Magician looked pleased but from the smoke, Bruma emerged, covered from head to toe in an armor of ice. It crackled with coldness as she stepped forward and using the surprise of the Magician to her advantage, she slammed her head against his own as she approached. With the ice armor, she felt nothing but the Magician fell to the ground from the pain.

The Magician reached up with an outstretched arm and pleaded, “W-wait! Madam!” Bruma bent down and looked at him, somewhat pleased with how he looked so helpless. Rather than surrender or beg, however, the Magician pleaced his hand up to her head and produced a fake sunflower in his hand. “This was behind your ear!” The whole crowd cheered and laughed, especially as the flower began spraying water Bruma who immediately produced a magical seal with her right hand over the man. An ice arrow flew out of the seal, impaling the man’s head and killing. With that, the audience went silent and Bruma quietly walked out of the ring at the announcer somberly stated her victory.

WC: 596
WC Total: 1,074/500

The crowd hummed in hushed whispers: "She's horrible! He was just having some fun!" "She's cruel, that's how all iceberg women are eh?" Marcello ignored the gasps and cries as no one understood Bruma, and to her it was natural it should end this way. Especially since the Magician had began the fight with a lethal attack. Marcello liked how self controlled Bruma could be on the field, her demeanor made him want to tease her endearingly but he definitely knew better.

Surprisingly, the crowd rumbled once more as the reigning champion took to the rock. This was a bad match up. The Pug King at first glance, appeared to be an ordinary shop keep in his thirties. He had big bulging eyes and a post nasal drip that would concern any doctor. If the rumors were true, the Pug King could quite literally transform into a Pug. If this were the case, Marcello would have to find a non-lethal way of putting him down, most likely with an axe held against the neck to demonstrate a strike. Interrupting the chanting, a cloud of smoke reeking of sulfur and sour milk came from the Pug King.

"HAIL TO THE KING, BABY." Somehow, through an unbelievable stroke of luck, Marcello got someone even more annoying than The Magician. He looked to see Bruma's reaction in the crowd but couldn't quite find her.

A booming voice came from the now diminishing cloud. A shadow gave way to what appeared to be....

A Pug.

He was a somewhat young pug, with a wrinkly face, peach fur, and two black flappy ears. His curly little tail was wiggling to and fro, eyes giant and glaring yet comfortably set in their sockets. Marcello's worst fear had come to be. No, the God's hadn't chosen to punish him. He was up against an invincible opponent. The unbreakbale. The unstoppable. Marcello thought silently to himself:

"H-He's cute..."

This had to be a form of punishment. How can one kill that which is cute? The pug made the situation difficult for him: was it truly a man, some kind of transformation magic? Mad Cashier was fighting Pug King in the first bout but Marcello hadn't thought to do any research, how intimidating could a pug be? He was sorely mistaken. The sheer preciousness of the dog left the crowd in awe as a child brought it some milk. Marcello approached, not forgetting his axes, and thought something was strange. Transformation magics must leave some semblance of intelligence in the caster. This is an ordinary pug! He's peeing and pooping and drinking milk at the same time, quite a feat for any living creature.

It was only for the bark of the Pug did Marcello not die. The little leathery milk bag barked behind Marcello, revealing an extremely well hidden Pug Champion, with a saber in hand. A quick slash and he felt the impact of blade on armor, a slight cut to his right side. With a swift upward swing, Marcello clumsily cut three fingers from the hand of Pug King, who looked to the ground incapable of processing what he saw. Like a child caught stealing, and on his knees, he looked up at Marcello. The Pug King pleaded desperately:

"I-I have, I have a son, wait-"

Marcello had left the sniveling coward kneeling, and went to comfort the pug. He gave the pug, who was the true king, some pocket snacks and a big fat kiss on the forehead.

"Take your pug, never use him like this again. I'll be back to check." Marcello said softly. The champion was defeated, money was made, and a pug was saved. A good round and a good day thus far. "AND THE CHAMPION HAS BEEN BESTED: PUG KING HAS BEEN DEFEATED!"

WC: 563
WC Total: 1171/500

A small little mutt scurried past Bruma as she made her way back into the ring, this time to face her husband. They had completed their task defeating the reigning champion and now all that was left to claim the prize money. In that sense, this final round did not really matter. They were both winners, but they should at least try to make the final round appear somewhat authentic for the audience who was clearly rooting for Marcello after having defeated Pug King in a truly mundane battle that the crowd nonetheless deemed legendary.

Bruma did not bother going over any plan with Marcello about what to do in the circumstance; in fact, she did not even try to convey her intentions as she met his gaze in the ring. She merely gave him that same dreadful stare that she might anyone else. When the announcer commenced their battle, she merely raised her right arm up to her side, producing a magical seal that was cyan in color. With just a flick of her finger, a dagger made of snow flew out of the seal and right at Marcello’s chest. It would not hurt at all if it struck him but, rather, it would splatter on his body and give him a nice chill as it sapped him of that troublesome strength of his. Although it wouldn’t hurt, it would certainly get the message across loud and clear that the man should take her seriously in this fight of theirs.

WC: 251
WC Total: 1,325/500

Not too surprised, Marcello took the flat side of his axe, and smashed it against the incoming dagger, letting the axe drop to the ground. Sapping his strength was the least of what she could do to him. She wanted this to be serious and he intended to meet her expectations. The fight was almost a way of isolating themselves from the crowd. Faces became blurs, the announcer was non-existent. Marcello had full intent to attack on each swing, but aimed with the flat side of the axe. Right before impact, he would slow down, and instead push Bruma far. It would be enough to bruise maybe, but not enough to break bones. Marcello had already underestimated his own strength once and would not make the same mistake.

The deadly gaze was charming to him. While he would normally think about his opponent and their skills, he also wanted to go for it mindlessly. It was a warm day. The rock was pleasently cool, each second passing by would push more wind through his hair. As though someone put a sea breeze across the plains, and pushed it into town, a tinge of salt was present. Charging forward, axe in a broad side position, Marcello swung upward from the right towards Bruma. If the hit landed, he would cushion the blow, and as planned pushed her across the ring. Such a distance flying would probably make it more believable. His moves were easily telegraphed, and usually easily avoided, as most are fearful of the lumbering twin axes, but Bruma was different. Who knows how she would react.

WC: 267
WC Total: 1438/500

Bruma did not bat an eye as she watched Marcello effortlessly smack the dagger of snow out of the air. It somewhat surprised her that he could snatch such a small object flying through the air like that because though he was strong, he was not the most skilled axe men to walk these lands (yet). She watched him approach like the brute from her first match and resisted the urge to grin at him. She wondered if he felt tough or if the crowd had given him an inflated sense of ego, or maybe he had some intention of going easy on her. Regardless of what her husband might be thinking, Bruma knew exactly what she was thinking and waited for her husband to get closer with those large hunks of metal before setting her simple yet concise plan into motion.

As Marcello winded up his swing, Bruma kicked the ground with her heels and lunched backwards to dodge before falling onto her back… outside of the ring. It was the reverse of the first match and perhaps it was where she got the idea. The crowd went quiet for a moment, surprised by the anti-climatic result of the final round while Bruma merely gazed up at the sky with a frown before half-heartedly mumbling, “Looks like I’ve made a blunder.” Surely, everyone would believe her. With that, she raised herself until she was sitting up, her hands brushing at the frock of her fur cloak to wipe away the dirt and dust as she awaited for the announcer to proclaim Marcello the victor.

WC: 265
WC Total: 1590/500

After coming back down from his swing, Marcello was genuinely surprised. He half expected to lose all his strength and drop the axe mid swing, or to be frozen in place by some creative application of ice armor. Fortunately, the shock on Marcello's face was enough to convince the annnouncer, who thought it had been quite convenient for the fight to end so quickly. With a deep sigh, the announcer bellowed, "AND THERE YOU HAVE IT: OUR NEW CHAMPION! JOOOOOY BOOOOOYYYY MAARRCCEELLLLLOOOOOOOO!!" The crowd erupted. It's what every crowd does in the face of a hype up, even if the last fight was a slip up.

Marcello would not help up his fallen wife, as much as he wanted to pick her up, he knew the situation didn't warrant it. He felt she would understand but wanted to tell her something anyway. A quick whisper and glance was all he could offer, and a bundle of apologies later in the form of warm gingerbread men. "Meet at home." He went to collect the reward and meet with the man who hired him. Ignoring the roaring praise and whispers behind his back, Marcello decided to spend more of the money on floral essences and extracts, as well as gifts for his wife. He wondered if he was doing this for himself or her, and realized it was both. She always looked lovely and was the kind of person who you simply wanted to shower in affection, looking regal by nature. It took him a modicum of self control to stay calm when the locals began speaking ill of her. Reward, payment and gifts in hand, he headed to their lodging to meet her.

WC: 267
WC Total: 1705/500