Public GUTTER FIST

[Tansu Treicolt]

DENON | GUTTERLINE 12 | LEVEL C5

THE DROP

"Winning in The Drop just means you're leavin' with more creds and enough teeth left to smile."
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​

The Drop was buried two layers below a defunct skyport terminal, and past a noodle stand that sold more burner codes than broth. Technically, it was a maintenance platform—one of those long-forgotten stretches of duracrete suspended between transit pylons, just wide enough for a maglift cart and just obscure enough for people to pretend it didn’t exist.

But it did and hosted four active rings. Each one marked by strips of projection tape—thin lines of pulsing red that buzzed if crossed too soon. Fights didn’t start until the tape shifted from red to gold. Didn’t end until the crowd called it or someone tapped out. No kill shots. No weapons. Everything else was fair play.

Six fighters, always in motion. Two per ring. Three fights at once.

Spectators lined every edge of the platform or leaned from scaffold walkways above, hurling credits and curses like they were part of the bout. Noise blurred into a single living thing. A pulse of excitement and thrill.

On the far end, a repurposed food stall with its grill ripped out acted as the registrar—a narrow kiosk with a holopad, a retinal scanner, and a promoter’s perch. Anyone could claim a round just by stepping up before stepping in.

It seemed too chaotic and randomized to have anything rigged about it. No IDs? No backrooms? Hard to believe anyone, especially Tansu, was working. From where she stood—half-shadowed against a stack of sealed coolant drums, her hat tipped down over her eyes—she seemed just another bystander. But her left thumb moved in a series of slow scrolls and subtle taps. Her datapad’s brightness turned all the way down.

The fight itself wasn’t rigged, not directly. She and Talin didn’t trust fixed throws anymore. Too dramatic. Too traceable. Too many things to clean up after, and no one ever stayed bought for long. And that guy on Coruscant, he’d just been wanting a way out… the girls couldn’t do it like that anymore. It wasn’t sustainable. They had to be smarter to scale.

Talin had arranged for the Mirialan to fight on a “spike card”, a match bracket that showed up earlier in the night, when the betting pool was just heating up and people were still too cautious to go heavy on the favourites. The trick was setting her up against a local wildcard. Not a regular. Not someone known. Just quick enough to look dangerous, and just sloppy enough to fold in the third exchange. The Mirialan’s odds were floated at 7:1 in the first ten minutes. Not suspicious, but generous. Enough to tempt.

Then Tansu seeded the pot and watched the shift in numbers. Three separate bettors—all linked to shell IDs BD helped her keep on rotation—placed high on the underdog to draw attention. Once the pool was fat enough, her sister quietly reversed: pulled the long odds, leveled the field, then tipped the scale with a late bet from someone who their pocketbooks didn’t mind seeing win big.

And then the payout wouldn’t trace back to her or Talin.

The red ring lights flashed gold again. This time, louder. The Mirialan stepped into the circle with the kind of loose confidence that made people underestimate her. Her opponent—a human with too much bravado and not enough footwork—stretched like it mattered.

Someone coughed nearby, too close. She didn’t look.

A Pantoran with a synth-veil over his face leaned against one of the drums heavily, spinning a credchit between gloved fingers. "This the ring that eats up fighters?"

Tansu smiled toothsomely and turned, pocketing her datapad. “Only if they taste like money.”

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Spoiler

If you'd like to practice some no-weapon PVP, feel free to call out any character with the power of your @. They can choose to accept or reject.

Fight. Gamble. Drink. Whatever. Have fun!

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[Rel Ahn-Dross]

---

The Underworld was everywhere. The Syndicate's fingers touched everything. A place like the Drop wasn't only established, it was a landmark for the underclass.

After the Mara Corridor it was natural for him to gravitate to a place like this.

Leaving Bloodeater behind, shrugging off his armor and pulling his shirt over his head he would step into one of the rings in only the kecks that were snug over the hips of his lower half.

He was large, muscular with a powerful physique. His skin carried a light blue tint that was difficult to recognize in dim or flashing lights.

Once he'd stepped into the ring he began to pace around the circle marked by the projection tape. Red now it had shifted when he entered before returning to form. The Noise reverberated through him.

At one point he'd looked over at the Mirialan, his expression simmered with an undercurrent of rage and he'd snort. A mental image had flashed across Rel's mind, the violence that he could inflict on him. It was the simple pleasures he took.

Somehow he didn't think he'd cross paths with the woman he'd encountered on the train here, Briana Sal-Soren but there was a desire to finish what the'd begun.

His eyes searched the crowd, waiting for another fighter to come forward. It didn't matter who he fought. All that mattered was that he fought.

[OPEN]

 

[Talsin Lota]

Talsin didn't do these fights as much as he used to. The aggression was out of him for the most part, he didn't have to fight to feel something anymore either.

He'd still do them once in a while to keep himself sharp in the more rough 'n' tumble fighting way, but that wasn't why Tal was here today. He was here to... support Tansu Treicolt . Even if he didn't really understand why they had to do this to begin with. Something about financial independence and needing to stand on her own two legs, thank ya very much.

Well, okay then.

"Going well so far." He said by way of hello as he settled in next to her, hip checking hip. "I still think it would be more humane to just do a droid fighting pit."

Ironically considering the amount of times he had broken his own knuckles against someone's skull in a pit just like this. But experience bred wisdom as far as Tal was concerned.

"You wanna stay here all night or you interested in skipping out early?" A little smirk as he glanced past her towards the crowd. "I know a place that has really nice drinks and the fries are to die for too."

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

​

The panthoran eased their way toward the registrant station, a swagger in their step, and Tansu watched, weighing him up and down to see how he might stack in the rankings.

Every thing she saw, Talin saw. On nights like this they continuously melded. Sharing perspectives and thoughts made it easier for them to manage the books in real time. Making the whole wallet heist that much more believable.

Light eyes flicked to another of the rings, where a shape she wouldn't want to tangle with paced back and forth. A physical, impatient beckon to encourage others to him. Leering nearby were a few opportunists, who seemed to be checking on their capabilities before stepping up to the challenge.

Eyes on ring two. One side of the mirror thought to her other half, let's start bets now. She shifted the weight in her heels, not loving the way the guy looked at their Mirilian champion. Yeah, the big guy. He's lookin' to fight.

Before she heard Talin's opinion back on how to stack the incoming ratios on Rel Ahn-Dross 's behalf, she heard another familiar voice. Unintentionally, Talin would feel the trill of joy sparkle through their bond before Tansu withdrew slightly to be more present in her side of The Drop.

Hastily, she pocketed her datapad and slung her arms around Talsin's shoulders, smile bright and white, and hung happily with a sing-song-greeting:

"Well how-dee-do to you, cowboy." She grinned, and then hastily shifted her expression to something more pinched up and accusatory. "Sorry, what's that? Is that you mansplainin' how to better run my business?" Her brow furrowed and she withdrew one arm to poke him in the chest. "You of all people should know the benefits of some primal release that droids don't give." She shrugged, "'sides, we're doin' it for the fighters. Give 'em a chance to blow off steam and earn a little credits. What's humane about taking that outlet away, and giving more jobs to droids? Maybe the droids are tired, Tal. And maybe these folks are tired too but it's their prerogative to be here. Lin and I don't want that heat. Talk about a political nightmare."

Verily, she had no clue if that would be a political nightmare or not. But she was on an argumentative, stand-her-ground roll now and wouldn't waste time fact-checking the details.

Her eyes widened and she gave him a playful shove. "Tal c'mon now. This is my party, we're just gettin' started, I can't just up and leave my own party." But her accompanying grin appeared more delighted than the faux offended words she said.

A beat passed and she winked. "Yet, anyway."

Her hip checked against his and she found his hand to squeeze, reaching up for a quick peck to the cheek. "I missedja." Then, like every other part of the conversation so far, her mood quickly shifted and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Y'ain't steppin' in the ring this time, are you?"

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Talsin Lota | Talin Treicolt
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​

 

[Rel Ahn-Dross]

---

Nothing.

He stalked the perimeter of the ring but no one stepped up. At one point he'd seen some potential opponents weighing their odds. They decided against it quickly, there was a look that he gave them that told them he would hurt them.

When he finally stopped circling the inside of the ring Rel scanned the crowd. Patrons gathered near the ring he occupied, he looked over at the Mirialan again in one of the other rings. A smirk set across his features as though encouraging the champion of the drop to come over.

Arrogance didn't become him but there was a seething anger contained just beneath the surface that would make those that saw him weary.

Eventually his eyes set on them, two individuals.

What set Tansu Treicolt apart from the rabble was that she appeared more organized, Rel could see how others in the crowd deferred to her like she belonged. It singled her out as someone of influence if not authority in the Drop. Which is why he eventually called out to her...

"Find me a fighter, anyone."

...his gaze wavered towards the Mirialan again...

"Unless you want your champion pulled apart."

Then there was Talsin Lota , standing near Tansu whom he'd single out by lifting an arm and pointing towards...

"What about you?"

...but maybe he was just here to bet, maybe he wasn't a fighter. Eyes turned and surveyed the crowd again, almost as though he were willing someone to appear...

"There must be a Mandalorian here somewhere. Find me someone of the creed."

[OPEN]

 

[Kesh Hevro]

GUTTER FIST
Wayward Son - Chapter 1
———
OUTFIT: x
TAG: Talin Treicolt | Tansu Treicolt

DOPPLER​

DENON

Kesh Hevro is all too familiar with the underworld. Gambling rings, spice dens, brothels, that’s the world he was raised in. Yet this one, The Drop, it’s different. The concept is unique enough that he can appreciate it for what it is.

The Hellions captain eyes trailed from one spot to another; absorbing the bustling establishment he just entered minutes ago. It’s certainly not the Syndicate’s, he would be aware of that. Black Sun? They are expanding, but this doesn’t feel like them. Too innovative for the Falleens’ crude tastes. Self-owned? That’d be interesting.

“Changing your mind, capt?” One of Kesh’s squad mates, a Rodian, asked referring to the fighting circles and those inside.

“Nah, I’ll save it for the Kaggath,” Kesh brushed him off, instead making his way towards what it seems to be the bar. The limelight of the establishment perfectly highlights those fighting circles, and that’s what exactly brought him here. Not to fight, but to watch, bet, relax, perhaps learn a technique or two for his upcoming tournament.

“10 grand on the big guy, and three bottle of beer,” he made sure that his voice is loud enough so that both women, who he assumed to be bartenders or bookies, who by the way, looks exactly the same in his Pyke eyes, hear it clearly. “And a straw for me,” the Pyke added, giving his Rodian and Human mate a quick glare before his giant head and small face shifts back towards the fight circles.​

 

[Jonath Kago]

He was long ways from Concord Dawn. It was normal to be a fish out of water in a new environment, but Denon’s underworld did make him uncomfortable. He made sure to keep a solid stoic face. It helped to have a farmer’s hand to give the impression he could wrangle anyone, win or lose.

I knew I shouldn’t have paid that guide.

Some shady Rodian was to be blamed for his little ordeal. Partially, at least. The rest of the blame was on Jon for not doing his due diligence. Maybe if he’d trust his intuition he’d be in a better atmosphere instead of an illicit fighting pit. He could easily walk out, but he’d paint a target…and he could use a drink and chow. Had just enough credits and some extra to get a ride out of here.

He was lucky to find a seat at the end of one of the bars, placing his order and waited while he observed the crowd. Everyone seemed to be in pairs or a group, and Jon was the only fool to be alone. Had to figure who could be trouble and if it was worth the effort. Something did catch his eyes and tried to identify the two figures throughout the busy crowd. They were a bit familiar and shared similar facial features. Maybe if folks stopped rushing to their table, he’d get a clear picture.

Well, it could be worse. It could be Hutt Space.

 

[Morrow]

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​

Detestable, the way these people would do anything for credits. Morrow couldn't picture himself being desperate enough to make a spectacle of his own battering. Not even now, when every meal was a flavorless nutrient stick and any given night in the motel may be the last he could afford. Nearing destitution hadn't devalued his dignity. Not to mention the nascent rage evoked by the possibility of being embarrassed and beaten in front of a crowd. He could hardly stand the thought, even with the prospects of victory and 'glory' included. Yet, as evidenced by the exhibitions, there was no shortage of people who didn't share his reservations. Among the Denonites was an appetite for vice and credits that smothered any concern. They weren't so different from the people back home in that regard; he was learning to loathe them in a familiar way.

A fighter's desperation, no matter how pitiable, was at the very least good for this one convenience. Even in their gross fervor to throw credits away, bettors couldn't be blamed for taking advantage. When credits ruled the galaxy, the world would always find ignoble despondents to exploit, and on Denon, those who'd been relegated to the circus-caste seemed to know their place well.

Nudging his principles for the sake of filling his account, Morrow placed his bets. His selections were errorless, credit swelling with every fighter that hit the ground. Anyone else seeing the new number in their account might have been convinced that these people were onto something, but Morrow remained inflexible. This was only a means to an end, he reminded himself, not letting the seed of vice germinate. Remorseless in his hypocrisy, he continued, knowing he had to be realistic, and his options as a former farmhand in a soilless cityscape were frustratingly limited. Once he had the credits, he could return to his credo like nothing had happened.

Flesh thudded against the canvas of ring one, the fighter Morrow had bet against lay splayed at the edge of the ring. Morrow's lip curled, looking down at the competitor with a slight furrow. Every time one of them folded, he couldn't help the revulsion that welled up toward them. It was an involuntary reaction, as if they were giving off an odor. An unexpected reaction for someone who'd just won even more money. If anyone was watching, they'd likely think he was down on his luck. Shaking his head to quell the feeling, he weaved through the crowd toward ring two, taking stock of the participants before putting more credits down.

His hand raised, credchit pinched between lithe fingers. "Two thousand on—" Something wasn't right. Those strange 'gut feelings' that had yet to fail him all night suddenly felt different. Skepticism had inexplicably slithered in, disrupting his self-assured streak of quick bets. It was the same suspicion that arose when someone was sure they were being lied to, only there wasn't any particular direction to point it. Still, it was unnerving enough that Morrow quickly reconsidered, lowering the credchit back into his pocket.

"Nevermind," he uttered distantly.

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Talin Treicolt Tansu Treicolt Talsin Lota Rel Ahn-Dross Kesh Hevro Jonath Kago

(force presence is currently suppressed ok ty)​

 

[Talin Treicolt]

blank checks and cannonballers
Tansu Treicolt | Talsin Lota | Kesh Hevro | Morrow | Jonath Kago | Rel Ahn-Dross
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“10 grand on the big guy, and three bottle of beer,”

“Ya got legs?” Talin hollered back at the alien with an eye roll. Nevertheless, she punched in the order to a helipad, for a bartender to make their way down - if they ever would. “And who drinks beer from a straw…”

His money was more enticing. They were doing exceptionally well tonight. The atmosphere had put some pep in her step - fists flyin’, credits threatening to spill outta the bag at her waist. This was the stuff dreams were made of. Tansu’s giddiness bled in, amplifying that intoxication - even Talsin couldn’t put a damper on them. She was about ready to find their new face someone who would satisfy him and hold the mirialan when another young man stepped forward.

"Two thousand on—"

"Nevermind," he uttered distantly.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Was this guy on to them, or just another denizen who had realized they were too far in the hole already?

“If you don’t like these picks, just hold those horses. We’re bouta do some reroutin.” Talin touched her sister’s memory. She had helped this guy earlier. And he had done well. “You wouldn’t wanna call it quits too early now, would ya? When you’re on a roll?”

Talin offered a wink and a smile before stepping out from behind the counter. Their stage was makeshift, a crate providing a step up to a larger barrel. The blonde climbed dutifully, tight denim pinchin’ its protest.

“Attention, folks!” She boomed, force behind her voice, hat tipped back with one hand. The drop did not quiet with it - nor did the fights stop - but those nearby turned their eyes. “We got a gentleman here lookin’ for a worthy opponent. Who’s tryin’ their luck? I’ll up the winner’s pot 20%!”

The spectacle of someone who fought they were better than Denon’s locals would surely draw enough to cover the increase. Talin scanned the crowd, looking for interest to coax, when her eyes locked on Jonath Kago . An eyebrow raised to him inquisitively.

 

[Jonath Kago]

The fights were above grade of amateurs. Jon’s eyes departed momentarily from the twins to get a quick glance at the raw entertainment. There were impressive moments, but the skills were short of extraordinary. He would know as he had received acclaim from his peers for his fighting skills, always the equalizer in any fights especially saloon fights. Although he always wondered how he came to be a natural since he never received any form of training. A mystery he gave up on answering and accepted the fact.

His eyes returned back to whom he was staring at earlier, one of the girls stood up tall and hollered for everyone’s undivided attention. That made it a whole lot easier to finally date his curiosity. Staring intensely and then it dawned on him.

“What the hell?” talking to no one in a surprised tone, his inner voice speaking out loud.

So farmer turned…criminal entrepreneurial?

It was fascinating to see a member of the Treicolts…no, two members of the Treicolts here in this hive. Did the cornstalks bore them so much to take a radical turn to a career such as this? It was concerning, but interesting to see them thrive in this kind of atmosphere.

“We got a gentleman here lookin’ for a worthy opponent. Who’s tryin’ their luck? I’ll up the winner’s pot 20%!”

He was lucky to catch Talin’s announcement, though he did not dare to raise a hand. Let someone else have the glory…and why was she locking eyes with him and looking at him in a weird manner? Was she challenging Jon to take the fight? He looked away to find the man, and was able to spot Rel Ahn-Dross . The man was taller and bigger in mass than most of the patrons in the Drop.

You serious?

He looked back at Talin, also giving her a look with both eyebrows raised. A look of ‘are you fething kidding me?’ Another look at the challenger, before…

Could you not have picked on someone else?

…he got up from his seat and raised a hand while he walked towards the Treicolts’ setup. Shy enough to not announce himself, but not shy enough to fight this grizzled man.

“You better pray you have enough bacta for the guy,” his focus still on Talin with narrowed eyes, finally speaking now that he was close to her table.

Talin Treicolt | Tansu Treicolt | Kesh Hevro | Morrow | Talsin Lota | Rel Ahn-Dross ​

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Humans."

Jerec stripped off his coat and shirt and got into the ring, almost in hitting range of Rel Ahn-Dross . He'd gone to seed but not too bad. You had to invest in yourself to stay alive in the circles he ran in.

"Got everything going for'em. Youth, health, strength, speed, dominating the galaxy, but not a one of these boys has the spores for this."

He gestured around the galleries and knotted his long fingers into treeroot fists. There'd been a time when he could shockbox but the ensuing decades' violence had been informal. A fixture of Denon's underworld, purveyor of the finest pre-owned vehicles and vessels, the guy whose guys you went to for a getaway car or a chop shop, and now a Vigo of Black Sun, Jerec was a known quantity to the announcer.

"... Captain Jerec Asyr!"

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

Spectators lined every edge of the platform or leaned from scaffold walkways above, hurling credits and curses like they were part of the bout.

Skeevi plied their trade — cybernetic tattoos — off by the edge, on crates high enough to see the ring and promptly flag down winners and fans for commemorative ink. This place was quintessential low-level Denon and it put them in mind of better days, running around the edges of Darkwire, before the unholy intersection of Alliance, Republic, and Jedi made the corpos untouchable in any way that mattered. They paused midway through refreshing a Houk's 'I love my mother' knotwork and squinted at the fight to come.

 

[Rel Ahn-Dross]

---

An Ithorian.

Rel had almost stepped down thinking no one would enter the ring opposite him. When the Ithorian did he'd have turned his head, eyes traveling his opponents frame as he came almost within striking distance.

A Nod, respect was shown.

The Announcer called out his name, Jerec Asyr and Rel was instantly familiar with him. His name was known in the underworld of Denon and they had another connection, the Black Sun though the Ithorian was a Vigo of the Syndicate whereas he acted as an affiliate, hired out to protect their interests.

He waited until the projection tape shifted, red to gold signifying the beginning of the match then he'd launch himself at Jerec.

One hand, large and powerful reached for the curve of the Ithorian's neck so that he could pull his head down while the other began to throw punches, blow after blow without stopping.

 

[Talsin Lota]

Lota didn't even so much as offer a reaction to Rel Ahn-Dross 's challenge.

One glance was enough to tell him Rel was a killer. Someone you didn't step into the ring with lightly or at all, preferably. He didn't have anything to prove, he didn't have a hole in his spirit that needed filling with blood and pain anymore. He was just here to have a good time with a drink and a woman he loved.

Sappy and disgusting, but it was what it was.

Her hip checked against his and she found his hand to squeeze, reaching up for a quick peck to the cheek. "I missedja." Then, like every other part of the conversation so far, her mood quickly shifted and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Y'ain't steppin' in the ring this time, are you?"

"And I missed you." Turning away from the fight starting to happen between the Ithorian and the Killer to focus on the thing that did matter. "You won't catch me dead doing that chit again." Said with amusement as he squeezed back and lightly kissed her knuckles. "I am just here to support you and your endeavors for as long as you want."

And then hopefully they could take their leave for a place that was a bit cleaner.

With drinks that you didn't need to filter three times at the chance of burning a hole through your liver.

"How's tricks, darling? You and Talin still trying to break the bank by the looks of it?" Teasing her a little.

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Jerec Asyr]

then he'd launch himself at Jerec.

One hand, large and powerful reached for the curve of the Ithorian's neck so that he could pull his head down while the other began to throw punches, blow after blow without stopping.

The slightly-blue humanoid's fists hit hard but not necessarily square, other than a hit that blacked Jerec's eye and another destined to swell one of his mouths. His neck had a leathery slope to it that helped punches glance off at angles like these.

He kept one fist up as best he could for interference, though it did little good. With the other he tried to punish the floating ribs exposed by that hard grip on his neck. Hammerfist, not hook, giving him a little more space, a little less tension, to bend his head away from the pain, roll with the hits.

He got up a massive Ithorian foot, aiming to shove Rel's knees or thighs and drive him back, break space between them.

 

[Rel Ahn-Dross]

---

He'd left himself open when he'd attacked Jerec Asyr .

As the Ithorian landed a hammerfist to his floating rib Rel's teeth would grit, it wasn't a decisive blow but there was pain.

Nonetheless he kept punching, in and around the raised arm of the Ithorian trying to land as many blows as he could. There was a moment when the tinge of bruising pain lessened the force of his blows but this was momentary. Another hit, then another.

At that point Jerec had lifted his foot, large and imposing which Rel took off his thigh.

It caused him to sprawl backwards. Instead of merely letting the large foot shove him away and create distance Rel, sprawling gripped harder for the back of the Ithorian's neck in an attempt to pull him forward and drive him down onto the floor of the ring.

He'd have landed on his knees as the sprawl concluded. Drawing both arms back he'd clasp them together then drive them down towards the Ithorian's head.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

That all went about as well as Rel Ahn-Dross could have expected. Jerec's knee hit the floor and twinned fists thunked against the broad crown of his hammerhead.

Ithorians were forward-leaning as a rule, forward-weighted like a kukhri or falcata, and he turned that imbalance into a crouched lunge. His goal was to grab Rel by any expedient surface — shoulders or little humanoid head, perhaps — and drive a knee into the inside of that surface. He was feeling grudgelike and old and slow and stubborn.

 

[Rel Ahn-Dross]

---

Almost immediately after hands, interlocked for strength landed on the crown of the Ithorian's he'd have realized his mistake.

Jerec Asyr lunged at him from his knees. He felt the Ithorian's hands grip for his shoulders and all Rel could do was try to meet him halfway.

He'd start to rise and move forward, not quickly enough until his chest crushed against the Ithorian's. A moment later he was on his knees again, the proximity enuring that the Ithorian's knee hammers home into his stomach. There was retching sound, he hadn't lost his wind he felt like his stomach was ready to eject its contents.

He had to grit his teeth to keep the vomit at bay.

Nonetheless back down on his knees Rel was exactly where he'd wanted to be, Ithorian's hands on his shoulders he took the inside. Wrapping both arms inwards so that they could entangle Jerec's waist while his head leaned forward against his opponents abdomen. Lifting then with his knees and his power he'd heft upwards to bring the Ithorian off his feet.

The Ithorian weighed to much, or Rel was just holding back but he couldn't throw him over his head so instead he'd have twist to the side while maintaining the waistlock in a movement to complete what was essentially a belly-to-belly suplex that would send him crashing down onto the ring while he landed beside him.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Jerec found himself heaved, not far but enough to fall awkwardly. Clutched, he couldn't slap the floor or roll or otherwise land it well.

Pain spiked through his right shoulder and shoved into his chest. He knew better than to trust that arm until he'd checked its strength and range of motion.

Instead, he threw a leg over Rel Ahn-Dross ' midriff, half a grapple, and began applying his good fist to targets of opportunity — head and shoulder mainly. Back of the neck, even, aiming to stun. The top of Rel's head wasn't quite far enough up for an Ithorian headbutt — a strike with the hard, flat underside of the head — but he gave it a shot regardless.

 

[Rel Ahn-Dross]

---

They'd landed hard.

Rel's muscles were hot from the exertion of lifting the Ithorian.

When Jerec Asyr 's leg came over his midriff he was on his back, the leg kept him from sitting up completely and if it handn't the relentless punches that followed would have.

Instinctively Rel had raised his arms but blows still caught him. In the shoulder, off the crown of his head; the most significant bloodied his mouth. The type of thing that could either quench the fire in his breast or stoke it to immolating heights.

The Headbutt would miss or impact Rel's arms, it was hard to tell with them raised, protecting himself and the punches thrown.

Then, waiting when the Ithorian was throwing his punches Rel would parry with his forearm, pushing to drive the limb off to the side before reaching out to trap Jerec's against his torso. Using the arm he'd parried with then he'd try to wrap it around the Ithorian's limb close to the elbow, the joint before pushing down and trying to twist the limb backwards. All told it was a messy armlock but trying to sit up and apply pressure Rel was attempting to pop the shoulder out of its socket completely.