It’s a heady thing, adrenaline. Rose considered, as she dodged her opponents charge. It fills you, makes you feel unstoppable, unopposable, powerful. She kneed him in the face as he passed by, sending him bouncing back into the short shabby walls around them. It takes away pain, and fear, and leaves only aggression and excitement. The stubby bearded annoyance popped up off the walls, and charged at her screaming.

Rose hated adrenaline. She knew, better than most, what it was like coming down from that high. The feeling of invincibility is just a feeling. She sidestepped his charge once again, bringing her elbow around in a downwards chop to the top of his head. Once it passes all the cracked ribs, bruised knuckles, and broken noses catch up with you. He dropped to the ground, and immediately started flopping about. Struggling to rise.

It’s like, getting a taste of paradise, before being plunged straight to hell. Rose pondered the existence of hell for a moment as she kicked him while he was down. Her thick leather boot colliding with his nose. He was sent flying into the walls, spewing blood and curses, again. A journey no one would enjoy, unless they were insane.

Like the stupid rockhead she was fighting for example. She had knocked the dwarf on his ass dozens of times. Blood seeped into his beard from his crushed nose. Staining the scraggly auburn curls a deeper shade of red.

The way he fought was suicidal. Blind charge after blind charge. Just swinging wildly in the vain hope she would just let him hit her. This is getting annoying. Rose gritted her teeth. I have hit him hard enough to put down an ox, dozens of times. But he just. Keeps. Coming!

Rose studied her opponent. Some asshole has spiked him. She realized. Those glazed red eyes, the cracked blackened teeth, the thin pale skin riddled with sores and ruptured veins. All signs of serious spike addiction. Some bastard had thrown a spiked addict in the ring with her.

Spike was a rather nasty type of illegal ‘life enhancers’ that got passed around the back alleys these days. Originally it had been a dwarven concoction, designed to give miners and soldier a boost to their Strength (Str) and Endurance (End) Attributes. And it had, but the side-effects were nasty.

A temporary but severe drop in Intelligence (Int) and Wisdom (Wis), up to three ranks in some cases, and a permanent dip in Charisma (Cha). It also gave a feeling of euphoria and invincibility, which  quickly led to addiction and overuse. All of which led to lots of stupid mistakes that killed lots of miners and soldiers. So it’s production was banned, and its use outlawed.

Which of course meant its use immediately exploded amongst criminals. The addictive properties meant that any mook with some cash to burn could hook a bum on the stuff, and boom, instant pitfighter. It was by and large considered rude to actually send one into a fight against anyone except another spiker.  But sometimes people are assholes. This particular dwarf was a good example of why it was frowned upon. Spikers were mad, not just angry, but actually insane. They never backed down, until they either died, were paralyzed, or the drug had run its course. That made for some amazing brutal fights, but had ruined lots of good fighters.

Depending on the strength of the user and the purity of the drug used. Some spikers could crack stones with their fists, and shrug off hits from siege equipment. Luckily, the one in the ring with Rose was a weedy shrimp, even for a dwarf.

And I am done playing with him. Rose coiled herself into a knot of explosive violence, and when the ragged dwarf came barreling at her this time. She whipped her leg into his head. The iron plate she had tied to her shin crushed into the side of his skull, sending skin, teeth, and bone bursting in the opposite direction. Lets see him get up with half a head. She thought, smiling through the burst of pain in her leg.

She calmly placed her foot back on the rough sand covered panks of the makeshift arena. Ignoring the insistent throbbing from her abused shin. Waiting for the drunken elf referee to wake up enough to declare her the winner. If she left before that, then Scar, the greedy kniver who owned the establishment, wouldn’t pay her the winnings. On account of “Well now, I didn’t hear no winners be called, and I can’t be just handing away purses to any layabout says they won them now can I? It’d be bad fer me reputration.”

So Rose waited, ignoring the crowd of drunks and idiots who had shambled into the Drunk Skunk that day. They were shouting and cursing. Those who had lost money were calling out challenges and accusations of cheating. Those who won money calling out offers of bad sex and worse beer. Not a one of them would get in the ring with her though. Try to make good on their threats and offers.

Rose was an intimidating woman, she knew it, and used it as best she could. She was a mutt, a mongrel, a mixed breed. Not even she knew exactly what she was. But there was some orc in there. Her fangs were tiny in comparison to an orcs tusks, but still razor sharp. She kept them clean and gleaming. It gave her smirks a certain level of menace beyond most. She must have some giant in her blood too. Because Rose was tall. Seven feet and a bit of long lean muscles. All covered by deceptively delicate looking light blue-green skin. She’d had shivs snap on her skin before.

All this put together made Rose look like a threat, despite her young age. She wasn’t sure exactly how old she was, but around 15 or so. She went to great lengths to hide that age and enhance that threat. She covered her face and arms in tribal looking markings using some sheeps blood. It hid her more attractive features and freaked out city folk. A necklace of “fangs” hung from her neck. She had hunted down some of the giant sewer rats, torn out their long incisors, and whittled them into an approximation of fangs. Thick leathers and furs hid her body from view, and made great places to hide knives and tricks. Like the iron plate strapped to her shin.

When a stranger looked at her, they would see a towering savage brute. Complete with dull vacant stare and even, if she was feeling theatric, a bit of drool leaking from her mouth. People, she had found, tended to see what they looked for. So she showed them a dumb brute, and they only saw a dumb brute.

That meant the dangerous people saw her as a blunt instrument to be used instead of a threat to be eliminated. While the weak people saw her as too dangerous to provoke, and a boon to befriend. So far it had worked out alright.

The elf finally managed to wake up enough to declare Rose the winner of the match, before bending over and vomiting into the crowd under his elevated chair. Shouts and swearing erupted behind her as Rose headed to the pay cages.

“Topher! Pay me!” She barked, deepening her voice to a growl while slamming her arm against the iron cage the paymaster hid behind. Topher was a weasel. Literally, a weasel beastkin. He was an alright sort, for a coward.

“R-r-r-rose! H-hey th-th-there! J-j-j-just a mi-mi-minute pl-please.” He also stuttered. A lot. How someone like Topher got a job at a place like this was a mystery. But not one she intended to worry about. She just wanted her money, so she could walk out of here and find a healer for her blasted shin.

Topher extended his quivering fur covered hands out of the tiny gap in the cage. Holding a small purse, her winnings. “H-h-here it is. Fi-f-fi-fifteen silvers, a-a-and-” Rose snatched the purse from his paws before he could finish his painfully slow sentence, grunted at him, and walked up the stairs into the tavern proper. Trying her best not to limp.

The Drunk Skunk was famously the worst bar in the city. The drinks were cheap, yet still overpriced. The food was was both burnt and soggy, and the waitresses all had the itch. But the Drunk Skunk provided a valuable service to the poor in the Cull around it. A cheapened parody of the nobles gladiators and arenas.

In the basement was the cheapest, bloodiest, dirtiest of all the fighting rings in Ramsom. Bums fought for scraps of clothing or food. Addicts beat each other to death for a taste of their drug of choice. And Rose killed the poorest of the city for a pittance of silver.

She had a plan, of a sort, and that plan called for a reputation. So Rose stomped out of the basement, and plowed into the crowded mass of sweat and dirt stained wool that was the clientele of this establishment. Shoving, elbowing, and at one point kicking her way through the throng of dwarves, humans, and beastkin that occupied the place. The Drunk Skunk was only ever this full for one reason.

Sure enough, numerous leaks dripped happily onto the molding wood floors of the Skunk, and occasional blasts of sound rattled the cheap leaky tankards of sour beer. It was springtime. Which in the Fold, as the hilly plains around the city were known, meant thunderstorms. Lots of thunderstorms.

Rose finally cleared the press and stepped out into the sheets of pounding water. The driving rain plastered her thick dark hair to her scalp, and washed the sheeps blood markings from her skin. Her leathers and furs got soaked through quickly. She squelched happily through the rain. In the Cull, the poorest part of Ramsom, the only time to find some peace and quiet was during these thunderstorms.

The rain cleared the stench of the tanneries and slaughterhouses from the air, and one could only see a couple of feet from their face in the thick curtains of rain. Luckily or unluckily, Rose knew the route to her healer of choice by heart. And soon she was standing outside a doorway. Nothing stood out about the door, besides its flaking layers of various shades of green. The traditional sign of a healer.

Rose knocked, and waited a minute before knocking again, much harder this time. She couldn’t hear anything over the rush and patter of the rain. So she lifted her arm to knock a third time, and clobbered the irate healer in her face when she jerked the door open abruptly.

The bent over woman was a human. In her forties or fifties, and was proving that one did not live to that ripe age in a place like the Cull without learning a vast array of curse words. “Sorry Violet.” Mumbled Rose, not sure what else to say in such a situation. The unfortunate healer finally straightened up her hands still cupped around her nose, and now glowing with a dull green light.

“Gor damn it, Rose! What in the hells do you want!” The portly woman scowled up at the giant teen.

“Healing. Hurt my shin.” Rose offered, wiggling the offending appendage and clawing her thick black hair back out of her eyes. They walked, Rose limped, back into a extremely clean room. A small bed with white sheets lay in the far left corner, a comfy padded chair in the far right. Along the right wall were a set of drawers and cabinets containing Violets tools of the trade.

“You don’t have to keep up the act Rose, we’re alone.” The older woman finally took her hands from her nose, and produced a handkerchief seemingly from nowhere. “What did you do this time dearie?” She asked as she wet the cloth in a nearby bowl of water and dabbed the blood off her face.

Rose grimaced. “Some idiot put a spiked up dwarf in the ring with me.”

“And what?” Violet interrupted her. “You decided to be smart for once and refused to fight him, so he kicked you in the only place a dwarf could reach?” She sounded sincere, but the smirk on her face gave away her teasing for what it was.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Not exactly, I knew he wouldn’t stop coming at me. So I crushed his head with the shin plate. But you know how hard dwarf bones are even without spike.” Rose shrugged apologetically. “I had to put some real oomph behind it,”

While they’d been talking rose had been struggling to work her wet leather trousers up over her shin. Violet watched the giantess in amusement. Watching the towering girl hop about on one foot bent nearly double was an amusing sight indeed. “Take a seat on the bed dear. Wouldn’t want to do yourself another injury.”

Rose glared at her, but the look was without heat. “It’s not like I’m a clumsy accident prone fool Vi.”

Violet sighed. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re the very spirit of restraint and caution.” The Healers words positively dripped sarcasm. “But you only ever come to visit me when you are in fact injured. Is it really so odd I might think differently?” She gave Rose a look reserved especially for difficult young patients. Rose rolled her eyes but conceded and plopped herself down on the bed.

Wet leather is a miserable material, but she finally managed to expose her shin. The dented sheet of iron was molded around her shin, and tied there with numerous strips of leather. Underneath was a layer of wool to absorb some of the impact when Rose decided to hit things with it. It hadn’t worked as well as she had hoped it would.

Violet knelt down next to the wound, and gently snipped away the leather ties. Rose exhaled in pain when the dented sheet of metal fell from her shin. The wool underneath was stained red, and blood started to drip onto the floor. “No worries about the mess dear, that’s why I don’t keep carpets in here.” Violet murmured gently as she slowly worked the sopping red wool off of her patient.

Under the wool the skin on her shin had split, and her whole shin was badly swollen. Violet gently cleaned the wound with a fizzing yellow solution, numbing the area and showing her the extent of the damage. She ran a gently glowing hand along Roses calf. “That dwarf must have had a particularly hard head indeed. Your tibia is cracked, and as you can see your skin is split. I recommend not using that ‘shin plate’ again. As far as I can tell, it prevented your bones from flexing as they normally would have.”

She prodded the wound lightly with a glowing finger. “If you’d kicked him without the plate, I think you wouldn’t have even broken your skin. Rigidity isn’t always a good thing dear.” The glow slowly spread over and into the wound. Rose gritted her teeth and groaned. Feeling an itch inside of you is a disturbing sensation, and not one she had ever gotten used to.

“Got it Vi, but I need to make big moves like that if I want to catch the eyes of a big fish.” Rose growled and tried to look away from the steadily closing gap in her skin. Then the itch reached her bone. Itchy bones are indescribable, but decidedly unpleasant.

Violet gave a dismissive sniff. “Why you would want to spend any time around those animals is beyond me.” Her tone contained disgust and barely contained fury.

Rose was silent for a couple seconds. “ You know why Vi.” Her voice was quiet, subdued.

The two woman sat in silence. One tall, young, and strong. The other short, old, and wise. They looked nothing alike, they sounded nothing alike. But in that moment, they seemed identical. Filled with worry, and anger. Locked in shared memories of an unspoken past.

Finally, the healing finished. Rose stood slowly, testing her weight even though she knew her leg was good as new. She reached into one of her many coats pockets, dug out her recently won purse and handed it to Violet. “Make sure they get it Vi? Don’t tell them it’s from me.”

The healer suddenly seemed to grow much older. Worries and old pains carving furrows across her brow. “They’ll get it Rose. But they’d love to know you’re doing well.” She wiped her forearm across her brow. “Come visit more often, ok dearie?”

Rose nodded and gave Violet a gentle hug. Then stood and left the older woman kneeling alone in her surgery. She headed out the door and back into the rain. Embracing the welcome rushing noise of the rain to fill the silent parts of her mind.

Rose headed into the rain after a moment. Letting the capricious rain soak her once again. She jogged through the downpour, splashing and squelching every step of the way. The sewers were supposed to drain excess water from the streets, but the sewers were home to the some of the darker brands of scum in Ramsom. They had plugged, blocked, or rerouted so much of the sewers under the Cull, that everytime it stormed there was a small flood as the water rushed towards the Ramsom river.

The Cull was a sprawling mess of wood buildings crammed in next to one another. Mixed with slaughterhouses and tanneries for the main resource of the Fold. Sheep. The only way to get anywhere in the Cull was to head into the bewildering maze of alleys and side streets that wound crazily throughout the Cull. Gangs set up shop in this maze. Fiercely protecting their small slices of crappy city against one another. It would almost be amusing if they didn’t accost everyone they came across. Demanding money, or other currencies to enter their territory.

Rose was sploshing through the streets. Unaccosted as she weaved her way through the various territories. Nobody came outside in a Fold thunderstorm. Why bother? All you’d do was get wet, and you couldn’t see jack shit in all this rain. So the thugs and goons stayed inside. Content to threaten tavern keepers and whore houses. That was the norm at least.

Which is why when a thunderstorm came around there were always a handful of people who tried to take advantage of the slackened border security. Whether they tried to smuggle valuables past the usual checkpoints, or used the opportunity to pounce on a rival unawares. There was always someone up to no good in the Cull.

So it wasn’t that big of a surprise when Rose walked right into a brawl. A tight knot of ten goons with yellow cloths tied around their arms were being assaulted by at least three times their number of goons with purple cloths tied around their arms or necks or foreheads. The leaders of both parties were pretty obvious. A thick necked orc with a pair of double headed axes strapped to his back was bellowing at the purple people. “Get in der an get da boss his prize!” Rose was actually quite jealous of him. It seemed he didn’t need to try at all to be a dumb brute.

The leader of the yellow people was an elf, a rarity in the Cull, and was wielding a rapier with deadly effect. Between stabbing people in the eyes or groin he or she, it’s hard to tell with elves, was rallying his/her troops with cries of “Protect the Lady.” and “For Sir Fulter!” Now that caught Roses ears for sure. ‘Sir’ Fulter was a notorious gang boss. He pretended to be a noble knight. Called his territory his ‘fief’ and was generally a bastard to everyone. Just like a real noble.

Rose settled in at the edge of the fight. Mildly interested in what would happen next. She only got to watch the fight for a little while because that blasted elf saw her just standing there, and sent her a wicked smile. “Ah, our reinforcements have arrived! Come fine sir! Enter the fray!” Rose was stunned. To actively seek to involve a bystander in his/her fight for his/her own benefit! Surely his opponent wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for it?

Rose shot a look at the orc, and saw he was glaring at her furiously. Right, he was exactly that stupid. “RAAAAAAAARRRGH!!!!” He roared as he pulled his axes off his back and came rushing at Rose. Five of his underlings peeled off of the yellow bastards and came at her as well.

Well. Rose thought. This sucks. She turned to run, why fight an angry orc if you don’t have to? But had barely taken three steps before she heard a grunt behind her followed by an unnerving whistling sound. He can’t be that dumb, right?! She thought frantically. There is no way he would actually throw away his weapons! That’d be damn near suicidal! Still, she looked back. Sure enough, two rapidly spinning axes were heading right for her.

Diving to the ground Rose pulled her favorite knife from under her furs, and managed to dodge both axes. But before she could get back to her feet the orc was on her. With a victorious bellow he tackled her to the ground, shoving her face into the flooded streets. She felt her nose break against the cobblestones, and water filled her lungs as she tried to regain the breath that had been knocked from her. Her knife had been knocked from her grasp in the fall.

This, this right here. This is why I hate orcs. Her right elbow shot backwards, and caught the orc in the ribs. They always do stupid things. Like throw their best weapons away at the start of a fight. With a grunt she felt more than heard he was knocked off of her back, and she shot to her feet. Coughing and wheezing. I’m going to need to see Violet again today aren’t I? But that was a worry for a different time. Right now she had to deal with the orc and his approaching underlings.

Rose rushed towards the doubled over orc. It looks like I busted some of his ribs. He was gasping for air, and grasping his right side. Good for me, bad for him. He swiped feebly at her, but Rose battered his arms out of the way. Then she grabbed him by the back of his head, and started slamming her knee into his face. Once for my nose, twice for losing my favorite knife, and thrice because you suck! She snarled in her head. She let him go and the much flatter faced orc collapsed to his knees.

Then Rose turned her eyes on the five approaching threats. Now, what am I gonna do to you? They skidded to a stop, and two of them started back-pedaling frantically. Smart, I’ll let you have a head start. She cracked her neck and snarled at them.

Rose looked terrifying. She towered over the bowed and broken orc. Her soaked furs made her seem even bigger than she really was. Her long pointed ears looked like horns, emerging from the sides of her head. Her wet hair hid her eyes, so all they could see of her face in the rain was her toothy snarl. A wide grimace of vicious fangs, tinted red by the blood seeping from her nose as she was illuminated in a flash of lightning. She looked like a monster, something parents tell their children about to get them to behave.

The smart ones had run, the other three froze. Tut, tut, never freeze in a fight. Rose cajoled them in her mind. Naturally, none of them heard this unsaid advice. Then she was upon them. It makes you such an easy target. She punched the front man in the nose, breaking it. Then swept his legs, dropping him to his back in the water. As she stepped over him she stomped on his throat. See? That would never have happened if you hadn’t stood still. Strained wet gurgles filled the air behind her as she advance on the last two.

One turned and ran, screaming. The other stepped forward, swinging wildly. Really? Is he even aiming? Hey buddy, that's not how you hit, this is how you hit! Catch! She snapped her left leg up, and kicked the attacker in the chin, he started to fall. Rose grabbed him by his hair and the seat of his pants. Turning to face the ongoing scrum between the gangs. Why don’t you go play with your friends, and leave me alone! With a great heave Rose then sent him stumbling and flailing into the melee.

The purple thugs at the back of the encirclement were knocked off balance under the weight of the unusual missile. They grabbed on to each other, seeking to stay on their feet. But the slick wet cobbles below them sent them all crashing to the ground. In an amusing wave of swearing and splashing the falling thugs took their neighbors with them until almost all of them were floundering around on the ground. Everytime one of them nearly gained their feet their desperate and panicking neighbor would drag them back down again.

The Yellow group took advantage of this. Hurriedly cutting throats and stabbing faces as they fought free of the encirclement. The elf waved cockily at Rose. “My thanks kind sir! This boon will be remembered!” He/she shouted as the yellow group ran away. Rose flipped him off. Then Rose looked over the remnants of the purple group.

They were in rough shape, but there were still plenty of them alive and getting to their feet. So Rose jogged back to the unconscious orc kneeling in the rain, scooped up his axes, and she got away from there.

Rose went back to Violets for her nose. “You know, Rose, when I asked you to visit more often. This is not what I meant!” Much squawking was done before Violet finally decided to fix her nose, and not just leave it broken “As a lesson in recklessness!” The healer sent the tall young woman on her way. Recriminations still ringing in her ears.

I am not a disaster magnet! Rose thought. If I were, then I wouldn’t have dodged those axes, now would I? If anything, I’m lucky! With several similar internal conversations, all ending in self-satisfied nods, Rose put the matter behind her for now.

Finally, she reached her home. The windowless attic of an abandoned slaughterhouse. The place had been grimy, gloomy, and gross. But rent was cheap (free), and some time spent cleaning up had made it liveable. There wasn’t any furniture besides her tool chest, and she slept on layered mats of woven grass. But it was hers, and it was more than enough, for now.

She smacked a few scrap bits of metal she had hammered into spikes into one of the walls, and hung her shiny new axes on them. Next to a polished and brutal looking club, and a set of vicious looking knives. Her collection updated and her body tired, Rose flopped onto her mat. She enjoyed the smell of the dried grass, reminicsing about other days as she slowly drifted off to sleep.