In the oppressively humid air of a sultry afternoon, the docks of the Summer Sea boiled under a relentless sun. The smell of salt and fish mingled with the sweet scent of ripe fruit, as the crowd, a motley collection of dockworkers, traders, and drifters, converged around a makeshift ring outlined by weathered barrels and splintered pallets. They had come for the brutal ballet of dockside brawls, and one of today’s main attractions was Levi's fight with a brawny pirate named Ipshank.

Levi, sinewy and sharp, circled his hulking opponent with the grace of a predator. He had a reckless air about him as he taunted the burly sailor before him, as though this were merely play. "That the best you can do, Ipshank? Yer sister hits me harder!" he jeered, blood dribbling down his chin from an earlier strike, his smile a wild, daring slash across his face. Levi knew from previous fights that Ipshank got sloppy when he was angry.

Ipshank, built more like a bear than a lion, swung with the desperation of a man fighting not just for pride but survival. His paws, heavy as hammers, sliced through the air, each swing missing Levi and stirring a gust that seemed to fan the crowd’s excitement. "Shut’cher trap, Blackmont," he growled, the frustration boiling in his gravelly voice as another of his swings whiffed.

The crowd's roar crested with each dodge and weave of Levi’s, their cheers cutting into the backdrop of bustling merchants that bartered all around them. Meanwhile, a pair of guards meandered close to the fringe of the audience. They saw no need to intervene in the gambling fights; it was simpler and more lucrative to let them unfold. The sort of folk who frequented these docks would inevitably vent their violent energies, better it happen here than in the taverns and brothels that lined the shipyard.

The fight took a sharp turn when Ipshank, panting and red-faced, decided on a different tactic. With a bellow, he lunged, trying to use his significant bulk to pin Levi to the grimy wood planks of the dock. The crowd gasped as Levi was momentarily obscured under Ipshank’s mass, he was at a much larger disadvantage against such an opponent on the ground.

Using an elbow and his rear claws, Levi fought with a desperation edged with cunning. He managed to twist out from under the larger man, and with a grit borne of countless such brawls, he grappled around Ipshank’s rear leg. With a yank that seemed to stretch the limits of joint and tendon, he twisted until the air was rent with a scream. "Yield! I yield, damn you!" Ipshank’s voice was ragged with agony.

Brawlmaster Silvereye, his face partially shadowed by the brim of his tattered hat, his right eye a glinting silver orb, lifted Levi’s arm high. "Here stands yer victor, Levi 'The Leviathan' Blackmont!" His voice, raspy from years of shouting over the din of the crowd, declared the win as bets were settled amid cheers and curses.

Levi, his face a mask of blood and triumph, grabbed a bystander, a random young woman he’d never seen before. He kissed her squarely, a conqueror claiming his spoils. She shoved him away with a mix of horror and indignation, wiping her mouth which now bore a red smear. Levi just laughed, a sound as raw as the fight, and scooped up his winnings, the clink of coins sweet music to his ears.

As he leaned against a crate to catch his breath, Levi watched the next fight begin to take shape in the ring. "No magic. No killin'. Just good clean fightin'," Silvereye proclaimed, but Levi’s smile suggested he knew the truth - nothing about these dockside brawls was clean, except perhaps the sharp, salty tang of the sea air.

Roche