As we were out a-hunting, one morning in the spring
Both hounds and horses, running well, made the hills and the valleys ring
But to our great misfortune, no fox there could be found
Our huntsmen cursed and swore but still no fox moved over the ground
And up spoke our master huntsman, the master of the chase
“If only the Devil himself come by, we’d run him such a race!”
And up there sprung like lightning a fox from out of his hole
His fur was the colour of a starless night, and his eyes like burning coals
The back room of the bar in Freehold vibrates from the crowd outside. It’s almost all pirates and criminals, of course - but, then, she’s hardly the most law-abiding either, the woman who killed four of the Silver Covenant (and who had, once, used her Argent tabard to justify being part of vigilante justice). And it’s hardly as if she’s here to be a criminal.
Well, perhaps if dubiously legal brawling made one a criminal.
She stares at her reflection in the salt-stained mirror, weaving her hair into a tight braid before pinning it up, and pulls on her hood. The blue glow through it is an enchantment - she certainly has not focused any effort on training up any arcane practice; for all that she is a high elf, all she can do is still minor cantrips - but it signals what she is as well as having her ears out would, without putting her ears in danger of damage.
Mierette flashes the reflection a dangerous grin - she ignores the echo of Shanda pointing out that she grinned like her cousin’s adoptive mother - and makes her way out to the ring at a military clip, vaulting herself over the haphazard fence full of rusty nails that surrounds it and squaring herself in front of her opponent as the pirate that narrates these matches announces her arrival with a resounding “Ladies, gentlemen, and amorphous beings, the Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaack Fox!”.
Fiend is a self-described freak; half-kaldorei, half-vrykul, ancient outcast and pariah, and all muscle if short for both her heritages. Mierette likes her, when they’re not fighting; her real name is Maren Vold and she reminds her of Aunt Merinne, a tall woman who fights well, takes absolutely no shit, and can match her drink for drink until they are both under the table.
When they’re fighting, the Black Fox would consider her an iron-clad bitch even in light leather. But she had never gotten better and farther by fighting in her own weight class.
As the pirate calls the fight to start, she hurtles herself towards the Fiend with full force, shoulder first, knowing full well that, unlike the more sanctioned fights she has been in elsewhere under this title, these fights are to first to call for mercy, not to first blood.
And it is she who draws first blood.
And they chased him over the valley, and they chased him over the fields;
They chased him down to the river bank, but never would he yield
And he’s jumped into the water, and he’s swum to the other side
And he’s laughed so loud that the green woods shook
Then he’s turned to the huntsmen and he’s cried:
“Ride on, my gallant huntsmen! When must I come again?
For you should never want for a fox to chase all over the glen
And when your need is greatest, just call upon my name
And I will come, and you shall have the best of sport and game!”
It is a good fight. It is a close fight. She is tenacious, where the Fiend is powerful, and she knows, from the din around the sidelines, that they are putting on an outright spectacle. A cheering fan slaps her shoulder encouragingly when she is thrown bodily into the fence, shaking it dangerously, sends her back into the ring to break the Fiend’s jaw. In more sanctioned fights, that would be the end of it.
It is not. In fact, it is not until she has also broken multiple of her friend’s ribs and managed to slam her into the ground a few time, and sustained a good bit of rib damage herself, a freshly broken nose pouring blood down her face, and a few broken fingers from a poorly made fist that the Fiend calls for mercy, the Black Fox still straddling her rib cage, her unbroken hand pulled back and ready for another hit.
She rises off of Maren, hands rising to pull her hood off and stare around the cheering crowd, unable to contain the grin even as the blood courses over her teeth. As the healers rush in to haul Maren off the ground, she raises her arms in the air, makes her way around the edge, accepting congratulatory slaps with her good hand until the healers drag her away as well.
As she is forced onto a bench outside the ring, Mierette’s gaze slides to the side, seeing her cousins’ adoptive parents, and she looks away as swiftly as she had looked. She’s not ready for having new parents, even if Shanda would say it is entirely too late.
Instead, she locks eyes with the opponent she will have on the morrow, grinning that dangerous grin again and watching them give a wavering one right back. They, too, outclass her in size - a robust Kul Tiran with strong Drust blood, this one one who isn’t too fond of her - but she keeps winning.
The Black Fox may be small, but the Black Fox is strong.
And the men looked up in wonder and the hounds run back to hide
For the fox, it changed to the Devil himself where he stood on the other side
And the men, the hounds, the horses went flying back to town
And hard on their heels come a little black fox, laughing as he ran
“Ride on, my gallant huntsmen! When must I come again?
For you should never want for a fox to chase all over the glen
And when your need is greatest, just call upon my name
And I will come, and you shall have the best of sport and game!
Ride on, my gallant huntsmen! When must I come again?
For you should never want for a fox to chase all over the glen.”
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