“Twenty gold pieces on the big fucker!”

“Thirty gold pieces on the Coronian!”

Shouted wagers echoed off the high stone walls that bookended the Stonevalian back alley. Blood already painted the cobblestone street from previous matches, and two humans were fighting as if their lives depended on it. One was a large, pale man. The other was a tiny, tanned woman.

Alina Espad’rina, the prodigy Fallieni dance-fighter, cartwheeled away from her opponent and continued building the mana-energy within her by rolling her hips and stepping side-to-side. The dance drew some whistles and catcalls from the crowd, but it infuriated her opponent. The big Coronian let out a roar, his face the same color as his ginger hair, and let fly with a massive right hand.

The dancer leaned backwards, letting the punch arc within an inch of her chin. The big man was close enough that she could smell his sweat and the eggs he’d eaten for breakfast. Close enough for her to put him down.

Alina concentrated the mana-energy pulsating throughout her body into her left elbow and spun, around the outside of the Coronian’s overextension to smash into his jaw. His eyes rolled back and he crashed to the ground, unconscious.

The dancer took a few more hip swaying steps and curtsied to the crowd, who gave an appreciative roar. Money changed hands as Alina moved off to the side, and the next pair of combatants prepared to take the center of the alley.

One tall, handsome elf seemed to be the one collecting most of the gold, and he broke off and ran over to Alina as she limped away from the impromptu battle ring. He smoothed back his long blond hair and peered at her with bright green eyes, a smile extending his sharp cheekbones.

“You really had them going with that one,” the elf said, “you almost had me thinking you were going to lose! When he kicked you in the leg and you buckled for a second, the bets just poured in. Here, there’s your half.” He stuffed a fistful of thick coins into her palm.

“Not enough, Dyneheart!” Alina said crossly in her thick Fallieni accent. Although she had spent many months living and fighting in Corone and Scara Brae, she was still picking up the language. “Find me money fight,” she said, shaking her fistful of coins. “Money fight!”

They set to the circular process of arguing over her cut of the profits as they navigated the town. Alina complained that half the coin was too little as they progressed past some residential construction which smelled of fresh lumber. Dyneheart insisted that he had more expenditures than her, greasing palms in order to find the fights in the first place, as they meandered through a local park with hedges and fair-smelling flower beds. They growled back and forth, and eventually gave up because of the language barrier, as they emerged into the earthen square in the center of the mining town.

“Dyneheart!” Alina shouted at the elf over the lute-music coming from some local street performers. “I fight everyday. You must find me a way to make more money for less fight. Understand?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Yes, I bloody understand!” The elf shouted back. The lutes were annoyingly loud. “Let us meet tomorrow in that tavern yonder;” he indicated a nearby establishment. “I will bring whatever work I can find your way.”

Alina nodded, and sent him away with a kick to the bottom. So this is what my ordinary world has become, she thought to herself as a passing horse took a big shit.