The sun was at its highest point when Rose came stumbling out of the sewers. Sweat and more fragrant materials soaked into her layers of furs and leathers, and plastering her thick hair to her scalp. Bruises and scrapes decorated her arms, and one of her eyes was swelled nearly shut. The crusty remnants of a recent nose bleed outlined her mouth, and added to her ragged look. If one could see through her clothes they’d see her ribs were covered in a rainbow of growing bruises.

She looked exactly like what she was. Someone who had badly lost a fight. The only evidence to the contrary was the huge childish smile on her face. Finally out of the cramped tunnels of the sewers, Rose stretched her battered and sore limbs, enjoying the sting of her new set of lessons, and the comforting feel of the sun on her skin.

With a jauntiness to her step that belied her clearly beaten state, she headed into the warrens of the Cull, whistling a broken tune. The reason behind her good cheer was clear to her, if not to anyone else. She had improved! If Rose had considered the conflicts with Aurus as fights, well, then she might not be so pleased. But they were just spars, she assured herself. And the only person you had to overcome in a spar was yourself!

Besides, in a real fight he would use her favorite tricks. Hidden blades, blinding powders, cheap shots, and a few nasty surprises even she was hesitant to use unless absolutely necessary. She hadn’t even used her obvious knives! Or so Rose told herself. In truth, the teen had no doubt the cagey old human had a dozen tricks up his sleeve for every one of hers, and she had no faith in winning a life or death fight against him.

So she simply enjoyed the improvement in her skills, and let the impotent anger at her continuing losses slip away into the back of her mind. She could see the sheets of rain closing in on the city, and she heard the muted roar of the storm before it was on her. A blast of cool wet air heralded the downpour. The rain pounded the cobbles, and sheets of water started falling from roofs. Rose kept her mouth and eyes screwed shut as she hurriedly scrubbed the various fluids and semi-liquids off of her face. You only had to get that stuff in your mouth or eyes once to learn better.

Luxuriating in the chance to get clean, the towering teen skipped through the rain. She dug a small waterproofed leather bag full of yellow chalky powder from one of her many pockets. Dried and crushed bubbleweed. It had a longer more complicated name as well, but Rose hadn’t bothered remembering it. She ducked out of the rain under an extended eave, and upended the leather bag over her head. The clumps of powder drifted down, coating her hair and most of her upper body in the sticky yellow dust. She gave it a moment to set, and then stepped into the rain. Bright pink bubbles started frothing from every speck of the oddly pine scented powder. Hundreds of fizzy orbs bursting from every single speck of the stuff. Rose scrubbed herself down vigorously, ridding her hair, skin, and clothes of the special smell only a backed up city sewer can create.

Honestly, she could have gotten clean with a quarter that amount. But Rose enjoyed the fizzing sensation the powder made when it popped into bubbles. And it’s not like bubbleweed was hard to come by, as the name implies it’s a weed. Rose had dozens more packets tucked away in caches throughout the Cull, and half a dozen on her right now. They were all hidden in her pockets and waiting to be used. Not just for cleaning herself either. If you dump a packet of bubbleweed powder in someone's mouth or eyes it’ll blind and suffocate them temporarily. Which is why she was very careful to keep her eyes and mouth closed when using it.

As the bubbles washed away in the rain Rose made her way towards the Drunk Skunk. The disreputable bar was the only place in the city she could get a fight without having to pay an outrageous fee, or join the local crime family. A combination of being so awful no one wanted it, and sitting right on a confluence of gangs that would keep each other from taking it had allowed the grimy tavern to maintain a certain level of autonomy. Much like its namesake, it was best left alone.

The rain was already letting up by the time Rose approached the shabby building. Spring rains tend to be heavy but brief. So when Rose came to the door the latest batch of ne'er do wells were on their way back out into the drying streets. Rose bulled through the exodus, and entered the gloomy pub. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she heard a vaguely familiar voice.

“Ah tell yu ladzsss, if I sssee that gangly maggot again, imma rip ‘isss armssss off! And beat ‘im with ‘em!” The voice was probably trying for an intimidating rumble, but was the effect was thoroughly ruined by the odd whistles and the nasal tone that accompanied it. Rose shot a look at the oddity, and quickly took a second one. By some poor luck, seated at a table, surrounded by his orc flunkies, was the flat faced orc she’d clobbered just last night. The unlucky brute whose nose she’d flattened was also missing several teeth, and had his eyes nearly sealed shut from swelling. But when Rose whipped her head around to stare at him he still managed to peer back at her.

There was an odd moment then. A strained silence, as both parties brains fizzled and tried to come up with an adequate response to the sudden surprise. The orc got there first. “Gerrim!” He bellowed nasally. Before shoving away from the table and lurching to his feet. His cronies were a half second behind him. Most still trying to figure out who exactly they were, in fact, getting. But soon a full dozen enraged orcs were charging in Roses general direction within the cramped confines of the Drunk Skunk.

So Rose did what any intelligent, thoughtful, lady would do in such a situation. She grabbed the closest table, and threw it at them. Then she turned and ran away. The heavy but slightly rotted wood slammed directly into the poor flat faced orcs ever flatter face, sending him and a few of his boys to the floor in a spray of splinters and curses. Rose sped out of the bar, punting an unfortunate gnome who had been moving out of her way too slowly. Once she was back in the streets Rose dashed off. The furious orcs hot on her tail. As she ran Rose let all worries and fear slip into the back of her mind, all she had to focus on was the path ahead. The locals started placing bets on the outcome of the chase, loving a chance at some free entertainment.

Of all the bars, in all the city, he has to be in mine! Rose thought, briefly cursing coincidence as she sent a half full rain barrel careening into the alley behind her. Successfully losing two more of her pursuers. Orcs are the fucking worst! Rose whipped her head back to check on her pursuers. They were still there. They never let anything go! Ever! She dove under the wagon of a startled merchant and rolled out the other side. It’s like they take pride in holding grudges, the longer the better! She skidded around a sharp turn in the road, and right into the path of an angry orc. That particular orc had hastily cut through some alleys in a bid to get front of her. He made a diving tackle, intent on knocking her down so his buddies could catch up with him. Rose desperately dodged to the side. Just barely managing to avoid his tackle. Surprised and starting to get angry, she hooked a vicious punch into the side of his head as he fell past her. Sending her would-be ambusher crashing to the ground. She was off like a shot, ducking into a nearby alley. The concussed orc was just beginning to groggily stand back up. When his friends came rushing around the corner. They slammed into him, and they were all sent crashing to the ground in a wave of angry green muscle. That gave Rose a precious lead over them, and she used it to the utmost. Sprinting recklessly through the twisting maze of alleys until the sounds of pursuit dwindled and finally disappeared. Orcs! They’re all like, oh, you’ve been feuding with your brother about who gets grampappy orcs outhouse? That’s nothing! My family's had a feud with a gnome clan for three generations! Rose groused further about the legendary grudges of orcs as she made her way back to her home.

She’d managed to lose the orcs, for now. But if she knew anything about orcs, and she liked to think she did, then they’d be sure to stake out the Drunk Skunk. Waiting for her so they could take another shot at revenge. Which was terrible. Because without access to the Skunks fighting pits Rose wouldn’t be able to continue her plan. She lacked the money or credentials to fight in literally any other ring in the city.

Now, you might be wondering why Rose is so intent on fighting in the pits at all. Why not just get a job, or join a gang as a underling? Well, dummy, that’s because Rose has a plan. See, Rose wants to join a gang, sure. But not as a grunt. Low level thugs get used, abused, and thrown in the refuse. And it’s much much worse for women. In most cases it is only a matter of time before your ‘friends’ decide to ‘make use of you’. And after that you might as well have just started off as a whore to save yourself some time.

So, no. Rose wasn’t going to join a gang as a grunt. Well, what’s the alternative? I’m glad you asked! You can join a gang as a Champion! Note the uppercase C. Champions are veteran brawlers, pit fighters, and soldiers. If two gangs are having a dispute they can settle it with a Champions Bout. They set conditions, and the loser must abide by them or lose all respect. Which is a deathblow in the underworld. If you aren’t respected and feared, then you will be picked apart. Your boys will leave, your businesses will be knocked, and your captains will be hunted.

Champions are outside the usual gang hierarchy. They don’t pay dues, in fact, gang leaders pay them. They only have to answer to the boss, and even then only in the case of a Champions Bout being called. Being a Champion means rubbing shoulders with bigwigs and power players. It means access to people and places you wouldn’t normally ever be able to get to. All without being locked into the bitter power struggles of gang politics. It meant being able to influence powerful people, and not having to be a pawn in their schemes. Well, except for that one thing.

Rose wanted to become a Champion. And the Drunk Skunk was her first stepping stone. As it had been for hundreds, if not thousands, before her. Trying to become a Champion was a common goal among the Cull. But there were only fifteen Champions currently living. They were the best of the best, the toughest, cagiest, meanest, luckiest bastards in all of Ramsom. And possibly all of Dover kingdom too!

The Drunk Skunk had no fighters fee, there was no need for a sponsor or patron. All were welcome to struggle for their dreams in the moldy basement of the dilapidated bar. If only because the stinking conditions of the bar meant that they had to take what they could get. The owner would happily take money to set up a fight, but who would be willing to pay good money to fight in a shithole? And now it was likely that some bloody stupid pigheaded orcs were keeping Rose away from fighting for her dream! Unacceptable!

As to why she didn’t get a normal job, well. The poor in Ramsom have four options for work. Herd sheep, become an adventurer, join the army, or hope to get an apprenticeship with a craftsman. Oh, and become a prostitute. Can’t forget that one.

Rose refused to herd anymore sheep. She knew better than to become an adventurer. Women in the army have it little better than women in gangs. And competing for an apprenticeship requires a letter of recommendation from a provincial school or church. Which Rose didn’t have. The less said about the last job, the better. But the most important reason for why Rose sought to join a gang instead of get a job is simple. She can’t get the level of power she needs for her goals through any of the other options. Simple, but there it is.

Rose was pacing about her home. The slaughterhouse was a fairly large building, so there was plenty of room to pace. But Rose was a very large lady, and her problems called for lots of pacing. So all that space still seemed like too little. So, Rose thought. I need to shift an orc. Never an easy task, but even more difficult when said orc is out for your blood. What’s more, this was a problem she couldn’t solve with violence. Even if I somehow manage to take out all the purple gang orcs at the Skunk. That doesn’t solve the problem. Their gang would just send even more after me to try and not look like a bunch of wimps. Rose paused her pacing as a thought occurred to her. What gang are they even? Depending on the gangs reputation and numbers maybe she did have a chance at beating them. So Rose left her cozy home, and started combing the streets for her favorite gossip.

If someone had claimed to know everything about Ramsom, then they would have been laughed at and scorned. But if Rose had to name a person she personally thought was the closest to knowing everything going on in, and around, the city. Then she wouldn’t hesitate to say, Dogger.

Dogger was an orc, or more exactly, Dogger was a orc child. He ran a small gang of urchins. They made a bit of money as scurries, slaggers, and shlockers. Which is to say that they ran messages, sifted through sewage, and robbed drunks. There were dozens of such urchin groups in the Cull, and while each of them would take money anyway they could get it, each group had its speciality. Dogger, and his crew, specialized in information gathering and exchange. Somehow, Dogger always seemed to know who had done what to whom. And the whys, whens, and hows involved. And more importantly, he owed Rose a couple of favors.

Not everyone enjoys it when a street urchin starts telling everyone that your wife kicked you out of the house because you were sleeping with whores and caught the red rot. Especially when it’s true. Dogger was seven or eight, who was keeping track? And he’d already had over a dozen different people try and kill him at least three times each. It was something he took an orcish amount of pride in. He actually had a collection of knotted leather cords. With each cord being a person who’d tried to kill him, and each knot being one of their attempts.

Normally he managed to trick, bamboozle, mislead, or ambush his would-be murderers. But sometimes he wouldn’t be so lucky. Rose had saved his life twice. Once by clocking his pursuer who had bumped into her while chasing Dogger, and another by killing a giant sewer rat who Dogger had run into while slipping into the sewers to escape a different pursuer. Both times were luck and happenstance, but Dogger was an oddly traditional orc for a city dwelling child. He took both life debts very seriously, and demanded Rose come to him if she was ever in need.

It should be known, however, that Dogger isn’t his real name. When he was forming his little band of thieves they picked new ‘cool’ names. Pretty much every urchin gang does that actually, and many of the ‘real’ gangs do as well. Which is why they are kids called Bloodspurt, Murder, Talon, and Meany running around in this city. When Dogger had his chance he’d gone for an old classic, Dagger. Sadly, Dogger is an orc, and even for an orc he has a massive underbite. He had spoken his desired name loud and clear, and his chums had misunderstood him. And thus was born the street urchin, Dogger! He’d made the most of it, claiming to be able to sniff out lies and following trails of info ‘doggedly’, but his close friends knew he truly hated his name, which is why they simply called him boss.

So Rose moved to find the diminutive greenhide and call in one of her favors. Which is when she ran into yet another problem. She had no idea where Dogger hung his hat. The urchins were never still for long, their bases made tempting targets for the worst in the city. They lacked the strength to protect their valuables from greedy grown ups. So they stayed on the move, typically having a half dozen bolt holes at a minimum. They didn’t exactly advertise their location either, much the opposite really. So Rose headed for the last place she’d seen Dogger.

A fire gutted tenement housing. The roof was mostly gone, and the facade had been burnt away in large areas, exposing rotten planks and crumbling bricks to the uncaring elements. The doors were held closed with a length of old crusty rope, but that wouldn’t stop anyone from simply walking through the several gaping holes in the side of the building. The gloomy buildings empty windows seemed like hollow staring eyes. Smoke stains like backwards black tears rose from them, and the whole building looked like it was one stiff breeze away from falling into matchsticks. Several weeks ago Rose had seen Dogger duck inside the dangerously dilapidated building. At the time she’d noticed it she hadn’t been particularly interested. She’d heard there was a wandering meat skewer salesman in the area who sold the best meat skewers in the city. And she’d been focusing on finding him, not on a familiar looking child entering a building.

But now it was her best guess as to where he might be. So despite her many reservations about entering what was clearly a deathtrap, Rose plunged inside. Well, she didn’t plunge inside really. That’d be damn near suicidal. She very slowly, very carefully snuck inside. But make no mistake! She was plunging in spirit!

The inside of the ruin was open to the sky, and smelled of damp rot and old ash. A few rooms near the bottom had been almost untouched by the fire. But falling debris from the blazing rooms above had gutted them all the same. Rose could see nothing that would show that anyone had been squatting in the ruins. Which was deeply suspicious. Homeless people would move in anywhere, no matter how dangerous, if the place wasn’t guarded. Or haunted, which to the homeless simply meant the place was guarded by ghosts.

So, the lack of shabby tiny huts and patchy moldy tents meant that someone had been keeping the bums out of here. Rose thought as she paced slowly along the crumbly perimeter of the ruin. But there was no sign it was being used. She stepped over to a empty doorway. Peering through to find only more burnt building. So, logically, if someone is keeping the bums away, and yet there is no clear use of the bum free zone. She prodded a charred hunk of timber with her boot. Then there must be a hidden or camouflaged thing nearby! Pleased with her assumptions Rose started poking at every suspicious cranny, and peering deeply into every suspiciously dark shadow.

Surprisingly, Rose was correct. As she proved with the discovery of a trapdoor made of cleverly glued together bits of debris. When she lifted the trapdoor it exposed a staircase to the ruins basement. Happy to have her logic proven Rose merrily, and cautiously, headed down the stairs. There was little light in the basement, but someone had lit a few slow burning candles. Further proving Rose right. However, before she got a chance to get all smug she heard some voices ahead. The sensation of stealthily approaching a unwary soul brings something primal to the surface of most people. And with Rose that primal feeling was never buried too deep.

So it was with the utmost care and concentration that Rose stalked closer. Melding into the shadows far to easily for someone her size she moved down the stairs. The stairs led to a short hallway at the end of which was a doorway. Inside that doorway there were more candle lights and the sources of the voices. As she neared the voices, and began to pick up the conversation in progress. “-y you should go and check again! You’re supposed to check every ten minutes! Boss says!” That last phrase had the sort of wheedle and whine to it that only comes with extreme repetition. A vocal polishing, if you will. Rose padded silently down the narrow hallway closer to the voice and the light.

“Gurm it! Fluff, if you want it checked so bad, then go check yaself! ‘m busy!” A young voice. Trying to sound both older, and more dangerous. Which only served to highlight it’s youth. Rose reached the doorway. Through it she could see more candles, and what looked like a series of blanket forts. She carefully stayed out of the light, not wanting to give away her position just yet. She was hoping for more entertainment from the arguers, and she got it.

“MY NAME’S NOT FLUFF!!!” Shrieked the first voice in outrage. “IT’S CAPTAIN MURDERDEATH!!!” The odd name and the shrill delivery it was given in made Rose snort with laughter involuntarily, which thoroughly ruining her cover. “W-W-WHO GOES TH-TH-THERE!!!” The shrill voice shrilled shrilly with notes of panic hysteria, and followed by the gentle pattering of urine on stone. Rose stepped into the light facing towards the two wide eyed children panicking in the corner of the room. She raised her hands and presented her empty palms towards them in a sign of peace. Then she made a mistake, she smiled.

Now, Rose has a lovely smile, if you know her and are expecting it. If however, you were, say, a small child in a dark room that was fully expecting demons and monsters to come bursting from the darkness. Well, you might not think it so lovely. The flickering candlelight showed the gleam of her fangs and the misshapen lump of her black eye to great effect, but the rest of her was mostly just a terrifyingly large mass of twisting shadows. One that had just pushed its palms toward you.

“Fluff! Look out! It’s doing magics!” The taller of the two, a scrawny blonde human, shouted as he brandished a rusted knife at Rose. The shorter one, a chubby curly haired beastkin with soaked trousers, didn’t respond. He was much too busy fainting to bother listening to his friend.

And that’s how Rose met two of Doggers lieutenants, Spike and Captain Murderdeath AKA Fluff.

Not the greatest of starts, all things considered.