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Storms had been passing through the main continent of Tibia for some time, leaving a gloomy atmosphere that, while at it's worst, was too thick and threatening for most commoners and nobles to dare travel in. The large pub underneathe Venore's depot had been crowded ever since, collecting hundreds of new regulars. Amongst these shady groups, at a table near the counter, was a large, muscular man who never seemed to quit talking. He passed the time by telling stories of past battles and drinking ale, dozens of others coming to sit at his table and listen intently. They were awed by his deep, masculine voice and confident tone, other warriors inspired by his tales to brag about their own while the stupid, sleezy women got close to the men they fancied.
Only a table away from the loud, lively table was a loner who had been wasting away in the tavern long before the storms had hit. His distaste for the large, muscular man at the other table was concealed by his love for the alcohol that kept him at his seat, other then when a refill was needed. A young man, nearing his thirtys, his eyes were unfocused and he seemed a bit out of shape and scruffy. Obviously no noble, he was poor and wore a brown cloak that hid his body. To some he was a brawler known as Hart Vengeance, to others he was just a drifter that travelled from tavern to tavern wasting away. But something suddenly sparked life in his brown eyes, he looked straight across the room and to the large man who was now pacing around his loyal listeners with a parchment in his hands as he prepared to read it aloud. Hart hadn't caught anything said until one name was mentioned, Kai, a man who had once dislocated the young drunk's shoulder.
With sudden interest in the parchment and not caring to listen to another word the large man said Hart got to his feet and walked slowly toward the lively group, dragging a wooden chair noisily behind him. The large man postponed reading to watch the ruckus as it came near. He dismissed Hart as someone wanting a closer seat to the party, which allowed Hart to get close enough and shatter the wooden chair over his head. After a quick 'woah' from the crowd, silence bestowed itself quickly. The large man slumped to the ground unconciously before Hart was able to pick up the parchment.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Tibia! I, King Tibianus, will be hosting another Royal Fighting Tournament on the first day of the new month. All warriors are invited to compete, all speculators are encouraged to come, watch and bet on your RFT Champion! As in previous years, no weapons, low blows, magic or outside interference is permitted. One official referee will score the match at center ring, which will be, for the first time, set upon a magnificent vessel upon the sea at Thais Docks! A 750,000 k prize will be offered to the winner and a 250 k prize will be offered to runner-up. The rain will soon fade and the sun will rise at the dawn of a new champion! Come and enjoy the warmth!
Your Lord,
King Tibianus"
Hart crumpled the parchment and through it to the floor. He'd be lucky to make it to Thais by the end of the month let alone fight. Humbly he walked away from the awed group with his head down, eyes on the cobblestone floor.