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Opened now 2 months; Satyr is proud to present the Clash of the Titans event. Starting January 1st, Satyr will be hosting a Titan fight every week of January to kick off the year. The 4 fighters, all Level 3 class will compete for the title of Titan. Fight 1 and 2 will introduce the fighters, Fight 3 will be the battle for 3rd place while the fourth Fight will determine the Satyr Titan for 2022!


JAN 1, 2022 - 9pm

Fireworks over the stadium at midnight

Location: Satyr Stadium


Fighter #1 - Lucas Moren

Altered Division; Physical Enhancement; Level 3

Lucas Moren can hit like and take a hit from a freight train. This hulk doesn't go down without a fight.


Fighter #2 - Anthony Kirren

Altered Division; Energy Manipulation; Level 3

Tony Kirren or Tony the Bomb can create energy bombs that can toss a bus into the air.


Stadium seating remains at normal season rates, but boxes carry a 25% surcharge for these fights due to the high demand for the limited boxes we have.



((This is an open event for any and all players to join! Feel free to be spectator, in the upstairs club watching the fight on the big TVs, in a box if you are fortunate enough to be well off in the world! You are welcome to notice parts of the fight - make up their attacks etc but know that the outcome will be decided by site admin, ))


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A faint smirk lifted the right side of his lips as forearms leaned on the rail of the upper deck watching the bloodbath below. He had to admit, this had been a gold mine decision. The venue was sold out all four nights, the elevated box seat prices only making people clamor for them more. Behind him music thundered out of Bakkhos Minor, the club as packed as the stadium below with fans watching the match on the massive screens inside while the liquor flowed.


Brown eyes lit bright amber as the energy bomb went off on the opposite side of the cage, throwing Moren more than 70 yards across the field. The man could really take a hit, rolling several more yards before getting back on his feet. This fight was likely to last longer than most which was good for business.


Hands pushed up on the cold metal rail. The January cold was biting outside the stadium but the massive heaters that ran on every floor and pushed up through vents under the stadium seating managed to keep the amphitheater at a balmy 50 degrees. Not exactly warm but not so cold that the patrons wanted to pack it in and leave either.  This year they would look into the possibility of a covered dome, but for now… this did the trick.


Hand slid into the fitted jeans, gray blazer shifting upward over his wrist as he strode into the club and smiled at the flirty hostess, making his way to the bar for a fresh glass. This was going to be a good night.

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He hadn't moved in quite some time, standing stoic in the shadows with his hands in his pockets. 


Alone.  Dark gray meticulous slacks and a pale lavender button down made him look like he was supposed to be in the suite he'd purchased to watch this atrocity.  Fact was, he'd purchased the whole damn room.  Where other suites around him were packed to the gills, his was dark... and quiet, the pale green irises not missing a moment of anything that was taking place below as he watched over the railing.


He'd stepped out a few moments ago to squelch the echo of the stadium with the lesser noise of the rotunda behind for a couple minutes, less than pleased expression causing several women to back off.  They'd seen his suite was empty, tried to pry an opportunity, and were left with nothing but his glare and a slammed door in their faces when he returned to his room.  A drink of water from the small kitchenette, the glass clinked on the counter the same moment the crowd erupted.  He wanted to go, but he couldn't.  It was that important he stay.


Now, arms were crossed, thumbs tapping on his biceps as he watched.  This had to stop.  This whole damn operation had to stop, but he had to see it for himself first.  Every last shitty bit of it.


Nostrils flared slightly as he stepped to the upper deck railing and leaned on it with his forearms, it was a nauseating twist of scents that were assaulting him.  He had to remain focused.  Focus and memorize.  Every detail, every area, every employee.  Movement.  Flow.  A bar.  The noise of the damn bar near him was damaging his calm, taking a step back from the railing into the darker box suite when he recognized a face.


Sigh was long, eyes moving back to the crowd.  He couldn't deal with this shit much longer.

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Gun and badge were hidden at the back of her jeans. The worn black ball cap pulled down over the raven hair that was left to wildly cascade over her shoulders. She was invisible in this crowd. Tan weathered LL Bean jacket hardly smelled of cop as she leaned on the rail of the first tier rotunda to watch the crowd more than the fight. She wasn’t interested in the upper decks and the elite boxes. She wanted to watch the "working man".  Most thought this venue was a powder keg waiting to happen. She still was on the fence. Truth was, people were testing their powers against eachother all the time, usually to the detriment of the public. Satyr gave them a place to do it that was off the streets, monitored, less guarantee of a victor and a corpse at the end which was what was happening down the back alleys of New York nearly nightly. If this kept the machismo and blood out of the streets… it was hard to condemn it.




Pushing off the rail she wandered the rotunda, watching the highly charged audience erupt out of their seats with every aggressive strike. She suspected this level of bloodlust was not much different from the roman coliseum fights… or more recently the cage fighting that was becoming more popular than boxing in the years leading up to the Resonance. The scale here was more that of the coliseum which was what itched her senses. A rumor had made it to the precinct. A disturbing one involving a mass scale outworlder attack on the venue. Which was absolutely asinine considering that most outworlders didn’t seem to thrill in the competitive bloodlust that humans of earth did. This venue was packed to the rafters with altered… not outworlders. An attack here would be killing their own kind, not outworlders. Then again… terrorism rarely held much logic.


Satyr security was impressive. She had needed three levels of clearance to come in with her weapon. Then between the amount of cameras she spotted and assumed could not be seen, the non-descript muscle walking around, the clearly marked security walking around… this place was being monitored by a damn army. Bakkhos wasn’t taking any chances it seemed. There was something oddly reassuring in that. A less organized outfit might take the security needs lightly and then this place would be more rabid thunderdome than rowdy sporting event. Hazel caught the motion just in time to sidestep the beer that flew up out of the blue plastic cup as the excited cheer for the explosion below sent the idiot's drink into the air just moments after purchasing it. Place must be pulling in big dough. Between the tickets, food sales, drink sales and memorabilia, it was operating like a damn Beatles concert.


Ya…. she was still on the fence.

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Tom was watching the fight from the floor level VIP seats for a moment. He was expected to appear and be seen at Satyr as one of the champions. He watched the back and forth with Moren and Kirren with some trepidation. Kirren was doing his best to blast the hulk around and avoid getting caught, but if Moren ever got his hands on the bomb-tosser, it would likely end very quickly. As long as he could keep moving, this fight would last a while. Tom found himself studying the movements of both men more than enjoying the show…brooding over what he felt was an inevitable future confrontation with one of them.


Roderick, sensing his bosses brooding mood, elbowed him in the shoulder. “Relax, boss. You get to be the audience for once.”


Tom smirked, surprisingly. Was Roderick tweaking his mood? He wouldn’t blame him if he had been. Tom had been even less jovial than normal these days. His new arrangement with Eris had put some extra stresses on his plate that, while seemingly small, he couldn’t help shake that there was a hidden catch that he had not yet detected. He stood up after a particularly loud blast from Kirren rang too loudly in his enhanced hears. “I’m going to walk around a bit, enjoy the show, Roderick.”


Tom stood to walk and shook hands with a few fans who hesitantly garnered his attention. He had to maintain friendly appearances, even if he was building a reputation as a brutal combatant. He made his way towards the Bakkhos Minor club to see how things were going up there. He wasn’t worried about security. It was a new moon, so any weres were as even-tempered as you could hope for. Not to mention, nearly all hands were on deck for this night. At any one time he could pick out 4 or more security, uniformed or otherwise in the crowd. Instead, he was worried about that rogue poisoner. There were still occasional, if less frequent, reports of poisoned booze making it into his shipments. All leads to track down this source had been fruitless. His increased security and control of shipments had reduced the number of incidents, but the occasional one slipped through. He was going to do a quick check of the supply at the bars upstairs.


As he worked his way through the crowd, his little invisible bubble of personal space remained, even if a little smaller due to the amount of people in the stadium. Tom had grown accustomed to that uneasy feeling people had around him that caused them to give him space. It certainly helped his mood in these large crowds where every noise and smell were amplified. Which is why, when he heard a loud, “HEY GALLO!” coming from ahead, he was quite shocked.


A large man, a good head taller than Gallo himself, approached him directly. He was built like a strongman. Barrel-chested, giant…just a very large man. He stopped right in the path Tom was taking to head upstairs. The man reeked of what must have been gallons of beer and alcohol. Any innate fear perception of the man had been drowned in spirits.


“You are the champ everyone’s been talking about? I’d like to fight you next!”


Tom spotted five security personnel making their way towards the man, but Tom subtly waved them off. A crowd had gathered now. If he were saved by security, then the attraction would wear off. Curse Matteo…he had Tom thinking about theatrics now instead of business. He’d talk to him about that later. He had a drunk buffoon to put back in place.


Tom up into the giant man’s eyes. Nothing about this man smelled exceptional. Just a naturally gifted human athlete. Tom then looked to gauge how many people were watching this impromptu spectacle. Dozens. What he did next was sure to make it to the rest of the city.


“I think you are mistaken, sir. You are not looking for a fight with me.” The tone in his voice was polite, professional, even friendly. Roderick must have done something to him.


The large man guffawed and poked his finger stiffly into Tom’s chest. “Yes. I. Am.” He looked poised to pounce on Tom right there.


Tom closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and nodded at the man. “I think we can set something up.” He extended his hand to shake the other man’s hand. When they clasped hands, Tom squeezed tightly. “Although, I suspect you may wish to reconsider. Which I would totally understand.”


Tom continued to squeeze the man’s hand until bones began to pop and the large man was brought to his knees. Tom leaned in close to the man’s ear. “I hope you learned something today.”


He released the man’s hand and motioned to a pair of the guards nearby to take this man out of here, and without looking back, kept on his path towards Bakkhos Minor to inspect the wares behind the counter.


Upon reaching the club, he noticed Matteo at the bar and clapped him stiffly on the shoulder. “You are making my life more complicated by the day, you know that?”

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Out of the corner of his eye he watched the exchange just outside the club between Gallo and the idiot who thought he was "all that". He was impressed, Gallo handled it well.


Whiskey was slid his way just as the clap came on his shoulder, smirk lighting up his expression even as Thomas started to speak.


“You are making my life more complicated by the day, you know that?”




Chuckle bubbled up as he turned to lean against the bar and look at the older man.


Pretty sure you won all your matches on your own. Not my fault you have fans now.


Highball came to his lips as dark pupils flicked to the big screen, the club erupting in cheers. Fight was proving to be a good one as the young energy manipulator was thrown up into the first cage, dropping hard to the ground below but managing to get his wits back enough to erupt energy back at the freight train coming his way, sending the hulk flying halfway across the field himself. Good fight kept people in the stadium spending money. Also helped build the hype over the place - best type of advertising for this sort of venue was word of mouth.


Attention returned to Thomas with a smile and half shrug.


I mean… you could have just stayed in the Bakkhos box… hiding in the dark…. sniffling into your snifter…wallowing in self pity.


Smirk lit even brighter as he teased the man.

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The club was packed. It seemed like the entire city had turned out to watch the brutal spectacle on display tonight. To get that pulse pounding adrenaline rush as the rest of the crowd cheered over the two men trying to beat each other to a pulp. Maya wasn’t one of them. That was probably obvious to anyone who cared to notice. She sat alone at the bar, patrons on either side of her alternating between loud conversations and wild cheering whenever one of the fighters seemed to gain an edge. Her cane and sunglasses were absent tonight. The dim golden glow of of her pupils was  far less noticeable in the present setting then her props would have been. She was dressed rather more richly than normal in fitted black slacks, and a red silk button up that clung to her frame and exposed the dark swirls of ink that ran along the left side of her neck .A dark blazer hung from the back of her stool and black gloves hid the tattoos on her right hand and the metallic sheen of her left. Her hair that normally obscured her features had been pulled back and tied in a loose knot at the base of her skull.


If there is a God I'm pretty sure he hates me. “ Maya thought to herself sourly as she idly stirred the drink in front of her with a straw.  Not that she needed any more confirmation of that. She really shouldn’t be drinking but she needed something to take the edge off. Normally she didn’t mind crowds. Hell, normally she didn’t even mind the fights like this, though they weren’t something she really followed. The people in this crowd were so emotionally charged  though between, the fight, the booze, and everything else that she could taste it. Literally. It was sharp, like the bite of good tequila. It was almost as intoxicating as the drink in front of her. It made her heart race, and whole body seemed to resonate with the frenetic energy.. It was exhilarating...and terrifying. She knew how quickly that buzz could be washed away by flood of emotion that came with her flashbacks.


It was only one of the reasons she didn’t really want to be there.  Security for the event had bordered on the ridiculous and there was a likely enough police presence to further fray her nerves. She would much rather have stayed home honestly, or gone to Chloe’s.  Unfortunately she was here for work not play. Graft was meeting with a client so he’d called her here. She had no doubt that he was enjoying the fight in one of the VIP boxes while he talked business with whoever it was.  She knew the club was owned by the Bakkhos which might have said some interesting things. On the other hand it might not have. Events like these were a perfect excuse for him to meet pretty much anybody without attracting unwanted attention. She wondered if Graft knew how his choice of venue would set her on edge. Probably not, not that she doubted he’d really care he did.


Her thoughts were rudely interrupted as the everyone around her suddenly erupted in a volcanic combination of cheers and curses. Judging from the barely audible sounds from TV’s mounted over the bar something had just exploded.  She shook her head and took another healthy sip of her drink as the mingled tastes of disappointment, elation, and excitement ran across her tongue. The bartender clearly knew what he was doing. The bitter bite of alcohol barely registered as it burned pleasantly  down her throat. Her posture relaxed slightly as the warmth slowly found its way through the rest of her and she set her glass on the bar as she looked out at the crowd. The auras of the clubs other patrons seemed to blend together in such close proximity, painting them all in a mosaic of red and orange hues that seemed to dance like firelight , dominating the other colors that dotted it. She watched, momentarily transfixed by the sight before her...

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I mean… you could have just stayed in the Bakkhos box… hiding in the dark…. sniffling into your snifter…wallowing in self pity.



Tom chuckled softly. As infuriating as Matteo could be, his seeming endless ability to never take Tom seriously was refreshing at times. One of the few people who still saw him as simply a man…not some terrifying monster to be feared and tip-toed around. He ducked behind the bar and was systematically taking one bottle down and opening it to sniff it quickly before returning it to the counter. The bartender glanced at him a second and nodded. She had been used to this routine by now.


I’ve come to accept that hiding is outside of my abilities anymore. Sad as that may be.


He grinned slightly to convey that he wasn’t being mopey. After he spoke, he noticed a small woman at the bar. Something was…off. Like many, she wasn’t what she appeared. She appeared to be studying the crowd, eyes glowing faintly. Tom locked eyes with Matteo, and one of the security guards and motioned his eyes towards the woman. Not to initiate action, but to simply keep and eye on her. He resumed his analysis of some of the booze behind the counter.


He glanced at the screen and shook his head. The brute was taxing himself. If he didn’t slow down and just work the blaster into a corner, he’d probably exhaust himself before being able to finish the fight. A part of Tom was disappointed in this. Part of him wanted to go blow for blow with the brute. Maybe some other time…

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