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<Orlann> ::the makeshift arena isn't much for amenities. Gladiators are 'housed' in smallish iron cages, tucked under several outbuildings. While this keeps the rain off, mostly, it doesn't do much for the heat. The arena itself is barely visible, a sunken pit barred over with heavy iron latticework:: * Orlann is taller than his cage and is forced to either walk ducked over or kneel. For the most part, he seems to prefer to sit. He watches the guards, who all carry various weapons designed more for pain than actual injury, although in the last two days, Orlann has seen more than one prisoner beaten nearly to death with them. * Orlann does not quite have the resigned look of a man who knows there is no hope, but he does appear grim. * Honey walks slowly through the arena, followed by a guard who, despite spending more than half his attention on the slow sway of her hips, is also watching for trouble. She pauses to talk to a ragged man with very pale hair and glaring blue eyes, her voice low. <Honey> ::After a moment, the man lunges for her angrily, but she is standing just outside his reach. Her guard swings at him, and if the man were a little slower, he'd have several broken fingers, judging by the sound of his staff clanging against the cage bars.:: * Orlann glances at Honey, then appears to dismiss her, concentrating on the plate of food he was brought not long ago. Surprisingly, the food is not bad - perhaps the owner of the arena knows something of fighting on an empty stomach. His fingers tighten slightly around the plate. Gladiators, of course, are given no utensils. * Honey laughs as the pale-haired man sags back against his cage wall, and continues her stroll. She stops a short distance from Orlann's cage and gives him the same slow, sad smile she'd given him when he turned her down. "You don't look very comfortable, handsome." <Orlann> Reckon I ain't. ::eyes her sidelong:: <Honey> And to think, you could've at least had a nice time before you woke up in here. Well, it won't be for much longer, will it? <Orlann> ::snorts:: Reckon I'd rather lay down with a snake than the likes of you, ma'am. <Honey> ::laughs, amused:: Well, you'd not be the first to say so. ::she leans closer to the bars, conspiratorially - though not too close:: Nor would you be the first to take it back. ::she widens her eyes in mock-innocence:: Or do you sustain yourself with thoughts of your 'girl'? * Orlann looks resolutely back down at his plate, despite the fact that Honey's more than ample cleavage is shown to good advantage while she leans over thusly. * Honey smooths a hand over her voluptuous frame, and watches him for a moment, the amused smile still playing over her lips. "Too bad. Men are all the same, for country girls. She's probably already picked out her next prospect." * Orlann almost manages not to flinch at that. <Honey> ::syrupy:: Did you not leave her on the best of terms, handsome? Tsk. <Orlann> ::quietly, almost inaudible:: What would a heartless bitch like you know about it? * Orlann takes another bite of his dinner, making a bit of a presentation of ignoring her in favor of food. <Honey> I know everything there is to know about heartache, Lieutenant. You don't imagine men come to see me dance because they're *happy* at home, do you? * Orlann flushes, the tips of his ears turning deep purple. <Honey> Oh, so you *were* watching. ::her voice drops seductively:: Would you like another show, handsome? ::her hand slides over her bodice again, suggestive:: * Orlann considers the last mouthful of his rice and meat, then draws back and flings the plate in an arc, passing smoothly through the bars right towards Honey's smirking face. * Honey - obviously expecting some sort of response - ducks, almost quickly enough to avoid the plate, but it catches the side of her face. Her guard leaps forward and smacks at Orlann through the bars of his cage. * Orlann scrambles to his feet in a crouch faster than could be expected. He leans back against the bars of his cage and kicks at the arm of the guard, obviously hoping to break it against the bars. <Honey> ::The guard withdraws his arm, then turns to help Honey. She straightens, brushing away the guard's concern along with the rice clinging to her dress. There is a long, narrow welt on her cheekbone that is already well on its way to a nasty bruise. "Feeling better now, Orlann?" * Orlann leans against the bars of his cage, looking Honey directly in the eyes. "Reckon I do, a bit. Rather have taken your whole bleedin' head off." * Honey smiles, slow and cruel. "I'm glad to hear it. Since you're enjoying yourself so much, perhaps it can be arranged for you to stay through ten wins, instead of five." * Orlann looks down at the ground. "Right shame to have wasted the rest of m'dinner, though." Without another word, he sits on the far side of his cage, putting as much distance between himself and Honey as physically possible. <Honey> ::chuckles, rich and velvet, then looks at her guard:: You and the boys see that he doesn't win his next fight. He's a little too cocky. * Honey glances at Orlann to see if her suggestion has had any effect on him, then strides off. * Orlann watches her go through narrowed eyes. After she's out of sight, he does as much limbering up as possible, having seen other gladiators 'forced' into a loss. While he is now less hopeful than he was, even before Honey's visit, it is quite clear that he does not intend to take his beating with any grace. Later that night... <Narrator> ::the arena is located in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse to the north of town. A second shell-building inside explains how the warehouse can still appear to be deserted. Within the shell, the area is fairly crowded. The arena itself is a pit dug into the floor and set over with an iron-barred dome. This prevents people from getting out or in, but doesn't keep spectators from throwing things into the pit, usually rotten fruits:: <Narrator> ::two burly fellows charge admittance fees, five silvers each. On the north side of the pit, several long lines wind their way to the betting booths. The fights are marked on a largish slate above the booths:: <Narrator> ::Orlann's fight is marked second from the last, three others precede it, including one that appears to be several 'losers' versus a wild bear:: * Tarri has dressed in her sturdiest, most travel-worn clothing, and a kerchief covers her bright hair. Her expression is strained as she stares up at the betting slate. <Narrator> ::seating is 'catch as catch can' and 'look out for people using the law of gross tonnage':: * Sanone has done a reasonably adequate job leading the trio to the warehouse arena. He doesn't speak much, but they arrive quickly, even with a couple detours around dingier, grittier neighborhoods. * Ennis pays Sanone's entrance fee and gives the slate a quick glance before turning his attention to the arena itself, noting the placement of the fighters' entrances. With insinuations of the shoulder and subtle jabs of the elbow, he manages to work their little group over to seats with a decent vantage point a few rows up from the cage. * Temire is dressed in her travel clothes, her white lock of hair braided and hidden under a battered hat. * Tarri catches Sanone's sleeve as they work their way through the crowds. "The... the big guy - the one in charge. Is he here? Can you point him out?" * Ennis has left his distinctive coat in his room, and has even contrived to look somewhat shabby and... well, dusty, since he can't quite bring himself to "dirty." * Sanone shrugs weightily, then points up briefly at a small raised box at the north side of the arena. "That's where important people go. Probably in there. Don't know. Guarded by men with swords." * Tarri eyes the box, then nods understanding. <Narrator> ::the first fight is underway shortly after they arrive. It is messy, nasty, loud and the only good thing about it is that it's over fairly quickly. The bear is no one's friend, kills two men before the whole thing is over, and seriously wounds a third. That the five men (well, three, now) manage to bring it down is apparently surprising, and profitable for some bettors.:: * Ennis watches a few seconds of the fight before he can't look anymore, and turns his eyes towards the audience and the guards around the pit. * Tarri grimaces and does not quite watch the fight, focusing on a spot just opposite the pit, coincidentally near the VIP box's entrance. "What happens to those men, now? * Temire winces at several points during the fight, and clearly is not entertained by the spectacle. * Sanone holds up a post, and watches the fights with bland, dull eyes. <Sanone> Next week, new bear. <Tarri> But- ::She bites off her protest, looking ill.:: <Ennis> Once ye've lost yer five, ye've lost f'r good? <Narrator> ::from her position, Tarri can see that there are five (or maybe six) shadowy figures inside the V.I.P. box. They are hard to make out - probably the intention behind the box in the first place - but one would be distinctive in any light, a hugely obese individual who probably weighs more than three men together:: <Sanone> Guess so. <Narrator> ::the second fight of the evening is between a couple of "new" gladiators. They appear reluctant to enter combat and have to be forced to it by leather-armored 'handlers' with whips. The crowd isn't particularly impressed with the intervention of the handlers and boos resound:: * Ennis watches the handlers carefully. * Tarri nudges Ennis. "I'm going to work my way around to the box, see if I can hear anything interesting. Keep an eye on me, just in case." <Sanone> Few months ago, man took down six wild dogs by himself, once all his fellows fell out. Made a comeback of sorts, I guess. For a bit. * Ennis looks worried, but nods agreement, shifting on the bench a little. * Tarri starts pushing her way through the crowd. Her small size works to her advantage, as do her lessons from Lisl. She uses her elbows and steps on feet, and the few who look away from the action in the pit to snarl at her are generally disarmed by wide green eyes and a breathless apology. <Narrator> ::the second fight ends with the distinct sound of cracking bones. The 'winner,' as soon as the fight is declared over, is on his knees, pleading with the loser for forgiveness:: * Temire tracks Tarri's progress but decides two people forcing their way through the crowd would draw too much attention. <Ennis> ::turning his head towards Sanone, although he keeps his eyes on Tarri:: What happens if they refuse to fight? <Sanone> There's usually a bear around. * Ennis clenches his jaw and nods. <Narrator> ::an exceptionally good looking young man is waiting near the box, watching the fights with an expression of bored disdain. He looks over as Tarri approaches:: Hello, ma'am. * Ennis tenses a bit as someone pays attention to Tarri longer than just a snarl. <Narrator> ::the third fight is actually quite good - if you like that sort of thing. The woman combatant is quick, lithe and pretty. She's missing her left breast as made clearly obvious by the revealing top she's wearing. She obviously is no stranger to combat. Her opponent is a thick-bodied dwarf who, from numerous scars on his forearms, was probably a blacksmith at some point:: * Sanone tries to fit behind the post, an effect similar to a hippo "hiding" behind a sapling. * Tarri offers a somewhat shy smile. "Good evening..." She glances back toward the pit, and then shrugs. "Not really my thing, I'm afraid. Do you come often?" <Ennis> ::softly:: Which one took your brother? <Young Man> Sometimes. I prefer the racetrack, but there's money to be made, with good betting. ::makes a bit of room on his bench:: One of the better seats in the house, if you'd care to join me? ::the seat is just under the V.I.P. box:: <Sanone> Dunno. Wasn't with him. I found he was here... late. <Ennis> ::nods:: Sorry I am, man. <Tarri> ::sits, smiling winningly:: I don't know enough to bet, on this kind of thing... Do you do well? Maybe you could give me some tips. * Sanone nods laconically and watches the pit. <Narrator> ::to the other side of the box is a tall, slender honey-blonde woman who might be pretty if it weren't for the large purple bruise marking one side of her face:: <Temire> ::Seeing Tarri's chatting up a young man Temire begins dividing her attention between Tarri, the crowd, and the fight.:: <Narrator> ::the Amazon and the dwarf go at it for quite some time, much to the crowds' approval. The Amazon is fast, but the dwarf's blows are stunningly powerful:: <Young Man> ::nods to the current fight:: I've got friends who work inside the pit, so I get to go down and see the fighters. ::he smiles easily, a bright, cheerful sort of expression:: <Tarri> ::laughs:: Well, that's certainly an advantage! How close do you get? Don't you worry they'd try to... hurt you, or something? <Young Man> Well, not too close... but they can't reach me through their cells. I can get about four feet or so. ::lowers his voice:: If you want to make a killing, I'd go to the booths. Bet your stash on Nine-fingers. That dark fellow, the one they call "the Chult", he got in a bit of a scrape with his recruiter earlier today. He's current favorite, so the odds are running 12 to 1. <Tarri> ::bites her lip and glances toward the floor:: His... recruiter? <Young Man> She likes to play it dangerous... taunts the men. One day she's going to get worse. ::he jerks his chin towards the blonde woman with the nasty bruise:: If she hadn't ducked, I reckon he'd have taken her head off with that dinner plate. <Tarri> ::glances at the woman, then looks back at the young man with a smile:: Are you a... recruiter, too? <Young Man> Oh, no... Jonas is the name. Second son and all that, trying to make my fortune on my own. Bit of gambling and all that. And you are? <Tarri> Oh, I'm sorry! ::she offers her hand:: Tarri. Nothing so romantic as a fortune to make. I'm just a healer, up from Marsember. <Jonas> ::takes her hand and presses it briefly to his mouth:: Glad to make your acquaintance, Tarri. Well, if you need a little extra gold for the road, you might want to hit the booths. I can help, if you like. Well known here. I get preferential treatment. Care to place a wager? <Narrator> ::the Amazon is staggering badly at this point, her leg already dark brown from a serious blow. She seems ready to falter under the dwarf's onslaught:: <Tarri> Well... ::she glances toward the waning fight:: ...all right. ::she fishes a couple of gold pieces out of her pocket, then turns them over with reluctance:: I guess I can trust you. <Jonas> At your service, dear lady. ::he leans over and kisses her cheek quickly:: Save my seat, and I'll be right back... ::with that, he leaps up and nimbly steps around the crowd, almost seeming to part it like water, towards the betting booths:: * Tarri looks over the crowd, her eyes settling on her friends, across the room. When they make eye contact, she gives a brief grimace and a shrug. * Temire nods in reply. <Narrator> ::The Amazon utters a strangled scream and falls to the ground as the dwarf kicks her wounded leg out from under her. The dwarf steps up to her, apparently preparing to kick her in the head and end the fight. To the approval of the crowd, she surges up just as he gets near, delivering two stunning punches, one to his chin and the other to his groin. He stumbles backwards, hands going to his injured dwarfhood, and then falls to his knees:: * Ennis nods, his eyes darting to the arena again at the Amazon's scream. <Jonas> ::hops back into his seat, handing Tarri a ticket-stub:: Here you are. You'll clear sixty gold, at least. <Tarri> ::gives Jonas a warm smile:: You're too kind, Master Jonas. <Jonas> ::looks into her eyes with obvious interest:: It's good of you to say so. ::glances down at the fight:: Those two again... they keep getting matched against each other. Grudge match, you understand. <Narrator> ::a large man bumps Temire rudely out of her seat where she discovers the floor is really, really, not very clean:: <Tarri> Oh? ::she looks into the pit, and makes a face at what she sees:: They certainly seem... enthusiastic. * Temire clutches her hat to her head, not wanting to lose it. As she rises from the floor she glares at the man, but holds her tongue as she resumes her seat. * Ennis glances at her, moving over a bit more to accommodate her *and* the large man on the bench. <Jonas> ::laughs:: Yes, they're very good... first fight, Ironfists 'accidentally' ripped off her top. She's been looking to even the score since then. <Tarri> ::smiles, a bit tightly:: I'm sure that was a popular move with the crowds. ::pause:: What if one of them were to take down... What's the fellow's name? The fifth fight? <Narrator> ::from just behind Tarri and Jonas, someone mutters 'wardrobe malfunction':: <Jonas> ::shakes his head:: Kyr, you mean? That would profit someone exceptionally. The odds on Kyr are usually around 200 to 1. You've never seen him, I guess. * Tarri cocks her head, listening to both Jonas and the chat in the box. "No, this is the first time I've been here..." <Narrator> ::what little Tarri can hear in the VIP box over the noise of the crowd appears to be about a substantial land-deal going on to the south.:: * Ennis glances from the big man who shoved Temire over to Sanone. "Th' crowd ain't none too gentle, either, I see. Naught happens t' someone who starts a fight in th' stands?" <Sanone> Depends, s'pose. Sometimes circle up, place bets on the side. Anything serious, though, all's involved end up outside. <Ennis> Hm. ::false smile:: Better'n down there, suppose. * Tarri watches the pit rather nervously, fidgeting with her betting chit. "When will the next one start?" <Narrator> ::finally the fight ends, with Amazon standing over her fallen opponent with something like triumph. She raises her hands to the crowd, either inciting them or cursing them, it's hard to tell:: <Narrator> ::there is a brief pause while the handlers clean up the arena before the next fight starts. Nine-fingers is an elf, although from one side it's hard to tell, because in addition to missing a finger, it looks as though someone has cut off one of his ears:: * Ennis glances up at the board once, and down to the arena again. He looks across the pit at Tarri, worriedly. * Orlann limps into the arena. He's been stripped out of most of his clothes - his chest is bare and what's left of his pants show off his muscled legs to advantage. Of course, they also show that he's badly bruised and there are dozens of welts criss-crossing the backs of his legs as if he were beaten with a switch. * Temire grimaces at the sight of Orlann's injuries. * Ennis scowls. "They beat 'em between fights? Is that t'keep th' bettin' interestin'?" * Tarri gasps as Orlann comes out, paling. "What- Oh, Blessed Mother! He's meant to *fight* like that?" <Sanone> Usually just for misbehaving. Throws the odds off, otherwise. <Jonas> ::indicates Honey:: She gave the word. A recruiter doesn't want to do that too often, though. They get paid more if their picks win. * Ennis clenches his jaw, looking across at Tarri again and looking worried at the obvious distress on her face. He murmurs under his breath, "Keep yer cool, Tarri-lass, yer among strangers now, don't give th' game away..." * Tarri looks at Orlann's "recruiter" again, a glint of fire in her eyes, then forces out a sheepish smile for Jonas. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Forgive me - I was startled..." <Jonas> ::considers:: Hmmm. I have an idea. You said you were a healer, right? <Tarri> Yes. <Jonas> Well, we'll clean up big when he loses tonight - poor bastard. I can get you in, maybe you can clean him up somewhat. This rabble will be expecting him to be injured again in three days, the odds will be astronomical. You could help patch him up, we could really make a bundle. * Orlann does the best he can, but it's obvious from the start of the fight that it's only a matter of time. He's slowed badly by his injuries, and while he's got a lot of endurance, Nine-fingers is on his fourth loss and getting desperate. <Tarri> ::chews on her lip as she watches the "fight" in the pit:: I could... Well, there's a few things I could do to help him, I suppose. Would they let me in, really, though? * Ennis watches staidly, his eyes sad. * Temire continues to watch the fight, Tarri, and the crowd, though she spends more of her time watching the fight as it progresses towards its conclusion. <Jonas> Oh, probably with a good bribe. Sometimes ladies go in to... ahem... congratulate the winners, or console the losers. If you don't mind some of the guards thinking... well, that. Between my bet tonight and a bet in three days... well, I'd be willing to front the bribe for you. ::he grins again:: <Orlann> ::Nine-fingers moves in, catching Orlann with a kick to the head that opens a split on his forehead, blinding him with blood:: * Orlann catches the elf's foot, despite blood pouring over his face and twists, knocking the elf off his feet. * Temire gives a slight cheer as Orlann catches the elf's foot. <Tarri> Well... ::pretends to think about it:: All right. When? Tonight? Tomorrow? The sooner I can- ::she winces and gasps along with half the rest of the crowd, then looks back at Jonas:: The sooner, the better, in healing... <Jonas> ::glances at Honey:: Late tonight, or early in the morning. If I know Honey, she's going to want to gloat over him. Vindictive bitch, that one. We need to stay out of her way. ::glances at her:: And you might need to change clothes. <Tarri> ::nods, her lips pressed thin and her eyes glued unwillingly to the fight:: To fit the cover story, right? I'll find something... Though I'll have to bring in my healer's kit... <Jonas> ::nods:: For a big enough bribe, some of those fellows down in the pit would put their own mothers in the arena. We'll manage. ::he rests one hand lightly on her knee, waiting to see if she protests:: <Orlann> ::Nine-fingers appears reluctant to close with Orlann, drawing the fight out, since the elf will only bounce around the bigger human, delivering impressive kicks:: * Tarri starts to brush Jonas off, then gives him a quick, faint smile. "It's a wonderful opportunity you've given me, Jonas. I'll be very grateful if it works out..." <Jonas> Happy to help. Frankly, I'm tired of spending my evenings this way... one large bet and I can return to being idle. ::eyes her sidelong:: Might be nice to have a pretty companion to be idle with. * Tarri smiles faintly and doesn't answer, though she fingers her chit as she watches the fight drawing to a close. <Orlann> ::there isn't much more fight in Orlann. A few more kicks from the elf and he goes face down in the dirt. To judge by the cursing and boos, there are a lot of people who bet on him this evening who are going to be losing money:: * Tarri braces herself, and almost manages to contain her flinch as Orlann falls. She musters a falsely bright smile for Jonas, though. "Well, you haven't led me wrong, yet! Where shall I meet you later, then?" * Temire winces as Orlann goes down. <Jonas> ::jumps up and cheers for Nine-fingers - or more precisely, for his profit - then sits back down:: Brilliant. Let me get your winnings. And then... ::thinks:: Do you know where Onyxia's Sweetwater is? It's an inn, about three blocks from here? * Sanone watches the proceedings stoically. <Tarri> ::thinks:: I think I saw it on our way in. I'll find it. * Ennis massages the bridge of his nose, and turns his attention to the doors in the pit again, looking to see where Orlann is taken. <Jonas> ::he runs over to get their winnings, carrying a fairly large sack for himself. He hands Tarri a smaller sack that jingles brightly:: This is just lovely. Tell you what. Meet me at Onyxia's in... about six hours? Wear something fetching... ::he leans closer to her and whispers:: And you'll probably want to go now. I noticed you getting a bit wincey. And Kyr is... well, he's just brutal. You'll be better off not seeing it. <Tarri> Thanks for the warning. Really, as a healer... I don't know what my friends were thinking! ::she hefts her winnings:: But the money's welcome. Healers aren't usually paid this well. ::she gives Jonas a warm smile:: Six hours, then, at Onyxia's. ::She starts making her way back to the others:: <Narratorgt; ::down below, some handlers roughly drag Orlann off. A quick glance back shows that Nine-fingers isn't particularly happy with his win. The maimed elf leans against the door to the cages, shaking:: <Ennis> ::mutters softly:: Puir sods... * Honey leans forward eagerly, waiting for Kyr and his latest vic - er, opponent. * Ennis glances at the slate again to see who's up next. <Tarri> ::as she wedges herself in between Ennis and Temire:: It's time to go. I can't watch any more, and I have a date in a few hours that might help us. ::to Temire:: Mira... Can you stay for the last fight? You're a fighter - I need you to judge whether Orlann could possibly beat Kyr, if he's healed up... * Temire grins weakly, "I was going to suggest that myself. Be careful. I'll catch up with you at the inn." * Ennis glances from Temire to Tarri. "If ye don't mind, lass... I'd jest as soon be th' one t'stay." <Ennis> ::looking at Temire again:: I'd rather she go home wi' someone who can defend her, if need be. * Temire looks to Tarri for her opinion. <Tarri> ::her chin set:: I've walked through plenty of dark streets in my day, Master Ennis. As long as I'm not entirely alone, no one's likely to interfere with us. I really need Mira's eye as a fighter on this fellow, so I know how urgent things are. <Tarri> Besides, ruffians are more likely to jump two girls than a woman in a man's company. If you'd rather stay, then I'll leave with Master Sanone, instead. * Ennis glances at Sanone and shakes his head. "'Tis yer call, lass. We'll go." * Ennis sighs and keeps his eyes on the arena as he rises, hoping to catch a look at Kyr on his way out. <Narrator> ::Kyr comes out to wild cheering. At some point, he's lost his left arm, but this doesn't appear to slow him down, as in its place is affixed a cruel-seeming hook. He is nearly as tall as Orlann, but broader through the chest. When he roars to the crowd, he reveals a mouthful of broken teeth:: <Ennis> ::mutters:: T'isn't a human, 'tis a bloody *orc.*... * Tarri shudders at the sight. "Let's *go*..." <Ennis> Aye, lass. ::offering her his elbow to escort her out:: |
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