Fall 7, Year 511, 22:25PM, The Blood Pits
The Blood Pits: every wretched fool’s idea of a great time out on the town. These blood soaked halls were a prime location for anyone to make some quick coin. The only drawback was that death was the price for losing. Every man’s mortality was exposed in this arena.
The tough thrived and the weak died. It was that simple.
Mok of the Jagged Blade was one man who believed that he was strong enough. He believed that his heritage and life experience placed him above all the odds against him. Mean and tough are the two words that could be used to describe him. The jungles of the Faylndar were his true home. He believed that his training in the wild would prevail against any piece of trash that Sunberth could throw at him. The myrian was no idiot though. He could tell if the opponent was strong and faster. Don’t think for one moment Mok doesn’t know that there are people stronger than him out there. This does not faze him.
Even when faced with a more powerful opponent, Mok will fight to the death. That is the way he was taught.
Tonight, however, the half-blood was betting on the matches and not participating in them himself. Staring from the back of the room, Mok watched the first couple of matches in silence. Two random slaves brawling wasn’t Mok idea of good entertainment. He wanted to see spectacular fights, not the drizzles and shits. Finally something worth betting on came up, John Finklay versus Calot Cross.
Finklay was a short, thick built human with dark, burnt skin from years of working in the sun. His mutton chops and shaggy hair made the man look like a rabid animal. Looking at his fists one could see years of scaring from being in brawls. As Finklay was waiting in his corner he was spitting and slurring curses at his opponent.
Calot was the complete opposite. This guy was taller and thinner than his adversary, but just as athletic looking. He was pale, bug-eyed, and creepy looking. The bile leaking from his mouth covered his unshaven face in a layer of grime. It was certain that Calot was to some degree insane. Calot waited in his corner in complete silence.
Mok grumbled as he tried to decide who to place his cash on. The first bout would begin in about ten minutes, so Mok did not have much time to decide. On one hand Finklay looked like he was playing the part better. He was fast, strong, and crazy. Calot on the other hand looked like a dope head. Still, Mok could not decide. Maybe Calot was really good and was using his demeanor to fool his opponent. Either way Mok wished that Cade had attended with him. At least he could get the opine of another warrior.
Scanning the noisy hall, Mok looked for anyone he could have a quick spit about the upcoming fight.
The Blood Pits: every wretched fool’s idea of a great time out on the town. These blood soaked halls were a prime location for anyone to make some quick coin. The only drawback was that death was the price for losing. Every man’s mortality was exposed in this arena.
The tough thrived and the weak died. It was that simple.
Mok of the Jagged Blade was one man who believed that he was strong enough. He believed that his heritage and life experience placed him above all the odds against him. Mean and tough are the two words that could be used to describe him. The jungles of the Faylndar were his true home. He believed that his training in the wild would prevail against any piece of trash that Sunberth could throw at him. The myrian was no idiot though. He could tell if the opponent was strong and faster. Don’t think for one moment Mok doesn’t know that there are people stronger than him out there. This does not faze him.
Even when faced with a more powerful opponent, Mok will fight to the death. That is the way he was taught.
Tonight, however, the half-blood was betting on the matches and not participating in them himself. Staring from the back of the room, Mok watched the first couple of matches in silence. Two random slaves brawling wasn’t Mok idea of good entertainment. He wanted to see spectacular fights, not the drizzles and shits. Finally something worth betting on came up, John Finklay versus Calot Cross.
Finklay was a short, thick built human with dark, burnt skin from years of working in the sun. His mutton chops and shaggy hair made the man look like a rabid animal. Looking at his fists one could see years of scaring from being in brawls. As Finklay was waiting in his corner he was spitting and slurring curses at his opponent.
Calot was the complete opposite. This guy was taller and thinner than his adversary, but just as athletic looking. He was pale, bug-eyed, and creepy looking. The bile leaking from his mouth covered his unshaven face in a layer of grime. It was certain that Calot was to some degree insane. Calot waited in his corner in complete silence.
Mok grumbled as he tried to decide who to place his cash on. The first bout would begin in about ten minutes, so Mok did not have much time to decide. On one hand Finklay looked like he was playing the part better. He was fast, strong, and crazy. Calot on the other hand looked like a dope head. Still, Mok could not decide. Maybe Calot was really good and was using his demeanor to fool his opponent. Either way Mok wished that Cade had attended with him. At least he could get the opine of another warrior.
Scanning the noisy hall, Mok looked for anyone he could have a quick spit about the upcoming fight.
Red = Myrian
Bold = Common
Bold = Common
