Fable - Ask These Aren't the Slaves You're Looking For [Underground | Forsaken | Dreadlords]

[Eske]

Vel Anir - Undercity
Barren's Pit
FIGHT NIGHT

The Pit cast a faint gloom on the man's steely gaze, but he fixed the knives on his chestpiece and strode in without so much as an out of place blink.

He'd been here plenty before. Knew the place, knew the sorts of people that congregated here.

Feth, this was where Senra found him. Down on her money and punch-drunk-in-love with an immovable man, nails the color of noble violet. He spied the exact seat at the inner bar where the young Lovash had bumped into him - now occupied by a brute of a person he recognized immediately as one of Meron's old croonies.

Dodged a few swings from that one, he had, back when he was a coathanger. Wouldn't recognize him now, luckily.

"Come on, Qosta. You’re on fethin’ vacation, ain’t ya? Act like it.” Aver the mercenary was with him, slapping him handily on the shoulder with a grin like a scythe.

To the cage fights, apparently, to act like he was on vacation. The sigh of a break after a completed mission, enough time to catch your breath before the next assignment came in. Somehow she managed to get spots front and center, though it was less a mystery and more a quaint inkling of humor. Funny how these sorts of things just happened for her. Emryc produced a cigarette from a side pouch and offered one to Aver, lighting up.

"The last time I had a vacation was right before the Broker Riots," he said over the din of raucous fight spectators around them, looking at the woman briefly, pointedly. That had been several years ago and he'd gotten caught right up in the fething middle of it all. Frankly he'd rather be at work than on vacation.

“Something wrong with ya, or what?” Aver enjoyed her work, and she took vacations. Plenty of them. “You don’t relax that head of yours, you’re gonna sna— Alright, you fether, GET HIM!” She punched the air as the komodi fighter began pummeling his opponent into the ground. Fist after fist after fist, and the arena heaved with the violence on the air.

“Krellan Rahn does it again! A fifth victory this week – a real upset from below, folks!” Cheers and beer; blood and sweat. Aver revelled in it. Emryc grimaced into the first pull of his cigarette.

But she revelled more in what came next.

“Now, you dirty Undercity scumbags, it’s Taungsday, and you know what that means!”

“VO-LUN-TEERS!”
“VO-LUN-TEERS!”
“VO-LUN-TEERS!”

The chanting of the people.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Amrose did not cheer. From where he sat in the crowd, his keen gray eyes could pick up every droplet of blood that spattered from the fighter's face as his komodi opponent pummeled him into the ground. Scaled fists hammered home again and again and again into bone with wet, crunching thuds that would have been sickening if the roar of the crowd had not been so deafening.

Muscles in Amrose's jaw writhed as he clenched and unclenched his teeth, stare as cold as steel. He wore a simple tunic and pants, but did not bother hiding his face with a cloak or cowl. Not like anyone here would care about the scars criss-crossing his cheeks. Some were silvered with age. Most were a new and angry red, almost as red as his auburn hair.

And his ears.

His ears were pointed.

When the crowd began chanting for volunteers, he remained seated. But the more their voices rose, the harder he grit his teeth, until at last he could no longer bear it.

He stood up and walked toward the pit. His hands balled into fists.

"I volunteer."

 

[Nathaira]

“Vacation” was not a word most Forsaken were well acquainted with. Still, the brief period between completing a mission and being reassigned was about as close as Nathaira ever got, and she intended to take full advantage of it tonight. She would never dare venture through Vel Anir proper without explicit purpose, but the undercity was a different place altogether. Non-humans were not so reviled, they were commonplace even, and the energy down here was... intoxicating.

She leaned over a railing from the second level. From here she could see the fights with utmost clarity. Her amber eyes were dilated wide in the dim light, and her tongue flicked out every few seconds, absorbing scents and painting a vivid picture of the fighting pits.

Sweat. Alcohol. Blood... lots of blood. Each time she sucked her tongue back in she was given a fresh burst of sensation, and the carnage made her hungry. She held a tiny glass in her hand resting on the railing in front of her. The serous liquid within rippled gently as the building shook with the brawls, and it burned as she tossed it down her throat. She didn't like the bigger drinks, they were too cold, but this liquor could do the same job with a teaspoon. She tossed the glass over her shoulder and turned to the small figure to her right.

"What do you think?" she asked Rumer. The fighting pits were dirty, brutal, and frightening. It was the perfect place for a young Forsaken... at least in Nathaira's eyes.

She peered back down to the pits as the first volunteer of the night stood up. An elf? How wonderfully interesting. One didn't see many of their kind down here, too clean and willowy. She noted the numerous scars on this one, though, and thought he might just have a chance.

 

[Vale]

Vale arrived at the pits shortly after the fight with Krellan Rahn had started. The pits were a distant but familiar place to him, the memories of being a kid and watching the fights from afar with friends floated from the back of his mind and drew a slight smile on his face. That had been years ago and he was a different man now. Vale didn't even know if his old friends were alive or dead but he knew for a certainty that he was dead to them after so many years without contact.

The cheers of the crowd grew louder as he drew closer and he could feel the adrenaline that pumped through the crowd and the fighters. The smell of alcohol wasn't too far behind it and most likely the main purpose the crowd was so raucous. The thuds of combat still echoed in the room and Vale peered at the arena, seeing a komodi completely smother and basically demolish his opponent who was outclassed. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that Krellan's opponent was practically comatose after receiving multiple blows to the head. The fight ended but the bloodlust from the ground continued to soar and they demanded more entertainment.

Vale leaned on a nearby support beam and crossed his arms, his gaze locked on the arena as a volunteer eventually did step forward. The volunteer was an elf and an interesting matchup against a komodi that would provide some entertainment.

At first, when he arrived, the thought of stepping into the pit to partake himself hadn't crossed his mind but the urge came deep from his stomach then. When he was a kid and came to the pits regularly, he had offered himself once against someone who was similar in age and got absolutely beaten down. That defeat never disappeared from his psyche even though he had been so young. The thought of testing his skills after years he had spent in the Academy appealed to him and he was eager to see who would come out from the fight for him to take on next.

 

[Rumer]

It had been the first time in her thirteen years that she'd found herself in such a crowded place, let alone a place like this. Her little form was rigid, towering half breeds, orcs, elves, ogres, giants, everything that was taller than she was and each another gaze for her glassy, emerald eyes to avoid.

Rumer stayed locked as close to Nathaira as she could without physically holding on to the woman and she peered reluctantly down into the blood drenched pit, her knuckles pale as she gripped the balcony.. "I.." She bit on her lip. What she actually thought was why? She didn't understand the notion behind beating another person senseless. Over the past few weeks she'd been beaten physically and emotionally in so many ways that she couldn't imagine why any of them would do this for fun or coin or whatever reason other than they had to.

She turned her head slightly away from Nathaira, hoping her hood would mask her face enough for the woman not to notice her eyes tightly closing as Krellan turned his victim's face to mulch.

"Please don't go down there.." the girl answered finally as she heard the call for volunteers, her voice barely audible above the raucous of jeers of rage and celebration. For a girl who could do what she could do, she had a weak stomach for violence, a fact that Nathaira knew well and Rumer supposed it had been the woman's intention to desensitise her to such things. It wasn't working...

 

[Kasimir]

"Natharia wouldn't last five minutes in the pit, Little Mouse. Best for her to stay put and drink this with me."

Kasimir had been talking to one of the volunteers by the cages when he had spotted the pair wander over to watch the social gatherings. It was one of the few nights that the Handlers let them have to truly have 'off'. Mainly, he suspected, because more often than not they were betting on their little pets to make them a little penny or to kill one another. Whilst the fighting was never meant to be to the death, nobody ever seemed to blink when one or two people were killed. It was the risk a person took when they entered the pits.

As one of the Forsaken's unofficial top trainers Kasimir often found his students such as they were eager to try their hand in the ring. It was two of them who now got ready to enter the cage but Kas's attention couldn't be further from them now that he had found Nat and Rumer. The pair were the only two he would actually consider 'friends' in this place. As he had pushed his way through the throng of people he had also picked up a few drinks on the way.

He handed Nat a full glass of wine and then a smaller glass to Rumer before taking a sip of his own.

Subtly he positioned himself so that Rumer wouldn't have to watch the horrors below.