I collect my payment, ignoring Ira's fierce gaze of burning hatred. The gold tinkles musically as I grab the sack, mouth salivating and mind racing with thoughts of booze and new toys. I've always thought a new coat would be nice.
"Don't worry, Ira, I'll come and visit," I say lightly as I tie the bag to my belt, "You should be entertaining to watch in the Pit. I'll even bet on you if it looks promising." I flinch when I look at him. His eyes are like daggers, burning with rage and a deeper sorrow. It gives me a heavy feeling in my gut...
The gold on my waist is heavier, though, so I shrug off the feeling and conclude business with Sevrus. He gives me his slime-ball smile as I exit, leaving my 'companion' with him. As soon as I'm out of the room I sigh in relief.
It's a dirty business, but it pays pretty well. Better than scamming pub goers at cards, at least. Maybe a tad less fun, but gold is gold.
I mill about the guild's tavern, chatting, laughing, and flirting with familiar faces. Despite the smiles I see, everyone guards their bags and valuable possessions. My reputation as a thief really does precede me.
It's odd, but a small twinge of regret rips into my heart. It's gone as soon as it appears.
After making my way around the room twice without being able to pilfer or scam anything, I leave the other patrons be. Sauntering my way to the bar and ordering a drink, I make small talk with some of the other adventurers, but they're understandably wary of me.
I guess I don't have the best track record. I swirl my drink, staring at the bottom of the cup. I wouldn't say I try to be a lone wolf, but no one wants to associate with a slave dealer. Go figure.
I knock back the rest of my drink, enjoying the slight burn before putting the cup down with a little tap. Too much time to kill before the fight tonight. I might as well get some sleep.
"Keep the change," I mutter, pushing down a gold onto the bar. I walk out of the guild, winding my way through the streets to my little abode in the middle of the slums.
It smells, it's dangerous, and it's ugly, but the rent is cheap as hell and it holds all my stuff, so who could ask for more?
I enter the little shack, pushing the deadbolt into the door with a solid 'thunk,' and shrugging off my coat. I keep the place relatively clean, but the rats incentivize me to keep my boots on. I open up a hidden panel on the wall, revealing a small horde of gold. I deposit my recent spoils, running my hands through the gold. I don't know what I'm doing with it yet, but it feels good to save.
Gives me something to do.
I collapse onto a sack I turned into my makeshift bed, watching the motes of dust float through the streams of sunlight. I feel lethargic, picking my nails with the new knife absentmindedly, letting my mind wander.
I might check in on the pits tonight, make good on my promise of betting money. It gives me something to do, at least. I sheath my knife in my belt, settling into the sack and closing my eyes.
When I open my eyes, the sunlight and dust is gone, replaced by the dim glow of the moon and the soft white snow. I groan, body feeling stiff as I stand up. I try rubbing some life back into my extremities, wondering how long I was asleep.
"9 hours?" I mutter, glancing out the window. The moon is high in the sky, meaning it might be close to midnight. If I move now, I can make it to the end of the pit fighting. Ira's probably dead by now, especially since it didn't seem like he had any training. A sword and some anger only get's people so far.
I pull on my coat, slide the deadbolt open, and walk into the crisp night air. Small clouds have piled on the sides of the street, the snow gently gathering and turning grey in the filth of the city. I wrinkle my nose. I don't enjoy the cold that much.
Tightening my collar, I walk back towards the guild. My coin purse is light, filled with just enough to make some small bets, not enough to let me get in over my head and lose it all. Before I know it, I'm outside the guild, staring at the door.
I take a breath, plastering on a smile and sauntering inside. Greeting people, making passes at the attractive ones, joking around; these are all things that establish my credibility. They all stay aware, purses in sight and valuables accounted for, but I'm breaking some of the coldness that I faced earlier.
After marking a few people mentally - future victims - I make my way to the wall in the back. There's a hidden door for the shadier members such as myself. Flashing a token to the invisible eye, I walk through the wall, a gelatinous feeling covering my body as I slip behind to the hidden room.
I stare down into the gaping staircase, a hallway of darkness only broken by a dimly lit lantern. It leads to a cave that was repurposed as the main battleground for all the slaves we pit against each other. It's held up by some sort of magic I and most other people didn't pay attention to.
Stepping down into the staircase, I can begin to hear the cheering of people and the clanging of metal. I'm surprised to hear how rowdy the cheering is. It's always present, but not usually this loud. Did someone bring in an underdog or something?
Curiosity piqued; I slip my way into the crowd. Pushing and sliding between people to give myself a decent view. Someone tries to push me back, but I flash them my knife and they let me pass.
"Thanks, darling~" I say, giving him a flirtatious wink before stepping on his foot and moving forward. I turn to the pit, interested to see what everyone is yelling about.
The pit itself is sunken into the ground, about 10 feet, and covered in a magical dome. People can throw things in, old trash, scraps of food, sometimes a weapon, whatever they want to make the fight more entertaining. However, if you try and leave the other way, you get thrown back into the pit with as much force as you tried to leave with. I've seen some people snap their necks that way.
Currently, there are two fighters in the pit. The favored to win, a Goliath with an axe the size of a man wearing nothing but a bearskin loincloth, and a smaller humanoid, covered in tattered armor and a helmet. He was giving a rusted looking sword, already chipped in several places. He wasn't looking to great either, bleeding from several cuts and scratches.
"Poor bastard," I mention to no one in particular. "They always give the newcomers bad gear."
"I wouldn't worry!" A man next to me yells, sloshing his mug of beer around. "He's already fought 3 battles and won them all!" He cheers as the Goliath makes a savage attack, nearly splitting his opponent in two. "The newbie's been dodging all night! He's got to be exhausted!"
The drunk is right. Not even 5 seconds later, the Goliath swings again, and the man, not being able to dodge in time, brings up his sword to block it. Bad idea.
There's a sharp sword of metal shattering, followed by the roar of the crowd. The man is left with nothing but a broken hilt, and the Goliath grins, teeth replaced with small finger bones from his previous opponents.
"Well, he put in a good run." I say, leaning against the railing and watching intently.
The man with a broken sword removes his helmet, revealing a familiar but battered face. I laugh bitterly. Of course it's Ira. Looks like his luck finally ran out. The guards must have given him a hard time in the cell. No wonder his gear is shit.
"Well, ashes to ashes." I say, shrugging and watching the Goliath move in on his prey. Ira circles him warily, and dodges again as the Goliath attacks.
It was a feint, though. As Ira rolls onto the ground, the Goliath rushes in, taking him unawares and raising his axe.
"DIE!" The barbarian yells, bringing his axe down on Ira's helpless form."
The sound of bones splitting fill the arena, bringing the crowd into another roar of cheering. I flinch in surprise, however, because Ira's face seems fine. Instead, a bone has erupted from his arm. It's in the shape of a small shield, and the axe is embedded deep within it.
The goliath is surprised too, but not for long. He wrenches his axe free and kicks Ira in the chest, sending him full force into the pit's wall.
Shakily, Ira gets up, raising his shield. In his other hand, an ivory sword erupts from his arm, covered in blood. The crowd roars again.
Ira says something to the Goliath.
He's quiet, but I can just about read his lips.
"This isn't over," a familiar hatred enters Ira's eyes. His body flooding with a second wind.
The two fighters rush towards each other, eager to end this fight.