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Snippet #1632

located in Capallice - The Pit, a part of Arena: The Chimera Tournament, one of the many universes on RPG.

Capallice - The Pit

A crowded, rowdy place below the actual arena. It is here that Operators prepare their Drudges for battle, wait for matches to begin, and stabilize those who survive.


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The hustle and bustle of the Pit made Wren uncomfortable. It wasn’t the noise, the crowds of people, or even the intense smell that made her feel this way. Those were all things she loved about the arena. It was all the activity. People running about, arguing at the top of their lungs, pushing and shoving, some were even sparring to prepare for the big fights tomorrow. There was so much going on, so much that she couldn’t see at the same time. It made Wren dizzy.

Not the arena. She thought shifting closer to her Operator, a white haired but strong man. No, it might be under it, but this wasn’t the arena at all. The arena was powerful, and organized, and gave her actions meaning. Wren might hate her Operator, an evil old man who’d long ago stolen her from her father and taken her wings and voice, but she loved the arena. It was where she belonged, and there was no other place like it.

That was what her life had become, one giant comparison. The rest of the world was not like the arena. Glynwor, while full of slums, was not loud and centering. It was simply dirty and full of useless chatter. Chatter Wren couldn’t understand, and that scared her, filled her with paranoid doubt.

What were they saying? (Words you could never understand.)

Were they talking about her? (Most certainly.)

Were they going to steal her only remaining wings? (Do you even have to ask?)

The voice inside her, it sounded a lot like Adnan Brencis, answered all her questions and more. This left her with only one option, to remain hidden away in her one room home. But even there she couldn’t be happy. The room was so small, so empty, the walls closed in on her. So high above the city that the only sounds she could hear were her own. Her breathing, her heartbeat, the shuffle of her leg against carpet. The sounds, or lack thereof, pressed in on her mind, seeped through her eyes and ears and nose like acid, until all she could do was lay there. Wren spent her days at ‘home’ pondering the walls and ceiling.

Wren, unlike so many others, harbored no uncertainties about her place in the world. It was the arena, and she was there to fight. To kill, it would now seem. She flexed her black claws anxiously, making them lengthen and shorten again as she thought. Wren had decided earlier that day, Adnan had told her of the broadcast because she couldn’t handle television, that she had no problem with killing other mutants. It wasn’t as if she had a choice anyway, it was her or them. Still, it was something new. Wren was so used to being forced to stop, sometimes she had to be pyhisically removed from the ring, that she wasn’t sure she’d remember to keep going. Or that she would be open to attacking someone when they were down… Was that right? They were in the arena after all, rules were rules, and the one muscle Adnan had neglected to train in Wren was her moral compass.

Sure it’s all right. Wren absently ran her fingers over the two brown feathers tied to her neck, half dreaming about her long lost wings. Of course it is.

The crowd parted only slightly as a bearded man, obviously an Operator, made his way to Wren and Adnan. Adnan mostly. As he came to stand by him, his faced locked in a seemly permanent grimace, she heard him, Zarrof she’d been told, say something to Adnan. Still lost in thought, her fingers gently twisting her lovely feathers, she only managed to pick up on two words: boy and late. She got the general gist though.

Scott is late. With the slightest twinge of concern, he was her arena partner regardless of what she thought, Wren began to look through the crowd from her place beside Adnan. She found him quickly, not a moment later, standing before a honey-haired girl. Something shiny passed between them.

Nice. Wren thought as a yearning to touch the shiny thing prickled up someplace behind her heart. Perhaps they would fight the girl? Then she could t- the weight of an elbow coming to rest on her shoulder broke Wren from her darker thoughts. It was Scott, saying something…. Her name… Start… Blood!

A soft but eager smile, one you would expect of a girl who’d just been invited to a ball, played across Wren’s face and her glassy green eyes widened with excitement. Blood was connected to the arena, to fighting, to the tournament. Her strangely innocent smile continued.

At the mention of Capallice, the unseen ‘Human’ city, Wren didn’t even try to understand. Her Operator’s world was a confusing place. As her eyes began to glaze over, when she wasn’t listening she wouldn’t pretend otherwise, Scotts’ arms came up in a series of playful punches. Wren’s flew up as well, her talons now only half sheathed, as she played at blocking his attacks. She was only half playing though, part of her wasn’t sure. He was her ally though, what reason did her have to hurt her?

As this exchange went on, Adnan couldn’t help but chuckle at Zarrofs’ last comment.

“You bet she could. Why, if I had a credit for every time we’ve had to pull her off another Drudge… Well, I do. More than one.” A greedy smile spread across Adnan’s face before he continued, careful to keep his voice low. “But that’s your plan then, just throw him in? Sound enough I suppose, all the less time for him to get upset about it.”

When the punches, however playful, finally stopped Wren relaxed considerably. Her talons retracted and her shoulders folded out from their hunched state. Then another smile, innocent and childish, arose as something her Operator had mentioned this morning came to mind. Looking to Scott with bright eyes, she forced a single, wispy word through her cordless throat.