Snippet #2688466

Zhyle shifted nervously in the stands as the melee began. He had been excited as he had entered the stadium, but as he had watched the competitors pour into the stadium he had slowly been filled with a sense of dread. Sure he may trust Miralda in those one-on-one matches, but in a chaotic brawl such as this... he didn't know how well her nobly trained sword would fare. It would also be much harder for anyone to read these opponents in the matches, every second wasted could be an opportunistic thug looking to put a club or hatchet into the back of your neck.

He rested his chin on his fingers as he furrowed his brows towards the competitors making their final preparations and the announcer began to energize the crowd. Zhyle nervously caressed the clasp on his sheath as the crowd's energy rose to a fever pitch. Normally having the blade by his side didn't really make him feel that safe, but when surrounded by people that were largely armed with bare fists the lump of steel made him confident that he would not encounter any trouble.

Once the announcer signaled Zhyle watched the competitors leap into action. As expected the large portion of the fighting was happening near the center of the arena with those bold and or fool enough to rush headlong to meet their foes. Around that initial bloodbath of meatheads the cleverer competitors toed the edges of the fights, looking for sneaky or flashy kills to eliminate competition or dissuade others of approaching them. The grandstanders were Zhyle's morbidly favorite to watch. They were they type of people that may inspire fear in a round such as this, but their flamboyant methods would not hold up in later rounds unless they were made of tougher stuff than what they were showing here.

Zhyle smiled amusedly at the scrum before a small cluster of people on the outer ring caught his attention. While there were certainly those that were trying to avoid conflict altogether and simply survive the initial onslaught, one group in particular caught his attention. Then he groaned. A group of four men had seemingly formed an alliance and had their sights set on Miri. Perhaps they had been slightly too successful in making their money through the arena. Zhyle's mind worked as he surveyed the battlefield. Fighting head on would be a poor decision while running would simply end in her being encircled. Distance alone wouldn't be enough she needed bodies in between her and the makeshift coalition. The only place that she would be able to find that was the mass of blood and bodies in the center of the arena. The group couldn't follow her there since they would no longer be able to communicate or avoid conflict.

As Zhyle arrived at this conclusion he found himself standing at the edge of the wall surrounding the arena. Well, if he was here, might as well roll with it. Adding his voice to the roar of the crowd around him Zhyle bellowed "Miri! Center of the fight! Lose 'em!" As he shouted, unsure if his words reached his intended target he noticed something else strange. One of the men, who were standing in between Miralda and himself turned and looked at Zhyle, narrowed his eyes, looked off to the side and gestured back towards Zhyle.

Zhyle winced as he realized two things from the motion. One, the men in the arena thought that Miralda had a support group outside of the ring trying to rig the fight for her. Two, the men had a support group outside of the ring and they were coming for him.