The Law of Ladire » Places

         Voices roared like violent ocean waves from the massive crowds that sprawled out in a full three-sixty from the Arena's mighty stands. Shout after shout for the next fight, cheers, drunken revelry, unbridled human blood lust split over the steel railings and onto the sand of the Pitt, while excitement and euphoria danced through the air, baked in the bitter-sweet stench of ale. For some reason, the crowds were bigger today, and almost every named fighters had been pulled in to please the masses, along with the most exotic or deadly adversaries the Pitt Masters could find. Tension was reaching stellar peaks as the ever-so-cocky announcer finally gripped his mic between his pudgy little fingers, and gathered the Arena's undivided attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and the rest of you savage little gits..Our next fighters have been secured, and let me assure you, it's a helluva match up!” A unanimous cheer resounded from the mass of people, reverberating off of every surface, and rocking every soul caught in it's typhoon. “For your pleasure today, my lovelies, I bring you Rorick The Bloodedge, our resident wild-man, and berserk destroyer of lives!” More cheers resounded as the famed Ladren warrior stepped onto the hot sands of the Pitt. Tall, muscular, green haired, and swathed in scars, the furious Reaver thrust his axe skywards, a bid for more cheers that was quickly fulfilled. “And to face him..?” The announcer couldn't help but chuckle, as the young, purple haired girl stepped forth on the field, bouncing on the heels of her feet, and grinning ear to ear. “Our very own vixen from Cirdore, Nyxos! The mad-mage. Give it up for her brave suicide, folks!” Leers and jeers descended from the crowds, but did nothing to detour the girl's happy smile, as she waved up at them, ignoring her formidable opponent. “Let the slaughter....Begin!”

Chuckling to herself, Nyxos waved at the Ladren man, who raised an eyebrow while spitting in her direction. “You're dead you little bitch, 'ere me? I'll gut you!” When all she did was shrug, the furious man launched himself at her in a warriors-frenzy. Underestimating his prey, he swung his axe in a slow, but powerful crescent, hoping to cleave her in half, but the cheery little girl merely twirled out of the way. “That it, Mr.Warrior?” She teased, goading him into another fierce, but clumsy attack. The crowd roared with anger as he missed again, hungry for action. “Awh..Mr.Rodrick..They aren't happy with your show...I guess this means it's my turn..”

Twisting as she dodged another harsh blow, the little girl put her full momentum behind a kick aimed at his lungs, which impacted with both a heavy thud, and gasp from the crowd as Rodrick fell to the ground. The true power behind the kick was her magic, the second the man gasped she'd began pumping in waves of air she'd stored up from his poorly thought out assaults. He writhed on the sand, clutching his stomach while pained, and desperately sickening sounds escaped his throat, and sent a shiver of pleasure down Nyxos' back. “Come on now, Mr.Warrior, shows not over yet..” She cooed, while grabbing his arms and forcing him up on his feet. The crowd watched in silence as the disturbing events unfolded. The girl turned around and leaned in, gently kissing the man on his cheek, and the second her lips made contact with his skin, he exploded with a gory “pop” sound, leaving just the blood drenched girl standing under a slick rain of blood and fragmented body parts.

Brushing a bit of spleen from her hair, Nyxos curtsied, and blew a kiss at the now uproariously cheering crowd.

“Who's up next, to challenge our little maiden now, hm?”

          Cherry

The gory sound of ripping skin filled the arena, followed by the laughter and cheering of men, and the cussing of others. At that moment, a Ladren had died, and all she was doing was helping a stranger "kill time". Cherry saw the boy as no harm. If she had felt insulted, or offended, her ego would have taken control long ago. She slipped a different bounty from her bag and unfolded it, flat on the table. The picture was of a Ladren, a female. A flower sat in her long, curly hair, and her ear was pierced at the tip, like most female Ladren's were. Her teeth pointed just at the canines, giving off a playful smirk. Under the picture, in ink, it stated that she was 13 years old, with a weak build, and a high bounty.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Cherry spoke, assuming that the man had taken a glance at the paper. The bounty was the biggest Cherry had ever seen, but she had given up looking for the girl long ago. Reaching into her bag, she grasped a handful of coins, and dropped a thicker one onto the wooden table, next to her drink.

Without another word, Cherry stood. "Perhaps someone else can kill your time." She seemed mature. Cool and collected. Of course she did. It was her front. In reality, she wasn't sure what to think. Was he trying to get under her skin, or simply start a conversation?

Her cool was quickly interrupted, when she was shoved into the bar by a group of rowdy men. Her previously damaged ribs hit the edge of the wood, sending her spiraling into a fit of anger and frustration.

"Screw off!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. Once the area around her was quiet, and she had gotten the attention of the man who had shoved her, she approached him.

"I should kill you for that!" Her face was red with embarrassment and rage, but the man simply chuckled to his drunken self, and turned back to his friends.

"Hey!" She growled, snatching the large man by the shoulder and spinning him to face her, before quickly, and furiously, lodging her knee into his crotch. The man fell over and crumpled to the ground. The group of men around him stared directly at Cherry, who quickly leaped onto the bar table, snatching up her bounty, and glancing back at Jaedon as she disappeared into the crowd.

It had been a mistake to come on such an awful day in the first place. Now, was time for Cherry to find a place to cool her branded ego, and attempt to forget all about making an ass of herself, as she did every day.

         Ophelia arrived in Cirdore boarders, half draped over a horse in the dead of night, naked, blood spattered, smelling like burnt flesh, and bleeding profusely from bullet wounds as was her custom, she was immediately rushed to a doctor in service to her family, much as the rest of her custom dictated. After having three bullet wounds, two stab wounds, and a hearty lecture from an old woman she was given an hour to gather whatever belongings she felt like carrying, and was told to be outside and sober to greet a waiting carriage. Typical of her father, get a little too bloodied and suddenly the king himself requests you take some time for R&R in the middle of nowhere, and this time nowhere meant Adas. Grabbing attire she felt was casual for a noble, and a spare pistol she'd given in to the silly demand, begrudgingly though, and under some heavy sedatives she'd climbed into the carriage and promptly fallen asleep. The driver was very kind to wake her before kicking her out once they arrived in a little market place.

From there, she'd staggered into a near by tavern, gotten piss drunk, started a brawl with every man there, and ended up leaving them all picking teeth from the floor at the cost of a busted lip, torn stitches on all her wounds, a collection of new bruises, and a hefty tab. As per usual, she'd blown all her money on drink and passed out in the market square as if it were common place for a lady to do, and between the smell, clobbered men from last night, and the big pistols slung on her hips, the villagers had been more than happy to leave her there in a pool of her own blood.