Venturious: Fighting Pits
The crowd roared, had then been above ground the sound would have carried over several streets. The fight pits were alive and well tonight. A swell of howls, jeers and groans of displeasure mixed together to cause a cacophony of sound. The fights tonight at least of the keen eye had been heavily weighted to a singular side, though not so much as to leave the chance for a particularly plucky individual to pull off the impossible and take victory, however some fights were down right fixed. Anyone with half a brain, could look at the board of fighters and see it. But again the board could only tell you so much, without fame to back it up names didn’t mean much.
Venturious stood eyeing the board, the commotion still going on behind him. Looking down the list of fights to come he stopped on a name and allowed himself a small chuckle and shook his head. “A drow?” he shook his head again, now that’ll be interesting. He traced his eye to who they’d be fighting. “Fighting an orc…” he let out a breath, “Not even a half-orc. Full blood.” he clicked his tongue. “Poor drow’s going to get slaughtered.”
Venturious stepped away from the board and took a seat high and away from any potential ‘splash zone’
A few more fights came and went, most of them boring and run of the mill. People who thought themselves great fighters, learning very quickly that ‘real fights’ were nothing like what they thought they were. And most just ended up flailing and half slapping each other until one person gave up or in shocking relative to the actual ‘combat’ someone would land a hit just right and knock the other person out. Not the worst showing this pit had ever offered but a far cry from something interesting. At least the crowd got a good laugh out of some of them.
As with every fight before it began a man dressed like a ringleader in castoff clothes entered and walked to the center of the pit to introduce the fighters, a flare for the dramatic and hyping up a crowd. He took a bow to the left then the right. “Ladies, Gentlemen and those betwixt. We are coming to the end of our night. NOW NOW! Do not cry, we will be back for more, but let’s give our second to last fight for the night the kind of reception it deserves.” he raised his hands high above him palms towards the sky then angled them up, so his fingers were up give the crowd the signal to cheer. “Now, You know her, You love her, and some of you freaks have probably had dreams about her. Miz'raenil!”
“The Drow…” Venturious was a bit puzzled. “Seems she’s got a following.” and by the sounds of the announcer she was quite the looker…odd that she’d be a fighter then…even more interesting.
The gate opposite of where Venturious was seated opened, and out walked a woman. But far not ugly but not the looker he’d put to her reputation. Though that surprise was quickly forgotten as she was huge. At least a Drow and a half tall. She looked closer to a Goliath. And she wasn’t just tall, she was a wall of muscles. And armorless. Hells, she was barely wearing rags. She looked more like a feral woman than any Drow he’d ever met, not that he’d met many but still. She had a serious stern face, hard and cold as arctic stone. Her fingernails looked more like short claws. Her hands, neck, forehead and legs up to her knees all had strange tattooing that made them look like they had a look of her skin there being painted just slightly darker than her grey scar covered skin.
The showman gave Miz'raenil a deep bow, and turned the other way. “And let’s not forget, The Beast of the East, the Walking Calamity, Dakzuk!” the other gate opened, it took a bit longer for Venturious to see the Orcish man who walked out. His skin was a forest green. His head was mostly bald save for the topknot on his head. He was in general not much bigger than the Drow woman but he was certainly wider. His tusks were asymmetrical looking like one had been broken off and he’d just filed it into a close sharp point. Like the Drow he was in a similar state of near undress. Wearing little more than a loincloth and cloth wrappings on his feet.
“Well…” the showman said slowly, back up to his smaller gate, “You two know the rules.” The showman stopped at his gate. “Those of you who are squeamish avert your eyes tonight they are fighting to the death.” as he stepped into the gate. “FIGHT!”
It started in a flash. Hands locked in a grapple, a tug of war against the other. Pushing their wrist into a painful position until they began to bend the knee, back arching as the other towered above them, then it would switch. The two broke their grapple, and stepped back. Launching at each other. Fists flying, connecting with raw power, even over the crowd the sound of bone hitting meat could be heard, both staggering slightly with each blow. Again the two broke away from each other. Dakzuk went for a tackle. Slamming his meaty shoulders into Miz'raenil midsection trying to take her to the ground. She balled one hand into a fist and clutched the other over it and rained hammer blows against the orc’s back. When she’d hit him enough and his pushing stopped she wrapped her arms around his lower half and lifted him into the air, legs above head below, slamming him onto his head and tossed him forward. Slowly the orc staggered to his feet, charging her, but moving to her left at the last second. Once just barely past her, he leaped into the air, getting an arm around her neck and dragging her down with him. Her back just between the shoulder blades smashed into his right shoulder and he let her roll off. The two broke into grapple wrestling, low tackles, rolling, slamming and lock ups. Both were a mess of blood and dirt. A hard fought series of battles for dominate position, Miz'raenil managed to get her legs wrapped around Dakzuk from behind and her arms in a modified sleeper hold position, once she’d locked it in Dakzuk began to thrash helplessly, trying with all his might to escape, trying to reach back and claw at her eyes, but slowly he started to lose his fight, and when the trashing became a pathetic flapping of his arms Miz'raenil finished it. Snapping his neck, and letting his body fall limp. She stood putting one fist into the air, to a roar of the crowd and limped back to her gate. Not long after she’d left the field two men a half-orc and a human man dragged Dakzuk’s body back to his gate.
“Well folks that was a Hells of a show.” the showman said. “Let's get ready for the next one…”
Venturious didn’t wait around to hear the next fight. He could use some muscle like Miz'raenil on his side and planned to talk to her while she was in a winning mood.
Talking his way past the men watching the door, he walked down a flight of stairs, to a landing where the fighters entered the arena, then another that led to a smaller room below the main floor. A sort of bar for the fighters. Surprisingly plush seating, long sofas, a well stocked bar, fighters, and people to serve them and help them relax after the fight.
Venturious looked around until he spotted Miz'raenil, sitting in the middle of a large crescent shaped couch, with two high-elf girls one to either side. And on the left end of the sofa was Dakzuk, a large mug of probably ale in one hand, and what looked like a bag of ice in the other holding it to his head, but the two seemed to be laughing and joking with each other.
“So it's all fake…” Venturious thought. “It makes a kind of sense not to kill your money drawl.”
Venturious approached the two, “Miz'raenil, I would like to make you a business proposition."