In…

Out…

Winifred took a series of deep, cleansing breaths. She was feeling the tension in her body beginning to rise. All her quips aside, she knew that Gregore was going to be a tough fight. The toughest she was ever likely to face in Dray’Mel. She threw a quick jab and started to shadow box. She ducked under an imaginary counter before leaning in to throw out a solid right hook.

She needed to calm down. She stopped in place and wiped the sweat from her brow. It wasn’t a good idea to burn up all her energy before the fight even started. It was fine to warm up, of course, she’d learned the hard way that going into a fight with a cold body ended up with bruises.

She had her work cut out for her with Gregore. She knew a couple of other fighters who were in the pit circuit and neither of them had gone toe to toe with the guy but they’d certainly had their share of horror stories. Gregore was known to be a clean fighter, just as she’d told Zacharias, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t brutal. Ivan and Apollo both had stories of the state of the bodies after stepping into the ring with Gregore and they didn’t make for pleasant hearing.

Winifred bounced on the balls of her feet restlessly. She briefly wondered if this was how people who were headed to the Butchery felt. Shaking her head, she tried her best not to think about that Gods-forsaken place. It would bring back too many painful memories for her, which, in the minutes before the biggest fight of her life, could prove fatal.

There was a knock at the door and one of Rodyr’s attendants entered the room. With a quick bow, the silent man gestured towards the door. Barely glancing at him, Winifred left the poor excuse for a locker room and made her way towards the center ring. She supposed the attendants never bothered to get overly attached to the fighters. She couldn’t blame them. It would take a toll on a person to repeatedly get friendly with someone who would end up a bloody smear on the sand within twenty minutes or so.

As so often happened in the moments before a fight, Winifred’s thoughts turned to her parents. They would certainly disagree with her current lifestyle. Hells, they’d be downright ashamed and would likely disown her for daring to sully the family name. Thankfully, she'd long since left them behind.

She didn’t miss their constant disapproval and frankly insane expectations for her. The funny thing about it is that her father often used to visit various fighting locations and would gamble on the pit fights he would find there. She was certain that her mother never found out about his little proclivity. Shortly after leaving the family estate, she’d adopted a simple yet perfectly logical mantra. If it didn’t help you out in a fight or taste good to drink, it wasn’t a priority. It had served her well so far.

Holding up her wrist and focusing on the small rune tattooed there, she took in the number. 67 years, 5 months, and 12 days.

It was one of the longest life expectancy estimates she’d ever heard of. And how it chafed at her. Sixty-seven more years of life and all she was expected to do was whittle away her years quietly before a Wraith swooped down and swept her away just like any other poor wee everyman on the street.

Or she could live as free as a bird. And that was the option she’d chosen. Winifred had no intention of wasting a single one of those sixty-seven years. She didn’t want a simple existence, and she was damn determined to have a life worth remembering.

Smiling to herself as she walked, the brunette idly thought of what she’d do with her share of the gold. Most of it would go towards her habits of course, but after then who knew? Maybe she would buy herself a boy toy, Gods Below knew there are enough poor fools out there willing to sell their body to fuel their degenerate lifestyles... not that she was any better admittedly.

Arriving before the arena door, the attendant once more bowed before her, before beckoning her onwards. Turning away from him, Winifred took another deep breath, before bringing a small vial to her lips. Roiling with Mana, the blood-red liquid churned as if at a permanent boil. Vile as she found the look of it, she had to admit to a yearning thirst towards it.

Dragon’s Blood, they called it. A pretty name for an illegal concoction, but Winifred had to admit it was fitting. The strength it gave was hardly comparable to that of a Dragon’s, but the addictive quality was said to be as strong as a Dragon’s thirst for gold.

Tilting her head back and sucking the vial down in one gulp, it was all she could do to stay standing. As the foul-tasting liquid spread through her gut, she began to feel her veins burn with unrelenting cold. Shivering despite the sweat pouring down her face, she felt a swell of power fill her, lightening her body, and filling her Core to the brim with Mana. An intoxicating hit as always, the young brawler simply took a moment to luxuriate in the feeling, before stepping through the open door before her.

Stepping into the arena, she quickly took in the blood-stained sands within the wooden enclosure with a practiced eye. Every little thing she noticed could be a tool for not getting your teeth knocked in. Still, she needed to remember her training. Blackmaul had taught her that no matter what the situation, she needed to keep her nerve.

Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath. Turning her eyes inwards, she imagined her Core of Mana. Wispy and ethereal, the Core was currently bulging at the seams. The vial of Dragon’s Blood intermingled with her natural strength, and Winifred quickly spread the energy throughout her body, enhancing her strength and speed. Tightly clenching her fist, she felt her Core slowly dwindling, and smiled.

This was what Winifred knew best, an arena of sand and blood, and a fool to crush. An errant thought had her Mana flowing into her skin, thickening and strengthening her defenses. Gregore was in for a hard fight, no matter how impressive his reputation was. Eyes roaming over the crowd, Winifred had a plan in mind. All she needed was to… Fuck.

Despite all that Blackmaul had taught her, she nearly began cursing aloud as the crowd started cheering. Near the opposite end of the arena was a table covered in a wide variety of weapons. From the humble dagger to a massive shield and spear, there were enough weapons to arm a small band of men.

Shooting a quick glare towards Zacharias who was sitting pretty next to Rodyr, and getting a uselessly helpless shrug in response, she quickly lunged forward, grabbing a decently balanced metal staff. She was a fool for expecting anything more from the Halfling. Giving her new weapon a quick spin, Winifred felt the crowds cheering double in volume. Spinning on her laurels, she watched her opponent enter the ring with a quickly rising panic.

Entering through the opposite door with the grace of a panther, Gregore raised his hands as he encouraged the crowd, whipping them into a frenzy. Long-limbed and heavily muscled with a deep, rich tan, he was exactly the type of man she would usually ogle. That is if it wasn’t for the sword strapped to his back that was nearly as large as she was. And the fact that his yellowed eyes were thirsty for blood. Her blood to be exact.

Towering above her, Gregore gave her a cocky smirk. “Winifred! I remember you. The last time I caught one of your fights it was against a junior of mine. If I recall correctly you left him with two broken arms… perhaps I’ll have to return the favor.” He continued as he cracked his knuckles. They were hairy and scarred, connected to thick sausage-like fingers that could more than likely crush her skull with nary a thought.

Spitting to the side, Winifred pushed some more of her Mana from her Core into her body. If she was meant to stop that giant sword, she’d need more strength in her arms than expected.

Feeling her Mana mingle with the Elixir she’d taken, Winifred felt her body come alive with strength, her every nerve alighting with increased sensation, as she pointed her staff directly at Gregore’s strapping chest. “Sounds like yer pal got lucky, Laddie! I’m not really in the habit of goin’ easy on the wee weaklings.”

Sneering, Gregore ominously slid his sword off his back. Ornately shaped, it was nearly as tall as he was, with the likeness of a Dragon along its back, the creature’s fangs running along the edge. The large chunk of metal was clearly heavy as all Hells, but the brute of a man wielded it as if it was lighter than a feather. Swinging it in wide, lopping swings, Gregore began throwing out a few probing strikes as he began to close the distance between them.

Fending off each blow with her staff, Winifred could feel the sheer force behind each swing pushing her backward. Even redirecting the full force of his blows was enough to leave her arms throbbing, the brunette knew better than to block when a quick dodge would suffice. Still, going on the defense was just letting the thug dictate the dance, and Winifred had always preferred to lead. Slapping aside a weak thrust, Winifred went on the offensive, burning Mana to quicken her strikes.

Thrusting forward with flowing motions, she aimed each blow at his face, drawing his attention upwards. Gregore barely seemed to strain to block, simply holding his massive slab of a sword up to block each blow. Thankfully, the sheer size of his blade blocked his line of sight of her, letting her press forward and bring her staff downwards, jabbing towards his left foot and…

The scrapper was rewarded with a lightning kick to her chest, the meaty blow sending her rolling in the sand, her chest heaving and leaving her gasping for air. Thankfully, the cocky prick didn’t follow up his attack, simply grinning at her as he wagged his foot from side to side and drank in the spectator’s loud cheers.

“Damn girl, you’re a sturdy one. I didn’t expect that level of reinforcement but… next time I’ll make sure to cave in that pretty bosom of yours.” Gregore laughed, as the jeering and catcalls started from the crowd. “Maybe if you apologize properly, I’ll let you walk out of here alive.”

Jumping back onto her feet with a snarl, Winifred knew she wasn’t going to be able to match his strength. Her best hope lay in getting the Champion mad enough to slip up. “C’mon now Gregore, it’s bad enough yer nae man enough to fight me without hiding behind that hunk o’metal you call a sword. If I didnae know any better, I’d think ye were scared of a wee lassie.” She teased.

Laughing in her face, Gregore simply kept his grin fixed in place, though it had stopped reaching his hungry eyes. “I fear no man, nor any woman. But I won’t lie, keeping my sword always makes these fights more enjoyable. There’s nothing more satisfying than cutting someone down to size.”

Rushing forward, Gregore feinted a two-handed overhead slice of his massive blade but released the pommel to drive forward his fist into Winifred’s face instead.

Reeling from the blow, the wiry woman attempted to sweep the Champion's leg with her staff, but the blow lacked enough force to knock him off balance and merely collided with the thick muscle of his calf.

Brushing off the attack, Gregore slammed into Winifred with his full weight, sending her sprawling. Taking a moment to play to the crowd, he simply waited for her to stand. “Come now Winifred, get up.” he teased with a booming chuckle that seemed to echo around the ring and reverberate off the wooden fences. “These good people have spent their gold on a night of entertainment. Let’s give them a proper show! No ducking out early like some pathetic amateur!”

Rolling onto her back with a groan, Winifred pulled herself to her feet and grabbed her staff. Taking a moment to scan Gregore’s stance, she let out a heartfelt swear. Settling into a stance with her staff lowered, Winifred braced herself for the next blow. Who knows, maybe if she stalled long enough, she’d get lucky and he’d only break one of her arms?