The fist connected with Marschal's jaw with a loud crack sending him staggering back across the ring until he reached the edge. His forearm pressed onto the ledge of the wooden barricade supporting a body whose link to his will only grew more tenuous the longer he remained in the fight. Agony. Torture. Excruciating pain. Things his body felt at that moment. Things he welcomed. He was used to this. Marschal could feel the ravenous crowd trying to push his body back into the ring. Somehow he still held on to the barricade's edge. But only just, as the ground continued to appear more homely for his lanky body's rest. The crowd surrounding the ring was nothing but an incessant roar of insults, taunts and incoherent yelling. At least that's what Marschal imagined they were. It was growing increasingly difficult to hear with his ringing eardrums muffling everything into a murmuring headache. Coupled with the taste of blood in his mouth the realm of comfort only proved to be a distant memory.

Marschal gazed up to see a blurry mass looming closer towards him. He quickly shook his head to clear his vision...only to meet another fist smashing into his temple. Marschal barely had any time to recover before he was received with a flurry of blows forcing him to curl up against the barricade behind him. The crowd bellowed with thunderous cheers as Marschal wilted under the pummeling assault.

"What the hell is this?!" Marschal could practically hear his opponent grinning. "Where is this almighty Paravellan warrior I was promised?!"

Perhaps he was exhausted. Or perhaps he was relishing in his handiwork. For whatever reason, his opponent stopped and moved back. Marschal turned up to see his aggressor: a large and fierce man coated with muscle and fat. Grey white hair populated the expanse of his face except for the top of his head which seemed to glint in the candlelight hanging from the chandelier above. Marschal inched himself up using the barricade to prop his body into a standing position. Apparently that was the wrong move. In one final strike his opponent launched a fist into Marschal's gut ultimately sending him toppling over and curling on the ground.

Marschal could hear his enemy's scoff over the uproarious laughter and scathing 'boo's from the crowd. His opponent gifted him with a hocked up puddle of spit beside his face before raising his arms up to his audience boasting his championship.

Now lying useless on the ground, it was all Marschal could do to peek at his victor from the corner of his eye. In amongst the crowd Marschal could see a young adolescent boy enjoying a skin filled with what he could only assume was wine or something similar. The large champion lumbered towards the boy at the edge of the audience and snatched the skin from him mid-drink before putting it to his own lips. Marschal couldn't hear from where he lay but he could see the boy was visibly upset and red with anger. None of the surrounding crowd offered to help. Rather they jeered and shook with laughter at the boy's sulky protests.

That's when Marschal witnessed the boy's mistake.

In a bout of impulsive fury he made a grab for the skin. Not only did he fail but he only succeeded in splashing the champion's eyes with the wine causing the skin to be dropped to the ground. The drink continued to pour out onto the patch of dirt which constituted the floor of the ring. By the time the large man picked up the skin, the wine had been emptied out.

Marschal could only see his back but he could almost feel the hot rage seething from his body. The boy's eyes widened in fear as the giant's footsteps shook the ground beneath Marschal's skull. He could see the boy backing up and attempting to flee into the ocean of spectators but the crowd loved a good show too much. Blocked by a wall of people the boy was suddenly cornered, forced to face the beast hunting him. Marschal didn't even hear so much as a squeak from the boy as the champion grabbed his collar and unleashed a series of blows straight to the young face. The giant didn't relent and eventually Marschal could only see his victor repeatedly punching a blotch of red. All the while the bloodthirsty crowd howled at the sight of such entertainment. When it finally seemed his opponent had vented enough of his rage he finally released the boy. Marschal could hear his body drop in amongst the audience of savages followed by their cruel laughter. All in all, Marschal found the whole scene......interesting. He was probably dead. Marschal hoped not. Or maybe he did. It didn't matter. He had worse problems to think about as the champion decided to return to his original quarry.

"Children these days."

Marschal groaned as he pushed himself up onto all fours.

"Like this one."

He could feel his opponent's shadow weighing him down. Marschal didn't even have the energy to look up at him. Only lazily gaze at the boots planted beside him.

"So much for your stupid empire," said the large man, "The way you all used to strut around thinking you own the place. Like you owned the world. But if they're all like you, then no wonder they fell."

Marschal mumbled something under his breath.

"What?" His opponent bent down to lean closer. "What was that you said?"

Suddenly, a projectile of spit and blood coloured the champion's face.

His opponent's eyes widened in shock, stunned at what happened. With a look at his face the ring of spectators collectively 'ooh'ed before bursting into vicious laughter. That's when the eyes of the two fighters met and Marschal could only flinch beneath his opponent's murderous glare. Without another word the beast grabbed Marschal by the collar and began bloodying his knuckles on his face again and again and again and again and again. With the onslaught of pain Marschal didn't notice the hall growing gradually quiet. Despite his world blinded by red he could still see the champion's intent in his cold eyes. Marschal was going to die. He didn't know when the man stopped the attack. He was surprised that he was still conscious albeit dazed. But he wasn't given much respite before he felt strong hands clasp around his throat and tighten. Marschal's eyes widened while his face grew red on top of the blood already there. He fumbled with the man's strong arms, gagging desperately for breath.

A look of satisfaction began to wash over the giant's face seeing the life leave his prey's eyes. But that look disappeared......when the corner of Marschal's lips quirked up into a subtle smile. No one in the hall could see it. This was only meant for his opponent and his opponent only. The man's brow furrowed in confusion. Words tried to escape Marschal's lips but his airways were too constricted for a comprehensible answer. Curious, the champion loosened his grip enough for Marschal to respond audibly.

"What was that, boy?" The man was met with a coughing fit followed by an exhausted and unintelligible reply. "What?"

Marschal answered with a small voice. The giant was forced to lean in to hear Marschal whisper into his ear, "Temper, temper. You might hurt yourself."

Still just as confused, the large man backed away to look down at Marschal's face...to see the most self-assured, cockiest grin he had ever seen on a bloody and swollen face. With the giant's eyes bulging and nostrils flaring, Marschal could see his opponent preparing for a final blow. The champion pulled back his fighting arm for a single final attack...

...But not before the large man suddenly lurched over and bellowed out in pain. Marschal was instantly dropped like a heavy unwanted sack onto the painfully hard dirt. When he finally recovered from his near death experience, Marschal looked up to see his opponent waddling back and forth with an arm attempting to reach behind his back. It reminded Marschal of a bear writhing in agony. That was when Marschal saw it: a line of blood trailing down from a blade protruding from behind the large man's shoulder. Where did that come from?

"Were you going to kill that boy?"

Marschal along with everyone else in the room turned towards the voice. Everyone except the champion-turned-wounded-animal who groaned and yelled while he tried to reach for the knife over his shoulder. At the back of the hall behind the rest of the crowd stood a man shrouded in shadow. Behind him was a large-back chair edged with a wavy pattern of what looked like thorny vines or curled antlers. Marschal couldn't tell with the man and his throne isolated away from the rest of the candlelit hall. The chair design looked tribal, Marschal noticed idly. Probably a souvenir from one of their 'exploits'. The man probably enjoyed sitting in it too before he felt the need to hurl that blade at the large man. At an unspoken command the crowd parted before the silhouette allowing him access to the ring.

"Were you going to kill that boy?"

The query was ignored as the bald brute continued to struggle with the offensive pain in his shoulder. Marschal kept an eye on the shadow who strolled down to the ring. When he was close enough, Marschal could see a man in his fifties or sixties with black thinning hair combed back and a beard that comfortably hugged his chin. He was lithe yet well-muscled. The man reminded Marschal of someone who was ready to move quickly at any moment. Marschal was convinced. This was Kollo Stormare.

He gracefully leapt over the barricade and entered into the ring with the large man still gritting in agony. "Argh! My shoulder! My back! My arm! Why did you-"

"Were you going to kill that boy?"

The brute only responded with an unintelligible bestial grunt. Kollo approached his champion. "Were you going to kill that boy?"

"Nnn-n-no. I just-I was just-"

"WHAT'S the number one rule boys?" Kollo's voice echoed loud enough for the crowd to hear.

"Kollo, come on. I was just-"

Kollo smacked the brute across the back of his head like a misbehaved child. "The rule! Hoggs?"

Hoggs?

"...D-don't..."

"Don't what?"

"Don't..."

The crowd suddenly erupted in unison, "Don't kill the money!!"

"Exactly!" Kollo roared back before turning back to the large man. "Our employer paid a handsome amount of money to retrieve this little Paravellan."

"I know that," Hoggs replied, "But-"

Suddenly Kollo's face was glaring down at a man taller than him. "Then why were you about to kill him?" Marschal could see Hoggs attempting to formulate an answer to his whispered growl when Kollo's hand found its way at the back of his neck. Hoggs' answer died in his mouth and he visibly wilted beneath his master's simple hand placement. Then Kollo shifted his predatory gaze down at Marschal and his defeated form. "But I get it. You wanted a proper fight."

Kollo then released Hoggs from his snarling maw. Marschal couldn't help but be internally amused when Hoggs exhaled a pent-up breath in relief. But now Kollo was edging closer towards the downed loser and Marschal instinctively began to worm himself away from him. Alas, it was futile when Kollo's boot scooped up Marschal's body and flipped him over onto his back giving him a clear view of Kollo's face. Kollo studied him like a man estimating the price of his purchase. "But instead you got this. The vaunted warrior of a fallen empire. Considering your people's reputation I must admit I am a little......disappointed. But..."

Kollo snapped his fingers and gestured to two men and a woman into the ring. When the trio began to swarm Marschal he thought Kollo had just fed him to the crowd. It wasn't until he noticed that they weren't hurting him too much when he realized that they were healers.

"But credit where credit's due. You certainly know how to take a hit."

Marschal felt his body suspended in the air. "Oh, no," Kollo ordered, "Treat him here. So I can keep an eye on him." As told, Marschal felt his body return to the ground.

"Ah, B-boss?" Marschal could hear Hoggs voice behind the healer's ministrations. "What about this?" He could hear Kollo's footsteps towards Hoggs before a painful yelp filled the hall following the sound of a blade being pulled out.

Then Kollo lightly tapped the shoulder of the healer treating Marschal. "Take care of that as well, will you," Kollo gestured to the large man still grunting with pain. The healer nodded. She continued to wipe the blood off Marschal's swollen red face when Kollo's words echoed throughout the hall, "Alright, folks! Fun time's over! Get back to work you idiots!"

His announcement was met with 'boo's and groans but Marschal could hear them receding from the hall regardless. As the pack of spectators departed the hall, a new voice began to rise and distinguish itself from the swarm. His voice pierced through the collective noise but his words only became audible when Marschal heard him land on the ring's barricade after weaving through the mob, "...under attack! We're under attack! Lord Kollo! We're under attack!" The hall gradually quieted down.

Kollo addressed the messenger, "What are you talking about? Who's attacking us?"

That's when a horn blared through the night sky signalling enemy forces approaching. The crowd mumbled in confusion. But Marschal was the only one who saw the messenger's face pale...

"W-war elves."

The hall fell dead silent.

Even the healers stopped what they were doing, looking to Kollo with panicked eyes to wait for his command. And it was good that they were distracted from treating Marschal.

Otherwise they would have seen a ghost of a grin forming on his swollen face.