“Boss, Varick’s back!”
Barefoot, the overweight pit boss had struggled to pull up his pant legs as he sat on a stool. He lightly touched his swollen, big toe. The nine hells with this damn gout, he thought as he took another drink from a deer skinned sack filled with ale from a nearby table. If the god Undgari has any mercy his ravens will take this pain away. However, he then looked to his whip hooked to his leather belt. If not, then I’m going to take it out on Varick later tonight. He glanced at the prison cells full of pit fighters. Each would earn him ample gold for tonight’s games. In fact, where he really made his profit was in the burial fee he charged. However, there was no need to hire a crew to bury anyone when there were perfectly hungry crag wolves out there in the wild. His customers, noble men and women slumming-it, well-to-do merchants, and degenerate gamblers would be arriving soon with the caravan train and their gold filled pouches.
“Good, the suppliers brought us an extra treat then. I knew that Bal’taz would never be able to manage that beast. Throw him in with all the others and then get him ready for the pit fights. Our cash cow is back.”
“No boss, you don’t understand. Varick’s loose. He killed everyone on the supply train.”
The pit boss looked to his lieutenant. His massive amount of hair was pulled back tight in a bun. Two large, gold nose rings pierced on its side. “Our customers?
“Yeah, boss.”
“What about our guards?”
“Them too at the moment.”
“What’s Varick doing back here then?”
“I think he means to kill us, boss.”
“What!? Get the pit fighters armed and have them stop him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, boss.”
“Why?
“He’s freeing them.”
There were loud whispers within a large prisoner holding cell nearby.
“Shut up!” the boss bellowed.
The murmurs continued. Then a solo prisoner began to slowly chant, “Varick, Varick, Varick.”
“I said, shut up!” the boss bellowed and pulled his whip. Pointing to the chanter, the pit boss yelled, “Whoever kills that man gets a full food ration!”
A second inmate added his voice. “Varick, Varick, Varick.” Then another and another.
Clashes of metal upon metal along with death screams bounced off the walls in the distance.
“What do we do boss!?”
There was only one way in and out of the Rirorni fighting mine. The pit bossed looked around the room and then up the rock tunnel with its wooden supports spaced every thirty paces. Torches provided a perpetual gloom, exacerbated by the smells of animals and unwashed people, as the death scream grew closer. “Take your short sword. There’s a small alcove right past the entrance of this room. A blind spot. Hide in there and when Varick passes, I’ll distract him and you do the knife work on his back.”
“Gotcha, boss!”
As the pit boss’s lieutenant moved into hiding, the prisoner chant grew to a fever pitch. He snarled and threaten them with his rolled up lash, but it did nothing to silence the din. A large shadow, with a multitude more behind him could be seen coming down the dimly lit tunnel. There was an audible, meaty ‘thunk’ from the gloom.
The chanting stopped. There was silence for several heartbeats.
From the tunnel an object rolled. It trailed blood. It stopped near the pit bosses feet. It was a severed head. It had a mass of hair covering its face. Pushing aside some of it, he notice a glint of metal. It was the nose rings of his lieutenant. Grey, dead eyes looked into nothing. It had a surprised look on his face.
From the tunnel a man, the size of a small mountain, emerged. He wore a set of finely crafted leather armor, covered in gore. Clean shaven, he had bestial brown hair with his bangs braided in four long strands. He was a head taller than the pit boss with shoulders twice as broad. His arms were thicker than his thighs, and his corded leg muscles radiated power with each step. He held a bloody greatsword.
There were a dozen or more armed pit fighters behind him that fanned into the room behind Varick. They glared hatred.
Varick walked up to and towered over the pit boss. He planted his great sword into the dirt next to him, which reverberated back and forth from the power. He then took the whip from his hands. He noticed Varick’s hands were still chained together. Varick tossed the whip into a nearby fire. Staring down at the pit boss, he held out his shackled hands and said, “Keys.”
The pit boss fumbled at the ring latch onto his belt. Then with a wide, pleasant smile, he then proceeded to unlock Varick’s chains, which fell to the ground. Rubbing his wrists, Varick took the keys and then tossed them to the freed fighters behind him and nodded towards the cell with the nearby prisoners. After several tries, they found the correct key and unlocked the main cell. The prisoners filtered out and began to pick up weapons from racks around the room. The mass of men surrounded the pit boss and Varick. They snarled and murmured ugly curses towards their jailer.
“I freed you. Don’t kill me,” pleaded the pit boss. “The gods have already deemed fit to curse me. I have gout!”
“For removing the shackles, I will give you one kindness. I will not kill you,” Varick replied. He then looked over his shoulder, then leaned in close, and said, “Now, is a good time to run.”
The pit boss stammered as confusion, and then realization spread across his face, as he looked at the angry mob. He began to waddle and limp up the ramp.
After a few heartbeats, the mob yelled various war cries and chased after the lumbering man.
Varick grabbed one of the free prisoners. “There is a woman in a red robe caged at the entrance. Araminth Goldeneye. After dealing with the pit boss have her brought down here. She is not to be touched.”
“Yes, Varick.”
As he proceed to leave, he said, “If I find otherwise, you and they will answer to me.”