She hadn't fought over those days. After all, one doesn't let happenstance kill off a prize fighter. Put them through too much and they're lost to the realm. Contending with hundreds of unhappy customers who put good tria into their winning is not fun, especially when they're likely to make accusations of rigging or foul play when the string of fights was too long and too consistent. That was the goal; tria, and if the better's pockets always left empty, it wasn't likely they'd be too keen to keep returning to the arena.
Days had been madness, truth be told. She itched to do...something. Anything. Fight, run, claw her way out of her cage and flee down the tunnels. She picked at scabs instead, small remnants of wounds that hadn't needed magic for deeper healing. Feeling like she was teetering close to the edge of insanity, by the night of the second day she wanted nothing more than to find the nearest exit. The ylian had given her something she hadn't had in so long, it was both bliss and painful to consider it. Hope. Why he'd want to help her, though, was beyond her understanding. One could not right past wrongs with good deeds, could they? Or perhaps there was a giant, supernatural scale of justice, and if you played your cards right, you could tip it in your favor.
What's my scale look like? She thought, peering up at the dark corners of her cell. Again, there was the usual frustration of not knowing, the terrible longing to want to shred the collar on her neck apart with her claws and let the memories flow in. It stood there, in her mind, like a barrier, and no matter how hard she threw herself upon it, it still remained imposing.
“That's me again, Phoenix. I am back.”
The akkaio froze. Her ears swiveled in the darkness, and she crept closer, her eyes two points of light that peered curiously into the cell adjacent to her own.
“I owe you an apology... I... hope your wounds are alright.”
She licked her muzzle, turning her head so that she could see the outline of the old Dlayo, pressing herself against the chill of the bars. “We do what we must to survive,” she answered gruffly, the fingers of one paw extending through towards him. “Why did you come back here, old one? You are a tired thing. Surely you want freedom as much as the next?”
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They were small bouts. Small matches. No big names of the most popular gladiators were fighting, not that day. Not the day that followed. He was keeping them entertained with cheap gore and blood, and that sated most beasts, at least temporarily. He wasn't about to risk his more prized selections, not quite yet. No, he needed time to think.
Idly, the lemur rested his dainty hands against his chin, his ruddy ring glinting softly in the light, the gemstone large and gaudy. His complexion, pale, and his body, feeble, were not what one would expect of the ringleader of such an establishment. But he'd found the power of the mind to be far more useful than the power of muscle, which was why the muscle was carving itself to pieces below his cushioned seat, and he was enjoying the benefits of many bottles of fine terevan wine.
He was biding his time now, though. Many of his favorites were beginning to tug at their leashes, as it were. His magic was potent, augmented strategically, unquestioned and powerful. Yet the mind was also a potent force, and though his was surely the superior to any of the meat he had resting in the cells lining the killing floor, trying to suppress so many of them was a chore he'd long since lost the ability to do entirely alone. That meant hiring more of the magically inclined, which meant more risk to his establishment. Oh, certainly, many were willing to toss in their bids for a chance of glory, of reward, or of a small, small cut of the winnings. But these were sewer low-lifes and babbling lunatics. No, he had needed prized fighters, and those were more costly. Nearly impossible to attain, without giving more from one's purse than one might want. That was where the collars had come in.
His bright eyes slid along the bleachers until they found the hulking man he'd observed some time ago. Ah, now there was a little gem amongst coal. A diamond, and though he was certainly rough, the lemur doubted he needed any polishing. If he could get his hands on that...well, there would certainly be something to bring folks to his seats. But things needed to be done with caution. Steal the wrong person, he knew, and let out who it was, and soon you'd have half of Hydlaa banging down your doors. That was the last thing that he needed.
He'd been told the man had been caught speaking to The Phoenix. The words hadn't been overheard, at least not clearly, but he still did not like the fact that he'd been able to carve a path straight through his guards and spend his time talking to one of his prized pets. Now, that one had been difficult. He'd spent many a sleepless night thinking somebody would come searching for her, but the right combination of anonymity and selection of the audience had done him good. So far word apparently hadn't gotten out, and she continued to leave his coffers next to overflowing.
It was time to make a move, though. Preventative, of course. Gesturing with his finger, the lemur turned his head and said to the messenger beside him, “Inform the big fellow there that I'd like to have a meeting with him. A cordial invitation, as you please.” With a nodding head, his charge darted off, and he watched as he scrambled his way down the stairs and amidst the crowd of commoners. Even from the distance he could see the little thing tremble when he stood before the behemoth, and watched with amusement as he raised one arm and pointed up towards his elevated platform, where his banners swung with garish colors of crimson.
Ah, yes. That one would be a prize indeed.
