Court of Hearts Pt.1

Goldenbourne VS Dracon

Year 396

Tiro had made his way down below the stands, into the depths of the underground network of tunnels and rooms. After he had watched his father from afar. Looking around the narrow corridors of steel cells where the slave gladiators had been held. When Fothrolestro took over the arena became a place of hell and slavery, instead of honor and competition.

Tiro was wearing metal cuffs on his ear tips, sharp and pointed much like ancient tradition. Not a common practice now.

Volgor was unconcious and covered in burns, hideous and grotesque the smell was overwhelming. It seemed as if the appearance of the dashing investigator Volgor, now was ghoulish. He remained unmoving with soft wheezes. Roselyn rushed in, and looked at Tiro.

"Varanthar! His unjust impulsive, volatile, cowardly! Ways of combat leaves us with this! A corpse..."

Tiro turned to Roselyn who was shaking her head in disbelief, speaking atrocities. "Shut up."

Roselyn's eyes widened, staring at her father. "Shut... Up...?"

"SHUT UP?!" She repeated in disbelief.

Volgor began coughing several times silencing the bickering two. His eyes opened, bloodshot. They rushed over, looking him over.

His clothes had been scorched off, his skin incinerated and bubbling. He seemed to have been mutilated by the flames, only leaving a bloody mess where his groin was.

"He's a mess." Roselyn huffed, bringing her hands up, they illuminated a dim green hue illuminating the room that was dimly lit by torches mounted to the walls.

Volgor groaned as Tiro was tight-lipped, moving to the corner of the room and equipping himself in red platemail. It was the leftover armor of the fallen Dracon troops lead by their, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandson. As their bloodline carried on, but they did not now fugitives to the human kingdom aiding the orcish mass. Framed for being evil villainess beasts, when really they are docile, peaceful, honorable people that are trying to abolish slavery.

Roselyn began to mumble some type of wood elf incantation, as the hue intensified into a beam making the room near sightless for everyone. That didn't stop Rose as she worked, pulsing more life into her grandfather the first of his name. Trying desperately to save him, the wounds began to seal and bleeding stop. Volgor relaxed and became sound asleep, his battle injuries from conflagration.

Roselyn shook her head, as the room became dim everyone's eyes having to adjust to the gloomy setting of the slave pits. Drips of sweat fell from her brow, as she collapsed unconscious.

The torn elf stood at the wooden gates, that would lead him to the sand of the arena. They began to rise up, allowing the ambience of the audience shaking the very sand beneath his armor clad filched gear. He opened his arms, greeting the audience with a sharp whistle. Across from him was a man in platemail as well, not a man an elf. Mafaras Goldenbourne, having a banner sitting beside the brazier's near the gate.

Tiro need not show his loyalty to his last name, as the Dracon would probably decorticate him and his family... Unsheathing a long titanium sword, twirling it to his side, as he rolled his right shoulder adjusting himself to the dead man's armor. His ears were already red from the helmet, not giving him any space for his pointy ears.

Mafaras drew a line in the sand as tradition in his fighting style, then brought up his left hand as fireworks shot from his wrist. The fireworks shot into the sky high above the valley, exploding in the night sky, showing various colors of green, blue, and red.

Tiro turned his gaze from the fireworks as the scene faded dark red in the sky. It remained so, red shining down onto coliseum, it was a site to be seen.

Tiro gulped and shook his head, the platemail figure turned to him; the sound was so overwhelming yet he could hear a faint manic laughter that he very much recognized. It was not Marafaras Goldenbourne versus Tiro Dracon.

Something far more transcendent had created this monumental scene.