A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

VIII

After finishing my food, and asking where Archer was, the three decide it would be a good idea to take me to the Pits. When I asked what on Earth 'The Pits' where, they just said to wait and see. Because it was straight after lunch, everyone had an hour or so break from their work to relax and entertain themselves. The Pits seemed to be the source of the main entertainment, and the name made me think of not so pleasant things. I walk behind Fitz, with Ember and Silas bringing up the rear. Unlike a majority of the 'hallways,' this path is lit the whole time with sconces embedded in the wall, and we aren't the only ones heading this way. People meander along on either side, rumbling and growling like animals as they gesticulate excitedly. The way ahead open up into a round domed amphitheatre, with half of the room layered with seats cut right from the stone. A lone balcony on the opposite side gives a great view of the crowd, and the floor below. The seats circle what is clearly a display floor. What kind of display, I have no idea, but tunnels run beneath the tiers that obviously give access for the performers. What kind of performances they planned, I couldn't begin to guess, I just hoped I'd enjoy it.

We were intercepted by a large, armoured man with a sword strapped to his back and pistols at his hips. "Our leader requests that you sit with his son in the private viewing balcony, and apologises for not being able to attend."

I start to protest, wanting to sit with my newfound friends, but Silas whispers that it would be extremely disrespectful, and would likely cause me more trouble by not obeying. So, with a scowl set deep in my face, I stalk after him, out of the steady flow of people and through a short corridor. Deep red curtains separate the balcony from the passage, and he stops beside them, gestures, then walks back the way he came. I glower at his retreating figure before pushing through the heavy velvet. It's harder than it seemed and my face gets caught up in the fabric, my arms tangling as I struggle to escape, and it takes me a couple of minutes to get free, breathing as if I'd just been about to drown. My hair probably looks like a bird made its nest in it and with a huff I plop down onto the unoccupied seat to the left. There are three, two on either side of a hulking throne of a chair, which Archer currently slouches in. I don't look at him, but from the corner of my eye I can see him trying to cover an amused smirk. Jerk. I stare at the sandy floor, studiously ignoring the being beside me. But he clearly doesn't want to make it easy for me. "I trust you found your way to the mess hall?"

"If you mean dining hall, then yes?" I reply curtly, crossing my arms unconsciously in defence.

"Great, it wouldn't do you any good to get lost again," I ignore the sting and simply sink further into the cushioned observing chair. "So, has anyone told you about the Pit?"

"No."

"Well then," I hear the grin in his voice, "you're in for a surprise." I didn't like the sound of that, not one bit, but before I could even open my mouth to demand an explanation, he stands and the gathering goes silent. There is nothing but the sound of a thousand breaths, and it chills me. Below, metal doors roll open and two men enter from separate gateways. They stand in the middle, dressed in something akin to gladiator garb. I frown in confusion as each take turns to shout to the crowd, beating their chests and getting waves of support. The larger of the two is clearly favoured if the cheers are anything to go by. Archer replies after the two address him, and he waves someone to the side over, who offers them both wooden shafts with spear heads. They bow up at him before moving several paces apart, and a sick feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. The crowd is silent, you could hear a pin drop as they wait with baited breath for whatever is about to happen. Archer seems to be in charge of starting it off, as he stands for a moment, hands poised as if to clap, and gazes at the sea of excited faces. Then he brings his hands together in a sharp slap that barely finishes its echo as the crowd surges to their feet in a roar, and the men launch into a blur or whirring limbs and spears. Archer takes his place beside me again, his eyes following the movements critically as I watch in horror.