Roaring cheers and burly men crowded the fighting ring. One lithe female slipped past them, holding her crossbow close to her chest so she wouldn't lose it in the sea of people. She heard the growls and snaps of the draxons fighting one another, but she wasn't here to watch those two kill one another. After finally forcing her way through the people, Diana found herself at the small table where people could bet on the draxons. "'Ey, little lady. What draxon's catchin' yer pretty eye today?" the man at the booth said, though he sounded like he was drinking just a little too much. Diana squinted at the list smashed on the post, searching for the draxon she wanted to bet on. He was becoming quite the legend since being obtained by the fighting ring masters. She had plans for him, but first, she wanted to get him out. The fighting ring, just called The Pit, had a nasty habit of wheedling out of deals or purposely weakening draxons for the sake of winning. Even so, they played nice with the guards whenever they showed up, so they were never arrested. Diana found the name she was looking for, and with her hand not clutching her crossbow, she pointed to the scribble. "That one," she said, speaking loud enough to be heard over the din. The man's eyes widened at the name she motioned to, but the heavy smack of gold hitting the table startled him out of it. "I've a proposal for you. If he wins, I own him. I've given you more gold than all of your gamblers combined. See that he wins his match." With that, Diana spun around, slinging her crossbow over her back with the leather strap, working her way through the crowd again, her silver hair sticking out against the dirt brown of the people around her. Ibbin, the man controlling the gambling, sped away from the table with Diana's gold in hand. The building away from the tent covering The Pit was small, but it held every single bit of gold ever gained from The Pit. Ibbin flung the door open where a tall man languished in a chair, flipping a silver coin in his hand. "Sir, someone jus' bet on 'im," he said, panting slightly. "And she wants ta own 'im! She wants ta take tha' beast from us! She said if 'e wins, she done paid us 'nough for 'is freedom." The tall man quirked an eyebrow but nodded all the same. "Take care of him, Ibbin. We can't have him winning then." He made a flippant motion with his hand, watching as Ibbin timidly handed him the back. The man peered inside, and one he was satisfied, he dismissed Ibbin with another wave of his hand. The ratty man shot off again, but this time, it was to the basement. Underneath the building, soft growls and occasional snarls bounced off the muddy walls. There were lines of cages, each holding a different draxon. Ibbin dodged draxon talons as they swiped at him, eager to kill him and escape. They were intelligent, but they seemed to know better than to waste words on someone who would never open the cages for any reason other than to fight. Ibbin jumped all around until he reached a shelf of bottles. He pulled the torch from the wall and shined it over the dirty liquids until he found the one he was looking for. He dumped a quarter of the bottle onto a slowly-rotting piece of raw meat before he pushed it through the bars of the cage in the corner. "Eat up," he commanded, though his small voice was nothing compared to the draxon growls. "Yer goin' out t'day. Gonna get to fight." Ibbin neglected to mention Diana's proposal or the bloodroot potion he'd dumped on the draxon's food. His superior didn't want this draxon winning, and the bloodroot was formulated to nonlethal but weakening conditions like dizziness and vertigo. It often insured the opponent's victory, but with this new draxon, there was no telling.