Fighters of the Southern Pits

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Hearing the noise of pain Osethy winced and muttered an apology. As soon as she grabbed the cloth he slid back into position. He heard the quiet thanks, and nodded once. Talking might not be a good idea out here, especially if the guard thought they'd stopped to chat. Still, he hoped the guard was annoyed. Any chance to stop someone from treating a fellow slave like a piece of meat.

As they approached the opened door, Osethy looked around with a mixture of interest and apprehension. He'd never been to this part of the underground before, and wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed very quiet; either there weren't many fighters here or they were outside, fighting or getting ready to fight. Each owner had his or her own rules about how their fighters behaved, and silence might just be one of them this time.

Supporting Nal he entered the hallway, and glanced back for the guard. The cell doors were almost certainly locked and he had the keys.
 
Once more the door fell shut on its hinges with a slam that made tiny whirlwinds in the dusty floor. The noise hurt Nal's ears enough to fold them flat for a moment. "Keep going.." There was a monotone to the man's tone as he kept spears length behind the pair. "I'll say when to stop.."

Curious eyes peeled through the bars beside each door, meal entry and the like. Nal's eyes remained downcast the whole way before once more their escorts voice broke the relative quiet. A key jingles and he pulled open the door to a cell. "You'll remain here for now. The Master leaves tomorrow for his estate." His eyes fell upon Osethy. "He will buy you too. Can you treat wounds?"

Nal wasn't quite listening to the man speak. Her head felt heavy and laying down to sleep seemed like the greatest idea there ever was. Inside the cell lit by a single high slot window to the daylight there was a pile of straw and a bucket of water. A drain lay in its gently sloped center, for what was obvious by the lingering scent. It was not moldy nor did it smell particularly pungent of anything besides old sweat.
 
Osethy kept going, eyeing the cells as they passed. It wasn't well-lit enough for him to identify most of the imprisoned creatures. Their silence made his fur stand on end; something just felt off about this whole situation. He helped Nal into the cell, which was, compared to the fighter cells outside, almost decent living quarters. As the guard spoke he looked looked back.

"Yes, I've treated wounds before," he said. He had a feeling his owner would be only too happy to get rid of him. The man had wanted fighters, not pit slaves. "On that note I'm going to need supplies to treat hers."

Reaching the heap of straw he started easing her down.
 
The butt of the spear flicked out to try and crack Osethy in the leg. "You think I do not know that?!" The guards were free men working for a living, unafraid and wholly ignorant of feeling guilty to remind others of it.

"Someone will bring what you will use." Not what she needed, one might make note as the door slapped shut with a heavy clunk of its latch closing as well. With a tug that made its hinges rattle the guard was satisfied. Walking away with the clinking of his armor signaling his exit.

It could have been a cloud to Nal when her legs felt the give beneath her. All at once she let herself go of her companion and flopped heavily, almost limply to the bedding. The effort wasn't much but still her bare chest heaved slowly up and down. "Want to sleep, Osee." Pronouncing it 'oh-see' she was struggling with heavy loss and the stinging that had fallen to a dull ache all along her body. Even the side of her face was swollen, but that at least was earned in the ring and not chained down.
 
Osethy twisted but still took the blow on his shin, and staggered with a grunt of pain. He didn't argue again, just turned his attention back to Nal and imagined the arrogant guard falling into the arena and getting thrown around like a ragdoll. That made him feel a little bit better.

"No, you need to stay awake," Osethy said, crouching beside Nal. "You've lost a lot of blood, if you fall asleep now you might not wake up."

That idiotic Tharsus...he was lucky to have gotten any money for nearly killing his fighter like this. Going to the bucket of water he tore a strip off the hem of his tunic, crumpled it up and dunked it in the bucket. Just putting his hand into the lukewarm liquid made him feel a tiny bit better; the heat was starting to get to him. He carried the dripping rag back over to Nal and began dabbing gently at her wounds.
 
The rip made her tufted ears flick in his direction. A grunt sufficed the rising curiosity until she felt the rag come into contact with an open cut.

Her hiss was pained and it was enough to break the drowsy spell that threatened to overtake her. "Can't sleep. Hurts too much." Silver linings. At least the only one to show her compassion knew what they were doing.

Another great inhale was followed by a sighing exhale from her lungs. Her arm draped over her exposed chest as if he'd not been walking with them near his face to get them to this room. "Thank you again." Conversation didn't come easily to someone who'd been taught obedient silence was what everyone wanted. But at least she would try.

The soft sound of an earthenware bowl on stone came from the barred window by the door. A pouch sat beside it with semi-clean rags next to that. "Mix it with water." The voice was quiet and mousy. Before anyone could rise to look the patter of bare feet took them from any view.

Despite the warm and almost stagnant air Nal fought off a shiver.
 
"Sorry about that," Osethy said, glancing down at her. "But you're welcome." He wasn't used to having fighters appreciate his efforts. He kept cleaning her wounds until the guard returned, and he rose, going to the door and taking the supplies. He was confused by the bare feet; guards wore boots and armor, despite the heat. But the newcomer was already gone, so he went back to his own work.

Opening up the patch, he recognized the sharp smell of herbs, and poured it into the bowl, mixing it with his hand.

"This is going to sting a lot," he warned Nal, soaking one of the new rags in the potion. Drawing it out, he laid it carefully across Nal's back.
 
It always did. Medicine could neither taste good or feel good when it was applied to a wound from the previous fight. Still the female grit her teeth and gripped the straw bedding like a vice as the substance crept between torn skin and into the torn flesh.

She felt a great deal of shame in the hissing that turned to a low whine as the stinging began to subside, her body doing what it could to dull the pain. A ripple down her back shifted the rag just enough to get the poultice in the tiny cuts and nooks. It was like reapplying a stinger over and over each time she moved. Just another facsimile of a fighters life that reminded them of the enslaved existence.

"Gently.." Over her shoulder blue eyes appraised his work with what view she was afforded. The plume of white that was her tail lay tucked between her knees and still, even it hadn't been spared and had gotten stomped on once or twice. More than once she tried to stretch and garner a more comfortable spot despite the prickle of straw on her belly, avoiding accidentally kicking her mender as best she could with each twitch.
 
Osethy saw the tension, but there wasn't much he could do to help--the faster the medicine worked the sooner it would numb. He adjusted it a little to make sure it was applied everywhere, leaning over her. She moved and involuntarily kicked him in the shin.

"Ow! Sorry, I'm trying," he said. "It should go numb soon. Once it is I'll bandage the wounds."
 
The sound he made, something so simple, when her clawed feet accidentally struck him hit a chord. It wasn't much more than a deep unsettling feeling that came from her stomach when he'd made it. Far more effort went into remaining still as she felt the numbing begin to run down her back from the spine outward.

A few more minutes and her back was the last thing on her mind, the rest hurt far more anyways. "Where are you from?" The silence in the room has grown to near deafening before she spoke up, wanting to hear something, anything besides their breathing. One small joy came in learning where others came from. The north, like her, the eastern jungles or western cities, maybe even from their native southern sands?

Once more she craned her head around to look at him, ignoring the scabs that broke to leak red from the movement.
 
Osethy, shin throbbing just a little, noticed how still she'd become suddenly and was grateful. It was nothing compared to the beating she'd gone through, but the fact that she was fighting to avoid hurting him was oddly comforting. Maybe it was to help distract herself from the pain? Hopefully that was going away now.

"The northeast," he said, after a moment's pause. "Port Mahon, right on the coast. What about you? If it doesn't hurt you to talk, that is."
 
The north. Wide rivers and thick woodlands, plains and mountains. Just the word alone spoken by someone else was enough to bring memories that she wasn't quite sure were her own.

"I do not know where that port is." She confessed while her head lay back to the straw. A long breath followed a sudden exhale and she seemed to deflate into the bedding. "From the north too. I think.." It had been so long she wasn't quite sure.

"Do you remember it?" Footsteps sounded down the hallway, voices as well muffled by the stone and steel. It wasn't for them but she still paused to try and listen for a moment.
 
Osethy nodded. "You look it--though I've never seen your race before now."

At her question he sat back on his haunches, thinking back. It had been a long time since he'd seriously thought about his life in the port city. "Colder," he said. "Less humid, the air was crisp. I mostly remember the ocean. Blue, grey, green, different every time you went into it." He was suddenly aware of how dry his throat and skin were, the regular itch of sand caught in his fur and between his toes. The sun so bright that it made his head ache. He hated this place.

Osethy started to speak again but hesitated, hearing voices and footsteps. Nal seemed to be paying attention too; she'd focused her attention on the cell door.
 
There was brief hope that perhaps he had seen another like her. Sort of like her wasn't new, but near the same was still a small hope. It didn't last, but his voice was pleasant to hear and comforting in its tone.

Outside in the hall a lantern passed, relighting small torches and shining in through the opening. Nal made a mental note they didn't stop by many of the doors, thinking perhaps they weren't all occupied. Having never been in this particular area had her a little worried.

When it had come and shined in their temporary lodging, casting dark shadows and obscuring the face of whoever it was, she didn't pay it much mind. To be checked on routinely was normal, often enough a fighter would kill themselves with anything they could find. Their own teeth, claws, even a sharp splinter had done the trick.

A grunt seemed to indicate they passed whatever inspection had come and went. The same sound followed as the footsteps paused here and there.

"Have never seen the ocean.. Is it big? As big as they say?" Nal asked curiously. It had been so long since anyone had really indulged her almost childish questions.
 
Osethy watched as the torchbearer went past. He couldn't see under the hood, but guessed it was an upper-level servant or slave. Someone Nal's owner (and his future owner) trusted enough to check on the fighters. Off the hooded figure went, and Osethy turned back to Nal, speaking very quietly.

"It's huge--it looks as if it never ends sometimes." He was glad for the conversation, both because it meant Nal was staying conscious while he worked and because talking about his home reminded him of it. "It's very flat like the desert, so it's hard to say where it ends, it just goes on to the horizon."

He began bandaging her back with the remaining rags.
 
Though the pain had been dulled to little more than a bruise-like ache she was well aware of each time he touched an open wound. The pressure alone was enough to unsettle her. That drain in the middle of the floor seemed an awfully long ways away if she had to empty her stomach.

"So much water.." Into the straw she spoke with her eyes having fallen shut. "You can't drink it?" At least she remained awake.

A minor adjustment here and a slight shift of her legs there brought her to a partial kneeling. Wrapping anything around her was harder laying down, at least this way he'd have more access. Turning to him with a pained expression she had to return at least sitting. "He never beat me like that before."
 
"No, it's salty and bitter. You can actually die of thirst from drinking too much of it," Osethy replied. He saw her moving and slid back, quickly understanding what she was doing. Carefully he started wrapping the bandages around her midsection.

"I'd hope that wasn't normal, otherwise you probably wouldn't be alive right now. I don't think your new owner is likely to lose everything he has on a bad bet like that, though. Hopefully nothing like it will happen again."

That fancy whip didn't look like it had been used recently, after all...
 
Dying of thirst and not a drop to drink? It sounded like something the aquatic fighters and coastal dwellers talked about. To her it was preposterous. Surely there was dirty water one couldn't drink, stagnant pools that smell terrible, reason enough to avoid it. The look of lingering confusion was clear on her face.

Being beaten had never been a common occurrence with Nal, having taken to most new things with a sharp mind punishment and discipline was rare indeed. "No.. He does not do it often.." It suddenly felt so strange and foreign to the female. Knowing the man she'd spent the entire part of the last half-decade was no longer a part of her life. Was she supposed to worry of these things?

Once more her tail went limp and the ears fell back against her skull, giving her face an almost human disguise were it not for the fur and different nose. "Osethy?" It took her some time to form the question without it sounding strange or out of place.

"Do you think our new home will be nice?" There was a single shard of joy in her otherwise quiet tone.
 
Osethy saw the open confusion, and shrugged helplessly. "I don't really understand it myself. I think it's that the water is so full of salt that it counteracts itself and can't quench your thirst."

At her words, he nodded slightly. "I didn't think so. You don't have the right kind of scars." He'd been beaten before, though never as badly as Nal just now. Still, he had enough experience to know details like keeping the fur out of the wound while it healed or some of the more comfortable ways to sleep when your back is not an option.

He'd just finished tying one of the bandages when Nal moved again, ears and tail drooping. He wasn't sure how to read her expression, but her tone made it clearer. She had hope.

Osethy could only shake his head and shrug a little. "I hope so, but I'll plan for the worst. That way either I'm right and ready or I'm pleasantly surprised."
 
The right kind of scars. Was there ever such a thing as 'the right kind'? Nal wasn't so sure as the bedding shifted beneath her rump.

"That is a sad way to see things." Gingerly her hand touched the makeshift bandages, plucking the edges with a clawed fingertip as if checking a taut string. Content with his work her palm came to rest on it with slow rubbing circles as if trying to dull its sting.

Outside the small slit it began to grow darker, twilight had arrived over the city and with it the cold dry air of night. Rarely it bothered her, rarer still did she have to sleep without shelter. There was an impression that tonight might be a fair bit colder than most.

"Meal time!" Someone's voice called out over the slamming of the corridor entrance. There was some movement in the other cells, quiet bodies coming to get what they could. Bowls filled with something that still steamed with an earthy smell quickly had Nal's stomach growling in response. "There's two in here. She don't look like the sharin' type... Up with ya'!"

With some effort Nal stood up. Wobbly at best and stumbling at worst. "Seein' this, Ale? She got the scrat beat outta her.." "Ooof.. See why she's in here then.." They seemed far more interested in her wounds than what else was left exposed, for that he was grateful as she took the bowl and slowly returned to where she sat.

"Now, you." Behind the lantern the man pointed at Osethy and beckoned him over. "Don't let her take yer' food."
 
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