BlackAndBlueEyes
01-20-15, 08:41 AM
Closed to Leoric.
The fights begin in an hour.
I stood in my Tirel apartment's washroom, kept company by the sound of running water, the toothbrush vigorously scrubbing away at my pearly whites, and the occasional cursing of Nell in the living room as she tinkered away on some personal projects. I spat out the excess foam in my mouth, rinsed the brush clean, and set it in a glass near the sink to dry.
I picked up the small plastic makeup kit on the counter and flicked it open. Inside was a small applicator pad and several shades of pale substance that matched my own ghostly tones. With a careful pinch of my briar-knit fingers, I picked up the pad and dabbed at the concealer. I leaned in closer to the mirror to get a good look at the job ahead of me.
My eyes were looking pretty gross, let's be honest here. My... transformation into a Briarheart has left me with some pretty undesirable traits; and we're not talking the whole vine arms, acid oozing, and the ever-present scent of a sickly sterile medical ward that surrounded me. The skin around my eyes had been showing traces of the purple plague that festered and grew within my body, making me look like I had no idea how to either apply eye shadow or remove it after the night was over with.
A sneer crossed my lips as I lifted the applicator to my face. I closed my eyes and began furiously rubbing the makeup onto my face in circular patterns. I retouched the pad with more concealer several times before taking a peek as to how things were coming along. It was doing a decent enough job covering up the plague circles around my eyes; but instead of looking like a plaguesinger who was coming to kill you all, I looked like I was recovering from black eyes after being punched in the face a couple times.
I sighed deeply. It's better than nothing, I suppose.
Throwing the kit back onto the washroom counter, I turned to the bundle of clothes folded neatly on the other side of the sink. A simple black blouse top and a pair of blue jeans, with my black and grey striped scarf resting on top. I slid into the clothes and picked up the scarf. I turned back towards the mirror and draped the scarf over my shoulders.
From behind the closed door, there was a loud mechanical whine and the feminine squeaking of a surprised assistant.
"She'll be fine," I muttered to myself as I held the ends of the scarf in my hands. With a quick swirl, I brought the cloth up around my head and allowed it to fall back down in a loose pattern. In an instant, my features shimmered and reformed into that of a woman with slightly tanned skin, a smattering of freckles across my nose below emerald eyes. My hair turned from pitch black to a rusty shade of orange. The skin on my arms appeared to be human flesh once more, rather than thick, braided plant matter. I leaned in close to the mirror again--there was no sign of either the plague-stained circles around my eyes or the concealer I caked on to hide them in the first place.
I pursed my lips, cursing myself for wasting my time preparing for the night out. I flicked the makeup kit into the trash bin in the corner, collected my effects and wool coat, and left the apartment.
- - - - - - -
The cellar of the tavern was packed to the brim. I found myself muscling my way through the crowd, pushing aside dozens of sweaty, dirty, smelly men and women who had come for the evening's entertainment. They were a rambunctious bunch; their shouts and cheers echoed against the stone walls of the establishment, unleashing a horrible cacophony that made it almost impossible to hear yourself think.
With no small effort, I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd and set my hands on the metal railing. Before me was a circular pit with a dirt floor, dug four feet deep and walled with cobblestone. Even in the poor lighting, one could make out the dried bloodstains that made modest decorations along the outside of the arena.
I had found the establishment a week ago. Nightly, they gathered combatants together for a little blood sport for the entertainment of some of Tirel's more unsavory citizens. A little gambling was held on the side, to give everyone more incentive to get involved with the proceedings. As for the fighters themselves, they could be found coming from all walks of life, with backgrounds that ranged from dock workers looking to work out a little frustration from their day's duties to disgraced mercenaries looking to apply their considerable skills for a different kind of coin.
But, no matter who they were, everyone who stepped into that ring of violence was motivated by two things: Glory, and money. And, for the right person, there was plenty of both to be had.
A well-dressed man decked out in a fancy tunic top and matching pants slowly made his way down the stone steps leading into the pit. With a raised hand, the crowd's roaring fell to hushed whispers. I absentmindedly reached into my coin purse and fingered a few pieces of gold, eyeballing the people around me to locate the nearest person that would be collecting bets. The festivities were about to begin.
The fights begin in an hour.
I stood in my Tirel apartment's washroom, kept company by the sound of running water, the toothbrush vigorously scrubbing away at my pearly whites, and the occasional cursing of Nell in the living room as she tinkered away on some personal projects. I spat out the excess foam in my mouth, rinsed the brush clean, and set it in a glass near the sink to dry.
I picked up the small plastic makeup kit on the counter and flicked it open. Inside was a small applicator pad and several shades of pale substance that matched my own ghostly tones. With a careful pinch of my briar-knit fingers, I picked up the pad and dabbed at the concealer. I leaned in closer to the mirror to get a good look at the job ahead of me.
My eyes were looking pretty gross, let's be honest here. My... transformation into a Briarheart has left me with some pretty undesirable traits; and we're not talking the whole vine arms, acid oozing, and the ever-present scent of a sickly sterile medical ward that surrounded me. The skin around my eyes had been showing traces of the purple plague that festered and grew within my body, making me look like I had no idea how to either apply eye shadow or remove it after the night was over with.
A sneer crossed my lips as I lifted the applicator to my face. I closed my eyes and began furiously rubbing the makeup onto my face in circular patterns. I retouched the pad with more concealer several times before taking a peek as to how things were coming along. It was doing a decent enough job covering up the plague circles around my eyes; but instead of looking like a plaguesinger who was coming to kill you all, I looked like I was recovering from black eyes after being punched in the face a couple times.
I sighed deeply. It's better than nothing, I suppose.
Throwing the kit back onto the washroom counter, I turned to the bundle of clothes folded neatly on the other side of the sink. A simple black blouse top and a pair of blue jeans, with my black and grey striped scarf resting on top. I slid into the clothes and picked up the scarf. I turned back towards the mirror and draped the scarf over my shoulders.
From behind the closed door, there was a loud mechanical whine and the feminine squeaking of a surprised assistant.
"She'll be fine," I muttered to myself as I held the ends of the scarf in my hands. With a quick swirl, I brought the cloth up around my head and allowed it to fall back down in a loose pattern. In an instant, my features shimmered and reformed into that of a woman with slightly tanned skin, a smattering of freckles across my nose below emerald eyes. My hair turned from pitch black to a rusty shade of orange. The skin on my arms appeared to be human flesh once more, rather than thick, braided plant matter. I leaned in close to the mirror again--there was no sign of either the plague-stained circles around my eyes or the concealer I caked on to hide them in the first place.
I pursed my lips, cursing myself for wasting my time preparing for the night out. I flicked the makeup kit into the trash bin in the corner, collected my effects and wool coat, and left the apartment.
- - - - - - -
The cellar of the tavern was packed to the brim. I found myself muscling my way through the crowd, pushing aside dozens of sweaty, dirty, smelly men and women who had come for the evening's entertainment. They were a rambunctious bunch; their shouts and cheers echoed against the stone walls of the establishment, unleashing a horrible cacophony that made it almost impossible to hear yourself think.
With no small effort, I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd and set my hands on the metal railing. Before me was a circular pit with a dirt floor, dug four feet deep and walled with cobblestone. Even in the poor lighting, one could make out the dried bloodstains that made modest decorations along the outside of the arena.
I had found the establishment a week ago. Nightly, they gathered combatants together for a little blood sport for the entertainment of some of Tirel's more unsavory citizens. A little gambling was held on the side, to give everyone more incentive to get involved with the proceedings. As for the fighters themselves, they could be found coming from all walks of life, with backgrounds that ranged from dock workers looking to work out a little frustration from their day's duties to disgraced mercenaries looking to apply their considerable skills for a different kind of coin.
But, no matter who they were, everyone who stepped into that ring of violence was motivated by two things: Glory, and money. And, for the right person, there was plenty of both to be had.
A well-dressed man decked out in a fancy tunic top and matching pants slowly made his way down the stone steps leading into the pit. With a raised hand, the crowd's roaring fell to hushed whispers. I absentmindedly reached into my coin purse and fingered a few pieces of gold, eyeballing the people around me to locate the nearest person that would be collecting bets. The festivities were about to begin.