Foundations where beginning to rumble, the roars of those in attendance shaking the very ground he stood upon. For it was not fear that the one known as Korval felt. This would not be his first… nor his last fight within the pits. But perhaps where his story truly begins…
In a shady Inn, deep within the Ringo Vale would be where Korval would sit within a cage, awaiting his name to be called. He knew nothing, but what was about to commence. A fight to the death, between himself and one of the others that where bound by chains. The reason? To entertain those willing to wager on which would survive. Pit Fighting a mere distraction, for those who could afford it whilst others waged battle amongst Middle Earth. From Sellswords with much coin to corrupt Lords and Ladies.
The stench of blood and death filled the air, as one fight ended. The body of the fallen would be dragged, tossed into the cage with the others bound to the same fate.
“The next fighter… Korval!”
His name was called and the time had come. Drink and filth would be tossed as Korval would enter the circle, booing the man unknown to the region in favour of their champion. Korval was no slouch, the sweat glistened upon his hulking physique. Though his opponent shared such qualities. Before the fight would commence, the champion would turn and bow before someone. A Lord known within the Ringo Vale as Fergal. A Lord by name, but with no standing.
The fighting would commence, with the crowds’ favour on the champion. Korval would receive blow after blow, covering his head as he was backed into the corner. The crowd would separate as the beating would leave the circle, spreading across the Inn. Korval yet to land a single strike, would have his head smashed against the counter. It would be then he would make attempt. The champion would throw a slugging fist down, only to be caught by Korval. Korval would wrap his legs around the champion’s neck but to no avail. The champion’s strength in favour, hoisting Korval into the air and slamming him into the ground.
The champion would taunt the crowd as Korval would scamper to his feet. Perhaps the most formidable foe he has yet faced, Korval prepared himself once more. His eyes would close and begin to focus, perhaps he had a plan? The champion would breath heavy, almost sluggish as he would approach. Throwing a punch, Korval would duck and the champion’s fist would be impaled by a crooked nail sticking out from a support beam. Like a wolf, Korval would clutch the champion’s jugular with his teeth, pinning him to the wall. The crowd went silent, as everyone could hear it when the flesh was torn. Korval would spit a chunk of the champion out as he fell to his knees and with one final skull crushing kick…
“Victor… Korval!”
The Inn would erupt with a mixed reaction and all out brawl would commence. As Korval was dragged away from the fray, he watched as the former champion was trampled on by the angry crowd. The first of the night to be tossed back in the cage alive, Korval still would feel nothing. Covered in the blood of another, Korval would just sit and listen as the sound of violence would eventually fade. Hours later, the cage door would open. Korval would be dragged back out.
“That’s the one. He will replace my champion.”
The Inn stood empty bar that of Lord Fergal. He would hand over a small purse of coin to the man Korval could only know as his “Master”. With a grunt, the man placed a hand upon Korval’s shoulder, nodding his head and walked away. Lord Fergal would then approach, looking Korval up and down. With a swift nod and hand motion, a small force of guards would enter. Korval stood shivering, not knowing what was to become of him. The next thing he would remember would be a hard knock on the head, as everything faded to black…
