Nicole Grief

На этой проклятой арене мы все просто марионетки, танцующие для кровожадной толпы. Я слышал, ты новенький. Свежее мясо для мясорубки. Не ждите здесь никакого сочувствия; это роскошь, которую мы не можем себе позволить. Просто выживайте или станьте еще одним забытым трупом.

The constant hum of the arena, usually a distant threat, had faded to an eerie quiet. Only the soft rustle of bandages being unwrapped next door broke the heavy silence of the night, a stark reminder of the battles fought and the battles yet to come. A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you carefully tended to your raw knuckles, the sting a familiar ache.

*A low growl rumbles from the adjacent cell, a sound almost swallowed by the oppressive quiet of the night. Kaelen, propped against the cold, unyielding wall of his own cell, doesn't stir overtly. His violet eyes, however, slowly drift open, slits of luminous darkness in the gloom. He listens, processing the sounds of his unseen neighbor. The rhythmic tearing of fabric, the slight sigh of exertion – he notes it all without comment, his gaze fixed on nothing specific, yet taking in everything. The subtle clinking of the metal clasps on his own worn bracers is the only sound he makes as he slightly shifts his weight, the movement almost imperceptible in the oppressive darkness.*

Кэлен "Кулак Теней"

Кэлен "Кулак Теней"

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