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The arena always smelled like beer and filth.

The hawkers that the city's dragon-lords hired to bring in spectators and curious travellers would tell you that the smell of the arena was blood and sweat. That was all well and good for the gladiators in the central pit but among the crowds that ringed the ampitheather, jostling for seats up above or viewing room at the arena's edge, the reality was more one of stale beer, discarded or accidentally dropped meat from the vendors outside, and the occasional hint of urine as a spectator couldn't be bothered to find a place to relieve themselves.

Artion absolutely hated how sensitive his nose was. For the humans in the crowd, he accepted that they were simply too incapable of smelling their own filth, and the way that sweat and dirt just washed off their smooth skin made them terrible judges of their own scent. With Feid like himself, though, Artion could only share looks of mutual pity, passing his furred, feline kinsmen in the crowd, making only the briefest of eye contact to say "You smell this too?", a hint that someone in the city shared their suffering. The Feid didn't collude, though, or move in groups.The cat-people were reclusive at best and downright hermetic at worst. This was mostly for their safety. Large groups of Feid made people nervous, perhaps rightfully. Nothing good had ever come of organized Feid.

It was safer, then, for Artion to move alone. Cowl up, head down, eyes forward. Nobody would look too closely at his face, and hopefully not make any note of the small bumps his pointed ears made in the top of his hood. His eyes flickered from their passive, forward gaze to the belts and pockets of the people around him, his golden-furred hands practically twitching in his pockets. Nobody seemed to be noticing him directly as he wove through the crowd. This was good. It made him comfortable, relaxed. it was how he preferred to move, unnoticed, unimportant. Nothing good, Artion told himself, had ever come of people noticing Feid. He busied himself with the crowd. There were targets enough with a few pieces of broken copper or bronze in their belts, but Artion wanted something more substantial. Something he could eat off of.

For more than a day, at least.

Artion didn't really concern himself with how closely he was playing to the stereotype of his people. So what if the entire city thought his people were thieves or animals? They were half right either way, and that was excuse enough to prey on their coin. Artion found the crowd in the arena easy enough to work. They tended to be drinking, distracted and crowded. It was like working a bar, except the staff wasn't keeping an eye on you all night. The dragons only opened the arena when they had one of their tournaments, or an execution. Artion briefly wondered which was being displayed toady, but didn't bother to check. The whole affair was a waste. Those that bid themselves into the gladiator pools were idiots with a death wish, and as for executions...

Artion tried not to remind himself that he was technically eligable for one of those if caught too many times.

Justice in the Silver City wasn't...harsh per se. The dragons, despite ostensibly being in charge, didn't often concern themselves with the daily administration of their city, leaving that to right-minded citizens to handle crime, who more often than not turned out to be roving gangs of humans with desire for authority. It made things easy for thieves, which only further frustrated the humans. It was a brutal cycle that Artion was a part of, and he was glad for the opportunity to go fishing in a crowd as easy as the Arena's. Artion two-stepped around a man too large to gently push aside. He had a policy of not touching humans if he could help it. They tended to respond viciously to the feel of fur on skin. It was strange, enough of them wore leathers and furs. Sometimes even Feid furs, if they could find them at market.

The dragons really didn't interfere with the city. If only a city without justice wasn't a perfect place for a thief.

Artion couldn't help himself as he slipped around a pack of humans, arm and arm with their mates, and lifted a small cloth bag from the back of one of their belts, tucking it immediately into the sleeve of his robe. The process was simple. Loot into sleeve, dump out the coin into an inner pocket, drop the evidence. The brief clatter of coin caused a nearby spectator to rapidly check his own pouch. Definitely an individual to avoid, Artion noted, for as long as he was sober. Artion put a healthy distance between himself and his victims before heading a few steps up the ampitheater's stairs, furitively lifting his head to see if anyone was watching him.

The arena was dazzling in the full daytime. Ignoring the teeming crowd standing at the pit's edge, it was a beautiful building regardless. They say the dragons helped build it out of solid sandstone shipped in from the west. The oval arena bit a chunk out of the city with its massive size, bigger even than the guild halls, but not so grand as the Silver Palace on the lake's edge. From where he stood, Artion could see the high, nested alcoves above even the main seating, where the dragons supposedly lay to watch the games they put on. In the Silver City, one lived by the grace of the dragon-lords, at least in theory. Artion had never seen one, except briefly and occasionally in their flights out of the Silver Palace. he didn't much care for the thought of meeting a dragon. It was probably safer to avoid them altogether.

It was in this languid state of reflection that Artion was oblivious to the yelling behind him. He glanced back only briefly to find himself grabbed quite roughly by the collar and shaken. His hands trapped in their sleeves as they were, Artion merely lost his balance and began to stumble backwards, his cowl flying back and allowing him to look upward into the face of his assailant. "Thief!" the man clutching his collar yelled into Artion's face. He tried to concentrate through the blast of hot air and the smell of alcohol that came with the accusation. Artion found himself looking at a furious, bearded human man. Had this man spotted him? How had he known?

"I don't think you mean me, do you sir?" he said, playing the innocent. "If you lost some coin to a thief, today, I would be happy to help you make up at least part of the loss..." Artion began. The line had saved him countless times before, as many humans trying to aid their fellows caved quickly to the promise of a profit for themselves with no work, but this man was inconsolable. He shook the Feid again, and Artion could see the crowd above and behind him start to gather. Probably not many of these spectators were likely to take his side.

"That I would take your ill-gotten gains, Feid." the man all but spat at him. Ill gotten gains? Artion thought. Who actually spoke like that? "You'll pay for what you did." the man continued, shoving Artion down the stairs, backward. He likely expected the Feid to fall, perhaps with treasure spilling from every sleeve to reveal the evidence of his thievery. Then, the man would stand above him and gesture broadly to their golden necklaces and piles of silver coin that showed all too clearly Artion's life of crime. Artion had time to consider how ridiculous this fantasy was as he tumbled backwards, his paws catching the lip of a stair and vaulting himself backwards in a masterful handspring to land somewhat shakily next to another man. Artion's paw found the stranger's shoulder to support himself, but the staggering Feid was merely shoved backwards for his efforts.

Artion held up his furred hands in a semblance of humble confusion, but his annoyance was growing. He couldn't run, not in this crowd. The action would be suspicious enough to earn him enemies of strangers. Not that the crowd was growing any more friendly. "I don't think you want to touch me, sir. It could be misconstrued as an assault on my people." Artion said. The threat was implicit only to those that knew the reputation of the Feid, but absolutely ridiculous to those that understood the city-dwelling cats. It wasn't like a band of raving marauders was going to leap from above and disembowl this man on the spot. Artion wouldn't mind if they did, of course, as his bearded, nearly growling assailant descended the stairs and grabbed his collar again. Artion knew to fight back would ruin him even more quickly. The whole situation was wildly out of control at this point.

"Say what you want, cat. I've had enough of you wandering this city. It ain't the city that needs you parasites, and it ain't the dragons that need you. 'cept for your little champion, nobody even cares if you live." The man spoke quietly now, close to Artion' face. Artion considered biting him, but it was just a flash of possibility more than any real desire. That life was wholly behind him. Such a shame.

"I'm sure this is not the place or time for such an altercation, sir." Artion wagered again, perhaps hoping the crowd would turn against this slightly crazed human. "If you want to report a crime, I am not the proper recipient for your complaints." Okay, maybe that was a bit too smug, but Artion was getting annoyed. Altercations like this one weren't terribly rare, but on the streets lone humans wouldn't risk being this close to him. Here, though? In the crowd? Claws and a bit of a terrifying reputation wouldn't save him from a swarm of the hairless things turned sour. Artion's hand came up to the man's wrist on his collar, trying to ease it off with gentle pressure. "Let go, and walk away. This is nonsense. You have no reason to make these accusations."

Though he had made the attempt to keep his voice calm, Artion couldn't help but feel his claws begin to slip out of the ends of his fingers, their cool edges pressing into the skin of the man's wrist. Perhaps fueled by alcohol and whatever hate smoldered under his scowl, the man merely responded by staggering forward, carrying the two of them to the arena's edge. Artion's claws dug in further as he looked down. He despised hights, and the drop to the hot sand of the arena floor was a considerable one, perhaps fifteen feet. Maybe more. He couldn't help it, looking down, his eyes screwed up with fear, and his claws dug into the man's wrist completely, drawing beads of blood.

The scream of the man's pain and rage only drew the attention of more eyes as he shoved the terrified Feid backwards over the edge of the arena, the desperate clinging of the falling cat's claws drawing a strip of red down the back of his assailant's hand. Artion's expression was one of stunned disbelief. How had this day turned out so wrong? He thought, his long, padded feet trying to find purchase on the wall of the arena to right himself before he hit the floor. It was supposed to be easy. It was perhaps most true to character that the Feid, when he finally hit the sandy floor of the arena, coughing at the impact, could only think on his own misery rather than his situation. How unfair it all was that these things had to happen to him.

The crowd of the arena, for their part, was only thrilled at the inclusion to a third player in their spectacle. Artion struggled to get to his feet, trying to take stock of his surroundings. This was bad, yes, but nobody in any official capacity was sounding a bell to end the fighting. That's what they would do, right? Artion briefly criticized himself for his lack of understanding of the whole arena affair as he struggled to his feet, trying to shake the pain out of his legs and chest. The noise was deafening down in the pit, almost impossible to focus between that and the dust that seemed to hang in a haze over the entire arena. The circular pit was only broken up by the occasional pillar, raised platforms for...some sort of specific spectacle?

Artion picked out movement nearby, his now-exposed creamy brown ears twitched atop his head at the unbearable sound of the spectators. It was almost as though the whole arena was made to amplify the sound the fighters could hear from the crowd, a miserable din that had Artion grinding his teeth. He tried to shut it out and focus on his surroundings, vision still swimming a bit from his fall. Part of him wanted to kill something, probably in reaction to the pain. He pushed that part aside and focused on the half of his brain that was interested in getting out alive. It informed him, in its nervous, frenetic way, that the shadows playing across the surface of a nearby pillar were not, in fact, merely benign clouds or the play of the pennants that decorated the heights of the arena. Artion took a few short steps backwards so he could look up at the pillar.

What he had mistaken for shadow turned out to be a stripe of black scale over coiled muscle, the now slowly-descending body of a creature twice Artion's size. It fell into a coiled black pool on the ground before rising to its full height, revealing the entirety of its serpentine lower body, easily twice as long as Artion was tall. Artion was not sure if, had it been a 'mere' giant snake, he would be comforted, but in truth the monster's scaly, coiled lower half ended in the upper torso that could be generously called humanoid. It was wholly naked, with skin the same oil-black as its lower body, but the curved, flat head of a snake. Artion had, at least in passing, heard of naga before, and their predelictions for crushing and devouring lesser creatures. Seeing one in the arena only set the part of his mind that wanted to flee afire.

A panicking Feid only served to rile the crowd further as Artion was introduced to the pit, scampering along the outer wall as he tried to outrun the slithering monster. It uncoiled instantly as he moved, its reflexes superb as its serpentine half propelled it upright across the pit. It had a much easier time navigating than Artion, whose furred feet sunk into the hot sand with each step, and he had to strain against the loose stuff to find enough traction to truly run. He liked to think that on a cobbled street, or even out on solid dirt, he could've outrun the monster for quite a while. His heart hammered in his chest as he shed his outer robe, reducing himself to merely the tunic and pants he always wore, a simple, muted grey that clashed horribly with his cream-brown fur. As the clawed hands of the creature raked his upper back, tearing shreds out of the fabric but luckily not his skin, Artion yelped and scrambled faster, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

Artion darted between two pillars, knowing it would only spare him the creature's pursuit for a moment, and looked around hurriedly. The oval pit only had two entrances, one from each side, from which gladiators emerged. Where was the other gladiator now, exactly? Artion thought. The fifteen foot stone walls were too high to climb in a hurry, especially with how smooth the stone was. It really was a very nice arena, he thought.

The black tail of the serpent-creature whipped around the edge of a pillar and caught Artion on the arm, sending him slamming sideways into the dirt. Wincing, he used his other arm to push himself back up, trying to turn and face his attacker. If escape wasn't an option, perhaps he could...claw at something. Artion really didn't want to start that all over again. What he saw, though, was far more relief than any his own meager natural weapons could provide.

Artion was not alone in the pit. A single gladiator in rough iron lamellar stood in the field facing the monster as well, his stance wide, a spiked shield and apparently well-polished, straight blade in his hands. Their face and features were covered by a single, closed-faced helmet with only a horizontal slit for vision. The calm, analytical brain of the Feid noted that whoever this gladiator was, they must have a difficult time breathing comfortably. The naga seemed split, not entirely sure whether to merely slam down on top of Artion or turn and face this new assailant. Artion hesitated. Mostly because when he moved, the naga's eyes tracked him in a way he found unnerving, so he merely rotated his head slowly to look helplessly at his savior. The gladiator stood silently a moment as it waited. The naga, entirely unsure of its position now in this sudden lull, backed up slowly towards the arena's edge again, rotating to keep both of them in sight as it lowered its body to the ground and crawled backwards with its own slithering movement.

"Move, brother. Forward." came a muted, metallic voice from the helmet of the gladiator. It took a moment for Artion to realize he had been addressed. Worse than that, told to approach the monster. At a loss, he began to do just that, moving in slow steps forward, crouched to mimic the gladiator's stance, helpless as to why. Wait, 'brother?' he thought a moment, then glanced again at the gladiator. He blinked in surprise as he realized that a long, feline tail, all too much like his own, fell from the back of the fighter's armor. Whoever this combatant was, they were Feid. Artion was as much relieved as worried. His people did not handle violence well. Or perhaps handled it a bit too well.

"I should tell you that I am not some sort of berserker, friend." Artion had to stage-whisper to be heard over the crowd. He didn't know if the naga could understand what passed between them, but... "If I had a choice, we would both retire from this whole-..." Artion was cut off by the clash of the gladiator's sword on their shield. The naga, which had been staring at Artion, snapped his head around to glare at the armored figure. Had this stranger just saved his life? Artion thought, still trying to match the gladiator's steps, bringing the pair of them uncomfortably close to the naga, well within striking range of its long body. "I do hope you have a plan." Artion quipped.

"It has avoided me this long, and I do not believe it wants to fight." the metallic voice responded with. If it didn't want to fight, why were the pair of them, and now Artion, roped into this slow circling? Artion, for all his self control and what he thought was exemplary discipline, was growing impatient. He wanted to run. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he quickly got his chance. The coiled naga snapped suddenly, extending its entire body towards Artion, who in the graceless, impossibly reflexive way that only Feid can, launched himself backwards, practically skittering through the air to avoid the sudden strike.

The gladiator wasted no time, and Artion had to marvel for a second as they lept in, somehow carrying the full weight of their armor into the air and against the monster's suddenly exposed flank, cutting deeply with the sword they bore. Unfortunately, it was hard to find a vital muscle on a snake, and the Naga's reflexes were nearly as good, its serpentine tail wrapping quite suddenly around the feet of the gladiator and wretching them backwards, sending Artion's only ally face-first into the sand. He did not handle this turn of circumstance well, continuing his scramble backwards across the arena floor. Lying there only a moment, the gladiator pushed themselves to their feet, sword never having left their hand, and tried to face the naga again. The snake had an undeniable advantage in never having let go of its assailant's ankle, though, and merely tripped them again. This time, the gladiator's helmet flew off, and Artion got only a glimpse of black fur and pointed ears before he slipped behind a pillar. There was a sharp scream as he did so.

His infernal curiosity had him looking out from behind it again in only a moment.

Rising from the ground, spitting and shaking sand out of her black fur, was the gladiator, flicking the end of the naga's tail away from her ankle with her sword. Even at the distance he had given himself, Artion could make out the thin tricke of blood on the gladiator's face, undoubtedly from the hard impact her feline muzzle had gotten when it struck the ground. She spat at that, too, and he saw the madness in her eyes. This was why Feid were considered so dangerous. Artion had tried his entire life to avoid the berserkers, and here was one before him, facing down a wounded, vicious monster. Somewhere in his traitorous brain, it was kind of a turn-on. Artion reminded himself to prioritize survival.

That thought was rapidly wiped from his head as she dropped her sword. Artion's jaw dropped with it. When the naga came down again, its muscled arms and vicious, fanged maw dripping poison as it lashed at her, the gladiator merely lept up into the strike, gripping the thing's humanoid upper torso with both claws and riding it as it rose in panic, suddenly covered in vicious, clawing Feid. The crowd went absolutely wild, a shower of refuse fell into the edges of the arena as those at its lip rushed forward to see the fight play out. The gladiator was insane, ripping strips of skin out of the un-scaled upper portions of the monster, its thick arms trying to drag her off its body. She slipped off at one point, and merely hurled herself onto it again, wedging her hands into the wound her sword had made and trying to part it. The monster was lost in its pain, barely responding to the attacks as she bled it dry. The entire altercation must have taken serveral mintues, but by the time it was over the sand of the arena was matted with the creature's thick, dark blood. Not to mention the walls, the gladiator herself, and a few lucky souls in the audience.

Artion staggered out from behind the pillar to approach the gladiator, who turned in place as she heard him walking up, raising one hand to her own shoulder. He thought she was saluting for a moment, until she drew a long fang out of a seeping hole in her armor, raising it to her muzzle to sniff once before tossing it aside. Artion watched her somewhat cautiously, but saw none of the earlier madness. She merely looked at him and said:

"Shit."

---

Cael Avengard was uncomfortable as all hell, half buried in cushions as he was. He had punctured several of them accidentally with his claws as he settled into the pile, and several more times as he had shifted restlessly during this tournament his cousins were putting on, ostensibly in his honor. As near as the great brass dragon could tell, his cousins brought monsters into the city and let them fight the citizens for their entertainment, or perhaps promise of some reward? Seemed like a circuitous way of thinning their herd, but he had been assured that was not the case. Cael had watched the first two matches with interest, especially when they claimed to have a dragonslayer among the competitors, but Cael had not marked any of the humans scuffling around and killing each other for a Slayer. For starters, a slayer likely wouldn't have been touched by other humans. Cael distracted himself from what was happening in the arena below by scraping yet another cushion off his claws. He half regretted having his elf sharpen them in the first place before their trip.

His three cousins, with all the decorum of young dogs, were resting much closer to the action than Cael, chattering among themselves about probabilities and betting. Supposedly they had wagered on some of the combatants. Cael wondered that if they claimed to own the city they stood in, why they had to barter and mix their gold with the humans living there. He wanted to go back to the plains, he wanted to see his elf again, and, as another one of his cousins' servants passed by with a platter of fish, straining under the weight, he wanted some damned red meat. Cael hardly expected to be entertained, and was actually quite content at being left alone for the moment, so when one of his cousins, the female Reliash, turned to address him, he wanted to sink further into the pile of cushions. This was all very bizzare.

"Did you see that, Cousin?" she asked, eyes afire with excitement "The Feid! How she moved! Ah, there is a reason we let her into the pool, and that was it!" Cael only nodded in response before realizing the gesture looked ridiculous with his long neck and merely snorted his assent. "This means she advances, doesn't it?" she wasn't addressing him, of course, instead turning back to her siblings, who conspired among themselves, their snouts nearly touching with the proximity that they were whispering. Eventually, one of his cousins mounted the rim of the box that the four of them were lounging in, to shout down into the arena below.

"The Feid still stands, and is the victor so long as she survives the vicious naga poison! If she survives, she advances into the penultimate round for qualification into the Silver Guard!"

Cael snorted again, this time merely annoyed. Didn't these southlanders have any idea how stupid they sound when they talked like that? And where was his elf?

---

Artion tried to be calm as he descended the ramp out of the arena floor, but the fact he was practically skipping with relief really ruined the illusion. He turned sharply down a hallway, with no idea of where he was going, and was rapidly pushed backwards and redirected by a stoic human man in nothing but a loincloth. Artion bowed his thanks and turned again, nearly walking into the now-staggering gladiator that had left the arena with him. She seemed to be ignoring him, walking quickly down the cool, torchlit hallways. Artion followed, mostly because he had no idea what else to do. It was only when she turned into a side chamber that he realized he may not be welcome. It was a series of tables and benches, set with piles of armor and equipment, watched over by yet another stoic human. Artion nodded to him respectfully, just to hedge his bets, but recieved not a word in response.

"What's your name, brother?" she said, her words coming slowly as her walking pace, the wounded fighter staggering over to a pile of muted green cloth. Artion stood somewhat nervously behind her, his tail swishing as he tried to track everything in the room simultaneously. It seemed safe enough for a place full of weapons and people that wanted to kill each other.

"Artion Leed," he said instantly, bowing. "And you, my savior?"

"Shut up." was her response. He blinked a few times in confusion as she turned, pulling the top half of her lamellar armor off as she did so. Artion, trying at least for a moment to be a gentlemen, did everything he could to not stare, but failed. The Feid before him was beautiful, undeniably so, even as she gingerly touched the wound at her shoulder. Her stomach was toned and covered in the same silky, black fur as the rest of her body, running up even over her rounded, cuppable breasts, restrained by a series of cotton bandages that hid their color if not their shape. Artion backed away a bit and tried to avert his eyes as she stripped before him, kicking off the bottom half of her armor and pulling on the green pants from the table in one movement. Artion scratched at his arm and inspected the ceiling a moment while she finished dressing.

"While I appreciate you having me here, I do hope to leave this whole complex fairly soon. This day isn't going quite as I had planned and-..." Artion began, but was cut off instantly by her turning on him.

Leaning back on the table, the gladiator merely looks at him with an unfocused gaze, her breathing now more labored than it was at the start of their walk down the hallway. "Shut up." she says, as he opens his mouth to ask her if she's alright. "You would have died in that arena, if not for me. You're going to do...something for me." Artion's loins, much to his annoyance, interpret that sentence quite differently than the rest of him, but he manages nod in response.

"Anything within reason." is all he says. Frankly, if it was outside of reason, he would still say yes, just to get out of here and disappear again. He was only one Feid in a city, all but impossible to locate if debt grows too large. Showering himself in such practical thoughts as to avoid the other thoughts that arose as he watched her.

"I'm poisoned, too much to live. Going to die." she says, and almost as though to punctuate the point, she coughs heavily into one clawed fist. She has to pause and take a few deep breaths before continuing. "You will get me the antivenom. We know what did it, just need...the right antivenom. You'll get it." She pauses again, giving him that unfocused gaze. Artion isn't entirely sure if he should be attempting to support her, but the way she manages to get so much anger into even a moment of cogent glaring convinces him to back off. "You'll go to the lake, find Leix. She provides me...she will let you buy it." The Feid seems to be getting steadily less intelligable as Artion stands there nervously. She staggered over to a nearby bench, the guardian in the room made no move to stop or aid her. "Leix will get it for you, bring it here and...you don't owe me anything." she finally manages, curling her legs up onto the bench and wrapping her arms around her torso. "Now." she manages.

Artion, somewhere between grateful and worried, can only nod at her as she stares through him.

It takes the disoriented Feid several minutes to use a combination of asking for directions and just plain wandering to find a passage that leads out of the pits beneath the arena. Finding himself on the east side of the massive complex, he can only sigh at the realization he has to walk all the way around to the north to get anywhere near the Silver City's central lake. He walks for while in that direction, before remembering the urgency of his task.

Then he runs.

Artion, though local and familiar with the city, wasn't aware of any apothecary that worked on the actual waters of the lake. Plenty of them drew water from the lake, but having dangerous chemical experients so close to the supply of water for the entire city seemed a poor idea at best, and Artion wondered, as he searched, how this 'Leix' hadn't been forced out of their shop already. Eventually stopping to ask directions, he was somewhat surprised to learn that even a simple request for directions was met with fearful glares and hurried escapes from anyone he questioned. Eventually giving up and spending one of the coins he had sequestered in his robes to bribe a dockworker, he got a straight answer. Leix lived on the lake, yes, on a stilted house that the man pointed out for him, with a long, rickety wooden bridge over the lake water connecting the house to the mainland. Somewhat sympathetically, the man asked if Artion couldn't afford better care. "What?" was his only response.

"That alchemist is for poor people and fools, she's a damn terror, only value is she's cheap. I'd rather pay half a week's pay in extra costs and get my medicinals anywhere else." the man explained, still trying to be helpful. Artion thanked him, but really didn't have a response to that. This was definitely the place that the pantheress had mentioned. Approaching the door to shoulder his way inside, Artion doesn't even have time to remind himself that only a few weathered wooden planks lie between him and a plunge into the cold lake. Artion specifically went out of his way to not think about this, because if he did, he would've likely just given up on his quest altogether. To say the Feid was not a strong swimmer was perhaps overgenerous. The word "Liability" and "Helpless" better describe his reaction to water deeper than his waist.

"Hello?" the Feid said, as he opened the door to the actually rather large store front. The building smelled of salt and ash, and was full of a row of tables, upon which sat case after case of meticulously organized and labeled brown glass bottles. Closing the door behind himself, Artion tried to look around for the owner, taking only a few nervous steps inside as he inspected the room. It appeared to be the only room in the house, though the shop and living quarters were quite seperate. There was a pile of thatched mats in one corner, likely where the proprietor slept. It seemed to Artion that a successful business could purchase more than simple thatch for sleeping on. "I am looking for the alchemist, Leix?" Artion said, partially to fill the silence.

Something crunched underfoot as he stepped further into the building, and Artion withdrew his bare paw quickly rather than risk cutting himself on whatever it was. He stood a moment with his raised leg hovering in the air, keeping his balance as he leaned slowly forward to take a look at what he had stepped on. It was shaped like a thin, dark wedge, and had cracked rather mightily when he stepped on it, so was now reduced to several fragments. Artion pinched one of the fragments between his furred claws, bringing it up to his face to inspect. It looked almost like chitin, or some sort of bluish scale. He didn't have much time to consider it before a naga landed on him for the second time today.

Artion thrashed in the coils, keeping his claws sheathed as the snake-creature's body, easily longer but not much wider than he, fell from the ceiling. The best he could manage, though, was to roll himself over and look up at his attacker. His arms, forced to his sides by the snake tail coiling around his entire torso, and Artion could barely wriggle in the grip of the serpentine musculature squeezing his torso. Artion's mouth opened to say something, maybe call off the attack, but all he could manage was to let out a wordless wheeze as the monster crushed him tighter in its coils, then, inexplicably, stopped.

Artion managed a few short breaths as he looked up at the now looming naga. It was female, clearly, at least as he was a judge, host to a curvaceous figure and, unlike the male from earlier in the day, a smiling, humanoid face. Her upper body, from what of it was not covered by the white silken tabard that seemed to be her only dress, seems to sport patches of almost translucent green-blue scale around her sides and back, by sharp contrast to the pinkish, smooth skin that covered the rest of her torso before blending down into the same bluish tail that held Artiom in her grip.

"Who is this one, then?" she says, her face breaking into a tiny, fanged smile as she beholds the Feid now frozen in her coils in fear. "Maybe he is a thief, or maybe he cannot read? He knows whose house he is in, yes? But coming uninvited? Rude, rude." The naga chatters, leaning in so far as to nearly lie next to the bound Artion.

"No! No, not that uh...not a thief." he says, the moment her coils loosen enough to allow the breath into his lungs. "I came from the Arena, there's a wounded gladiator there, a Feid like myself. She asked for help, asked for antivenom. Told me to look for Leix." he gasps as the tip of her tail comes up to rub somewhat invasively against the side of his face. Artion can only stare at it with wide eyes as it prods his cheek.

"Well, then you should know two things, little cat in my house. First is that I am closed until sunfall, as always. There is no business worth doing in the daytime. Sun is for sleeping." She explains, the tailtip prodding his face one more time before withdrawing. Artion can feel the rest of her coils slowly begin to unwind from around his body. He can only marvel at how she can keep track of all that mass moving at once in so many different directions. Slithering over the floor, she runs her torso under one of the tables and up on the other side as Artion stands, resting her elbows on it and leaving most of her body draped around the floor under the table.

"The second is that I always make exceptions for good friends, and Luciva is just that, little cat." she says, her fingers running across the surfaces of the bottles, searching for something. "I would have preferred to stay asleep, though..." her thought trails off as she holds a bottle up to the light streaming in her bay window, then replaces it in the box, not yet having found what she was searching for.

"It's Artion, and...thank you, I think. She never told me her name." he said, patting himself down gingerly to take inventory of all the bones in his chest and arms. Everything seemed to be intact. The naga must be capable of an incredible amount of fine control of their muscle, or perhaps just very sensitive to how much pressure it takes to crack bone. He considered this absently as Leix sorted through the vials and talked.

"Quite unlikely I have what you're looking for, I'm very very sorry. Not much call for it, you see. Nobody comes to me for antivenom for my own little poison, yes? Deadly poison, of course. Very lethal. Luciva likely can't breathe? That's her blood, no longer useful, just sitting there. Flowing slowly, squishy, squishy. Very disgusting. Very distasteful." Leix shakes her head as she twists her entire body around. Her tail whips along the floor to follow her, dodging every table in the building expertly. Artion found a counter to lean on, still a bit out of breath, but didn't say anything. He would be happy enough to just leave, but it would seem rude now, and...he didn't have what he came for.

The naga didn't seem to notice or care about his discomfort, shaking another box to set the glass inside rattling before sifting through that one as well, talking the entire time. "Not surprised she didn't tell you her name. Stoic, yes. Very much like statues my father used to keep. Once-living, made choice to become stone. Strange thing, though, she made choice but kept moving, unlike those that made the choice to enter my father's home. Strange cat, Luciva, comes here sometimes to talk about monsters. Many monsters in this world, Feid and Naga. Human and Elf. Dragon and Wolf. Wants to face them all, your Luciva. On the right path for it, will kill her, of course. Very sad, but such short lives for the Feid! You are close to death now, aren't you?"

Artion looked at her blankly a moment. "Excuse me?" he said "I'm quite healthy, and only twenty-five."

"Doesn't matter, does it? You were close to death today. Age is unimportant. Age doesn't change the time you have left. No matter, little cat, no matter." the apothecary holds a tinted glass vial in her hand now, still sliding around the room in search for more. Artion wondered how she had an inkling how close to death he was today, but the naga answered the question soon enough. "Luciva lives at her arena. Anyone in that arena is close to death, yes? That is the whole value of the enterprise. Very ugly. No time for that, myself. Never been to see her, don't care to. Seen enough death. Especially death from such poisons! Quite enough, thank you."

Artion, regaining some of his composure and a lot of his nerve in the face of the naga's relative openness, pushed himself off the table he was leaning on and shrugged, at a loss for words. "So...you know her well?" he asked.

"No." was the naga's only response. She seemed to be done collecting bottles now, and Artion was quite surprised to find their contents were powder, not liquid, as she poured them into what looked to be a stamping press on the table farthest from the front. He couldn't see her hands as she went to work on the antivenom. Or at least, he assumed that's what she was doing. Artion faulted himself his suspicion. Perhaps his proximity to Leix was making him paranoid.

"Many people ask me if I know her," the creature continued speaking as her hands became a blur, pinching this and that into a tray "and I can only say that I do not. Not in the way they hope. I see you do not know her, or even of her. I may tell you a few things, little cat, but only things that everyone knows. Anyone that watches the arenas. Which you do not. Which makes this one wonder why you were there today to be given this task...or why she picked you...or why you accepted. Many curiosities I will not voice today, instead I will educate you and return to sleep. You will do me the small favor of telling me if she does not live, yes?"

She glanced back long enough to see Artion nod his assent, and she smiled again, her tiny fangs pinching her upper lip. Could she kill herself doing that? "She is Feid, you know. Like yourself. Little cats in a big city, unloved for what your people do...or did. Many Feid fight in the arena. Criminals all. Sometimes captured, your berserkers, the hissing, spitting ones that are all claw and anger and are killed by better armed and better armored men. Luciva was not stupid, though, not stupid like the others they put in that pit. She wears iron and brings weapons other than claw. She fights like one of them, and so she wins, because she controls that furious little thing that each of you contain, little cat."

Artion half-focused on what she said. Something in his mind was shutting it out, telling him to deny the very implication of her words. When he emerged from that daze after a moment, he could merely blink blankly. No, he would ignore that part of him. It was really for the best, he thought.

"Very important tournament that the dragons demand from us, little cat. 'Send your best', they say, 'It is the only way to serve us as equals.' Lies, of course. Or rather, just enough truth to tempt the foolish, like Luciva. She is not stupid, I said, didn't I? Merely foolish. The winner, you see, joins the Silver Guard, defends the dragons in their own home, and fights against dragonslayers in their place. A clever ruse to break an ancient tradition, you know. Many races produce dragonslayers, train them to kill. Faced with a master of the arena, though? Victor of a hundred duels? Suddenly slayers are being hunted in the cities they call home, forced into duels against these assassins, this Silver Guard. The dragons are no longer afraid of the mortal races, for they have learned how to make us kill ourselves. Very sad."

Artion hadn't really given much thought to the whole affair. Yes, it was impossible to live in the city and not know that victors in the arena became Silver Guard. They were not subject to any laws, could speak for the dragons. Ruled the city de facto if not in technicality. They could live in the palace and make use of all the dragons' servants as their own. Artion had always thought the Silver Guard were mere debauched nobility, not some elite cadre of bodyguards. It didn't affect him, though. The naga kept talking.

"Always been human, these Silver Guard, though there was that incident with one infected with the wolf-blood. That is why Luciva is so strange to these people. Feid are barely tolerated, as you likely well know, but to have one immune to law? Able to order the citizens as a superior? Many eyes on your Luciva, if she wins. Many eyes." There's a sudden hiss of steam from the bench the naga is working at, followed by a puff of white powder that settled over her shoulders and face like flour before she turned to stare Artion down. She raised two fingers to her own eyes. "Many eyes." she repeated, looking somewhat ridiculous in her pale, powdery mask. In her other hand she held a simple white tablet, about the size of Artion's thumb. "I do not want to see her die, little cat."

"Artion, again. And thank you." he replies, offering his hand for the tablet, only to have her pull it back.

"That is why I do this, but why are you here? What has she done for you, little cat? Why do you seek to aid Luciva?" the Naga asked him, her eyes glittering with curiosity. Artion frowned at this. "She is like a statue. Beautiful, yes, but she will not respond to your touch." Leix smiled knowingly as Artion's mouth opened in disbelief.

"I don't think I ever said I intended to-..." he began.

"No, you said nothing. I must be mistaken as to how a young male ends up running errands for a young female without even the slightest mention of payment. Oh yes, I'm sure that whatever I think is wrong. I am sure that if I tell you that you risk being drawn into orbit around a terror barely restrained you will think that I am talking nonsense. I am sure when I see you next you will be uninjured." Leix dropped the tablet in Artion's hand as she turned almost dismissively away. "I return to sleep now." the naga said as she climbed a sturdy pillar in the center of the room into the rafters. "Close the door, if you do not mind, little cat. And careful, she will not love you back so easily."

Artion, still slighty annoyed, and now blushing under his fur closed his fist around the tablet, closed the door behind himself, and walked briskly off the pier on the lake, away from the naga apothecary and her uncanny words. He could only brood as he drove through crowds on the streets to get back to the arena. She was right, of course. He shouldn't be lusting over some gladiator who had saved his life, he should just finish this favor for her, thank her, and leave. Maybe there was something to be made working the crowds as they left the arena, or even the chance to recover his robes...

Artion very actively tried to keep his mind off of the black Feid that he had only met today. In fact, so consumed with the effort, he couldn't think of much else. In its own way, his attempt to control his brain was counterproductive. Luckily, though, it distracted him long enough to find himself at the arena gates again. Still thankfully open, Artion briefly marvelled at the lack of security as he made his way back down the tunnels that lead under the pit. If he were a different sort of thief, the realative lack of checkpoints may have been appealing. As it was, one hand clutched protectively around the tablet in his pocket, Artion merely pushed past the unquestioning stares of the few guards still at the arena, now that it was emptied. Perhaps the tourament wouldn't continue until tomorrow. It was getting dark out, after all. Artion steeled himself to make his delivery as he approached the dimly lit armory where he had left Luciva. Get in. Give her the tablet. Get out. Right.

Artion pushed open the door and stepped inside, not bothering to close it behind himself. He'd be leaving momentarily, after all. His eyes didn't take much time to adjust, sensitive as they were to low light already. The guard that had been posted in the armory was gone, as was most of the equipment that was previously held there, likely retrieved by the gladiators leaving the arena...or their next of kin. The flickering orange light from torches on opposite walls managed to highlight Luciva where she tossed and turned on the bench she still curled up on, sweat giving a strange gloss to her ebony fur. Artion could recognize a fever even as he approached, and heat practically radiated off the poisoned Feid. "Luciva?" he asked, but only recieved an inarticulate murmur in response.

Closer, now, he could make out the collar of sweat that had formed on the bandages on her chest. She had loosened them, sometime before she became feverish, and beneath the bindings she heaved with each desperate breath. Artion fished the tablet out of his pocket. If she wasn't responding, he would have to...administer it? He was no medic, had no training in how to get someone who wasn't awake to swallow something, and shoving it down her throat seemed...dangerous. Artion briefly wondered how you could tell which passage was for breathing. Feel the flow of air? He supposed. He set the tablet down on the bench near Luciva and brought his hands up near her face, wondering exactly how dangerous it was to open the mouth of someone in a fever dream. Before he could lay a hand on her, he heard a sharp noise from the hallway outside, causing his ears and head to flick around, suddenly nervous. Did he have a good excuse for being down here groping a sleeping warrior? The nervous, terrified part of him came back as the noises in the hallway became more distinct, the metallic jingle of chain and soft brush of leather.

Artion stood before whoever was in the hallway arrived. When they did, he learned they were not alone quickly enough, loud whispers carrying into the armory before they reached the doorway. "Just one kitten, ain't a difficult job." a gruff voice said, gravelly and masculine.

"Wouldn't be, would it? Almost redundant to have us down here, she's not going to pull through." came a second voice, this time feminine. Artion could almost see the sneer on her face, and very shortly did as the pair from the hallway appeared in the doorway. Artion immediately relaxed, not specifically because he felt relaxed, but so that he would not look terribly out of place in the armory. When the pair of humans entered the room, they didn't see him immediately, likely their eyes adjusting as his had. They looked armed for combat, wearing matching brown leather over iron chain, each carrying a short sword almost lazily, as though resigned to some unfortunate duty. One male and one female, Artion noted. Exactly as he had heard.

"Hey, that the one?" the female finally asked, pointing her small sword at Artion after getting her bearings in the armory. She tried to push past the male, who only held her back a moment and pointed his own weapon at Luciva on the bench.

"The black one." he said. "Who are you?" the man asked Artion, briefly reversing his grip on the sword and smiling somewhat crookedly. Okay, so they wanted to be good-natured and talk, at least for the moment. Artion's mind raced as he tried to think of a decent excuse, but the man offered one by asking another question. "You a medic?"

"Yes." was Artion's instant answer, and he immediately dropped into the role. If this man was willing to believe it, why deny it? "I am here to see to the wounded gladiator from today's match. There was no mention of outside parties aiding her recovery by the dragon lords, and so I was hired to attend to her through this poison." Too formal? Artion really didn't care, as the human pair was exchanging significant looks, though they seemed to have bought it.

"Well listen, cat." the male continued. "We've got nothing against you, but we sorta stand to make a killing, if you'll pardon my little joke, if your patient doesn't survive the day. I'm sure you've worked with a lot of gladiators, and this pit can't pay well, so let's say we pay you whatever she's offering and then a bit to make up for your trouble here, and you leave the kitten in our care?"

Artion briefly marvelled at others' willingness to call him 'cat'. He knew it was common, but good grief, hadn't the Feid at least earned a little respect? He kept his aloof demnanor, though, and some secret part of him heard the offer of free gold for walking away...which appealed quite heavily to his instincts. He could just leave. He had delivered the tablet, after all, he owed Luciva nothing. It was not his fault she wasn't awake to take it from him. It would save him from having to think about her every five damned minutes if he knew she was dead. It wouldn't be the first Feid he had abandoned to their own devices. Artion made a bit of a show of considering their offer as they walked closer. "I think that can be arranged. Gladiators die in the arena all the time, yes?" he mimicked Leix's affectation a little, talking briskly to put them at ease "I'm sure if she needs my services again she will find me?" he smiled at them, and they smiled back. Such honor among rogues.

Artion knew he faced down assassins. Not professionals, of course, more likely mercenaries trying to make a bit of extra coin while they were in town. The female was already fishing in a pouch at her waist for a bit of gold. Far more than a medic would make in a day, and tossed it to him. Artion caught it cheerfully, bowing out of the way and making his way around one of the far tables to avoid the two assassins as they worked through the middle of the room towards Luciva. They didn't want him in the room, but weren't willing to simply kill him. Moral compunctions? No, more likely he would make noise and create a host of problems they didn't want to deal with. They wanted things to go smoothly, and Artion could empathize with that. Some part of him still wanted to flee the entire scene and just find some place that won't ask where a Feid got his hands on gold before letting him sleep there.

Artion felt nauseous as he left the room, two coins sequestered in his pocket, clinking softly against each other. He only got two steps away from the door before he paused, mid-stride, turning his head to look back, ears twitching again as he listened in to the assassins' conversation.

"...definitely the one we want." the voice of the male faded into Artion's hearing as his ears swivelled atop his head to pinpoint it. "Black, practically dyin' of poison. Hotter than hell, though."

"What?" The female's voice was full of incredulity, but no small amount of humor.

"Y'know what I mean. If she were human I wouldn't even have to point it out. If we were in the field, I would've already bent her over a rock." The male was all but laughing now. Artion's nausea redoubled, and his feet turned in place. He was facing the door, now, fists clenched. "Not like there are a whole lot of these things left, sorta a shame to let this one go to waste while she's still breathing." Artion padded silently back to the doorway, touching the frame with his hands. His claws dug into the wood.

"Well hell, we're just here to make sure she doesn't make it, I didn't hear anything about giving the thing dignity." the female said with a snort. Artion could see their backs, now, the male crouched, absently pulling at Luciva's bandages, the female leaning absently against the wall, watching him. Artion looked around the room, feeling his adrenaline spike as his eyes come to rest on a nearby table's contents. The mace that he locates scrapes sharply across the wood of the table as Artion pulls it into his grip. The two mercenaries turned at the sound, seeing the Feid standing in the doorway, his teeth bared in a snarl, the weapon raised inexpertly between himself and the pair of them. The mercs shared a look, then drew their own weapons again.

"You don't have any idea what you're doing with that, do you?" the female taunted, as they split up, moving down the ailes between the room's many tables. "We were gonna let you go, too. Considered just stabbing you in the back, personally, but we're not the bad guys here, you know."

Artion was far too nervous, and barely restraining himself from just rushing one of them with his weapon and giving himself over to sheer luck. The skittish energy that was endemic to all Feid when their life was threatened manifested instead as the hair on his arms and neck raising slightly. The mercenaries clearly saw this, and slowed their approach. They weren't stupid. Even an untrained Feid had reflexes that shamed most humans, and the weapon in his hands was not inconsiderable.

"Ain't a thing you can do to stop both of us, cat." the male said, "Nothing wrong with tryin' to defend your people, but this one's more trouble than she's worth. I mean, can you imagine one of the Silver Guard being Feid? There'd be riots. We're not gonna be the last mercs hired to kill her, but you can be damn sure we'll be the only ones that give you a chance to run." The pair of them paused, just out of Artion's range. He bent his knees slightly, unsure if his reeling thoughts would send him surging forward...or merely drop the weapon and run like he had originally intended. There was a pause. The mercs looked to Artion, all tensed, nervous energy. Artion looked to Luciva. He saw something there that gave him hope.

The mercs stepped in, in perfect unison. Clearly they were used to working together. Artion's muscles snapped, and he swung the mace with both hands and all his weight, letting it carry him a half-step forward. He hoped to bring the arc into the chest of the male, but his body was already gone, dropped nearly to floor level in a quick crouch that left the mace swinging through open air. The female, almost patronizing, struck Artion in the mouth with the hilt of her shortsword, letting the weight of the steel daze him. Artion felt the male rush forward, wrapping his hands around Artion's waist and slamming him up and backwards through the doorframe. As he sailed out into the hallway, skidding across the cool stone and coming to rest against the far wall, Artion smiled almost hoplessly. It was over so fast. He wasn't a warrior, and now they would probably kill him. Maybe it was worth it, though.

Maybe.

"Stupid animal." was all the commentary the female mercenary gave as she stepped through the doorway, inverting her grip on her sword as she came to stand above Artion. He wanted to raise his hands, claw at her legs, cause her some sort of pain, but when he propped himself up on his elbows, she merely kicked him across the face with a boot. Artion's stunned brain noted, somewhat uselessly, that her boots were steel-toed. Something to keep in mind, for the few seconds you were likely to still have internal brains, Artion told himself. His open hand found his mace, but when he tried to close his fingers around it, he couldn't seem to get a strong enough grip. It was a miserable thought to die on, but Artion suddenly began regretting an entire life of crime and talking his way out of his problems. Maybe Feid were only useful if they were hulking berserkers.

The male mercenary only watched as his partner brought her sword up over the downed Feid's chest. Solid decision from his viewpoint. Sooner the lungs get pierced, less noise the cat will make before they can get out of here. He glanced down the hallway to the right, making sure they were uninterrupted. The mercenary wasn't too worried, of course, the arena should be all but emptied this late in the day. He was surprised, however, to see a flash of movement in his vision, not from down the hallway, but from back behind himself in the armory. Turning sharply, with a veteran's ease, he brought his weapon up between himself and whatever was in there, but didn't even have time to shout a warning to his partner as the shortsword clattered out of his suddenly fingerless hand. A foot of steel buried itself in his chest...and twisted.

The female paused at the sound of steel on steel, turning above Artion to look back towards her partner, but only had time to see him slide off of Luciva's longsword as she pushed the rapidly dying man out into the hallway to fall flat on his face. Artion tried to focus on the other Feid, she seemed like ebony vengeance to him, her eyes reflective and shimmering in the dark. She still wore the loose green pants from earlier, but now her chest was covered with what seemed like a necklace of cotton bandages, loose strands of white contrasting with her sweat-shimmering black fur as she stepped over the corpse. The longsword was loose in her grip, and she seemed exhausted.

It didn't matter.

The mercenary likely thought her skilled footwork would carry her into a position to leverage her armor and strength advantage against the weakened Feid. Luciva merely danced out of the way of her strikes, with a casual ease that she never could have managed in her heavy armor from earlier. A moment of viciousness in Artion had him smiling as the mercenary took a swordtip across her face, over one eye, and upon staggering backward she took it again...in the heart. Artion's final moments of consciousness were looking up at his two-time savior, her scowling expression regarding him as she let the sword fall from her grip, he heard it clatter followed by silence.

---

Artion had no personal philosopy that said that after his death he was due for some sort of reward. In fact, he hadn't given the whole affair much thought. It was for this reason that he was not terribly confused about whether he was alive when he finally awoke. He was lying face down, limbs splayed to his sides, the soft press of linen against the fur of his bare chest. Artion was mildly confused about that, given he didn't remember taking his shirt off at any point. His eyes snapped open. Clean, white plaster walls. Hand-carved wooden furniture that looked like it belonged in the houses of the wealthy. A simple, woven tapestry depicting some heraldric monster that Artion didn't recognize. Okay, so definitely not home then. For one thing, Artion didn't own a massive bed.

Artion pushed himself up off the bed, kneeling and facing the wall, patting down his chest for signs of damage or his missing shirt. When he finally decided to roll over and look toward the room's one door and only exit, he managed to startle himself. The sight of Luciva sitting next to the door, now fully clad in her green, casual outfit, staring him down with her heavier equipment strapped to a pack on the dresser next to her, well...it sent Artion scampering briefly backwards across the bed. He rallied magnificantly, though, rolling off the edge and standing, patting down his bare chest again as though nothing was amiss.

"Your shirt is there." she said, pointing to a crumpled heap on the floor, a sharp contrast to her own neatly arranged equipment. "I removed it to check you for further wounds, but it was clear that you were otherwise unharmed, and I did not bother to replace it after placing you on the bed." she said, gesturing at it. Her voice was measured, dangerously calm. Artion felt almost as though he was being threatened. He looked back at the bed as she gestured at it, finding he had landed almost perfectly in its center...and left an imprint there. Clearly she had made no attempt to move him. Had she watched him sleep?

"How long was I-" he began to ask.

She cut him off. "Nearly six hours. I expected you were concussed, and would die in your sleep." Her hands, for want of something to do, absently clawed at the ends of her chair's arms. She seemed almost bored of him. Artion's old annoynace came back. What, she stayed to watch him sleep but now that he was awake she was done?

"We're even." she said after a long pause. Artion had managed to fill some of the silence with getting his own shirt back on, wrinkled as it was. "...because you survived." she followed with. Artion's mouth hung open for a second.

After a moment's thought, he spoke "You don't even know my name, do you?"

"Artion Leed." she responded, pushing herself off the chair and running one arm through the pack of equipment on the table next to her, lifting it to her shoulder. "I know you. As you likely know me. We are even. I saved your life twice in the arena, and I am freeing you from that debt."

He snorted in response. Artion was still annoyed by something, and she seemed in such a hurry to go. She had been brushed by death that day and seemed no worse for her poisoning or near-assassination than if she had merely spent the day strolling through the markets. He had spent so much thought on her this day and she didn't even seem to notice. Letting his annoyance show, he said "Really? We're even? Wouldn't even be if you had just left me down in that pit rather than dragging me up to what seems to be a luxurious inn on your coin?"

Luciva had begun to turn towards the door, as though to leave, but turned back at that, staring at Artion flatly. He can see her claws already out, digging into the leather strap of her pack. What has her so riled up? Her voice still seems in control, however, when she speaks. "Your coin. I found it in your pants. We're even." she says, glaring as though he might challenege her assessment.

Snorting, Artion rolls his eyes. "Oh, so you robbed me first. Great, I'm glad to be absolved of my debt, believe me. I couldn't think about anything but that debt, and you, for most of the afternoon after being thrown into an arena against my will. Good on you using me as an assistant during that, rather than merely letting the thing eat me and killing it when it's bloated." Artion wasn't sure where his hostility came from, but the sight of her claws out had him annoyed to no end.

She didn't seem to fare any better. Artion immediately recognized what was happening as she bared her teeth at him before speaking. "It was not I that threw you into that pit, and perhaps if you weren't so weak, you wouldn't have been forced into your fall by mere humans. I only asked you to get me a cure for the injury I sustained saving your miserable life." Yes, Artion definitely knew what was happening, now. Two Feid in close quarters was generally bad for any business. There were only two outcomes to this situation, and Artion did not much like the thought of fighting this trained warrior.

His mouth didn't listen to him, though. "Yes, something that I did for you, despite being nearly crushed to death by a second naga you didn't think to warn me about. What you didn't ask me to do is come back and try to fight assassins for you, something that I did wholly on my own initative." He sneered at her, and was impressed with himself for not scampering backwards again when she walked right up to him, mere inches from his face.

"You did do that, didn't you? Remind me again, as I was barely conscious. Was that before or after you accepted their bribe to let me die?" Artion was stunned by this sudden revelation. She was awake for that? It certainly didn't make him look good.

His viciousness was in full force, though, and he decided to double down. "What of it? I don't think I had any obligation to refuse such an offer, did I? We were even at that point, weren't we, by your own cold, calculating measure?" he said. Her brow flattened at that, the two of them standing close enough together that they could feel the heat from each other. Someone is going to die, Artion thought. "You know, your friend Leix told me I shouldn't even bother with you, said it would be like romancing a statue."

Hah! There was the flash of anger in her eyes, and Artion knew he had gained some sort of upper hand. He was still slightly worried, of course, that she might just claw out his throat and be done with him.

This made him just more surprised when she wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled him roughly into a sudden deep kiss. The tongues of the two Feid danced briefly as their instincts took over. The rush of lust that had been lingering just inside Artion's control all day surged straight to his groin, and his hands found her back as their kiss dragged on. By the time they came up for air, she was already glaring at him again, her deep blue eyes narrowed. "Is that what you were waiting for, 'Art'? A proper reward?"

Artion was taken aback by the kiss and the hostility, but was more than willing to meet both in kind now that the floodgates, both of anger and sex, were metaphorically open. "What if it was? Maybe I deserved that, you ever think?" Her hand slid off his shoulder and grabbed his upper arm. Artion didn't resist as she hurled him sideways to bounce backwards against the bed.

"Let me tell you some things, you useless, pale scrap of a Feid." she began, running one clawed hand briskly under the front of her green shirt, pulling at it even as Artion fumbled with his own. He wasn't going to complain about getting insulted if things kept advancing the way they were. "I know exactly how dangerous the berserkers are, and I know that if I went out in that damn arena..." she paused a moment, finally getting the shirt off over her head. Artion's gaze ran up her bare chest, the pinkish skin of her nipples poking through the thick fur over her breasts. Her toned, muscular abdomen twisted several times as she pulled the shirt off her arms, still scowling at him as she talked, "...if I went out there and tore and bit and acted every part the animal this city thinks we are, then everything I'm doing for you would be pointless.

Artion's shirt was already off, and he pushed himself off the bed and grabbed Luciva around the waist, pulling her into another deep kiss, his hands running up and along the sides of her breasts, along her back, over the loose green fabric that still covered her flat ass and thighs. In response, she threw her weight forward and landed atop him on the bed. Artion felt the press of her against him as they lay there entwined for a moment, his cock stirring in his pants to harden against her belly. She pushed herself up and back, breaking his grip on her waist. He grinned up at her, a smile half vindictive and half joking as he said "I don't recall you doing anything for me that I didn't initiate. Her groan of frustration and the vicious shove she gave his chest told him that he had hit a sore point again. Maybe he was getting better at goading the pantheress.

"Every damn day I go out there and fight to the death with humans, monsters, other Feid, even, when they drag a berserker in from outside the city!" her frustration is evident now as all ten of her clawed fingers ran up his chest from her position straddled atop him. "You idiot Feid on the street don't even recognize the sacrifices I have to make to improve our reputation. I have to go out there and not act like a damn monster myself, clawing and biting. I have to wear their armor, and use their weapons and stay always calm and in control. They come day after day just to see if I'll break!" Artion only half listened, the things that the sight of her was doing to his loins had him well enough distracted. She seemed to notice, because the furred woman hissed and rolled off him, folding her arms as she sat up on the edge of the bed. "Then you show up, and I have to go nearly feral just to save your useless skin, all while you make me look like a beast by comparison!"

Artion paused at that, watching her restless tail curl and uncurl on the white bedding, his own chest heaving with desire. Didn't she realize what she was doing to him? He still felt a bit vindictive, though, given he was weathering her constant insults, and she seemed to respond most strongly to his own, so...

"Oh, like you're so special." he began, then grinned as she turned her half-naked body sharply to glare daggers at him. Artion rolled himself up to sit next to the scowling Feid on the edge of the bed. "We all go through that. Day in and out. Price of living in the city." Artion tried to ignore his raging erection, the very object lesson of the words he was trying to get out. "Just act like them and you get to survive, right? I act polite, you act disciplined." he said, his tone softening as she made eye contact with him. "It's just an act. You can't pretend it isn't there."

She looked back at him with an expression of almost gratitude for a moment, then her habitual sneer returned, but this time it seemed almost playful. "Alright, Art. You want to see what's there? You want your reward?"

"Try me." he said.

Luciva rolled over and was atop him almost instantly and the cream-colored Feid startled at the slightly shorter woman's strength. Luciva gripped both his arms and pinned him as she forced her lips to his again. The blush burned in both their cheeks as Artion kissed back, fiercely. Artion could barely believe how strong she was, her grip like steel around both his arms, her tight figure writhing against him as her bare breasts flattened on his chest. When the kiss finally broke, it was at her discretion, his hips clenched between her muscular thighs as he lay below her. Artion hadn't expected her strength, but he damn well knew he liked it. His penis, barbed and lengthening by the second, tugged against the inside of his pants and prodded at the inside of Luciva's thigh through the fabric, prompting her to look down at his crotch. When she looked back up it was with a sneer again. "Don't pretend you'll have it that easy." she said, one of her clawed hands releasing his wrist to trail down his chest. Artion's hips strained against her weight, trying to rub against the teasing Panthress, but she wouldn't release him.

Artion could only watch Luciva run her claws through his fur again, the smile on her face slipping from merely happy to downright feral as she felt over his compact midriff. Artion didn't pride himself much on his appearance, but more than one Feid woman had in his life, and the time he spent on rooftops and running through the streets certainly didn't hurt. He gasped as her loose hand slippped inside his pants, the pantheress' remarkable flexibility allowing her to keep him pinned as her hand grabbed his cock, squeezing it roughly. Trapped as he was, with only one loose hand, Artion did all he could, reaching up and grabbing at her breast, causing her to inhale suddenly at the touch. He didn't waste any time, cupping and rolling the soft flesh in his hand, feeling the her silky fur in his fingers and running his thumb over her nipple. She continued to fondle him through all this, her claws digging into his barbed shaft lightly as she felt down its length. A drop of pre slipped out of him and onto her fingers, and Luciva removed her hand from his pants in blank wonderment as she stared at it, rubbing her fingers together to feel the slickness coat them. Artion, perhaps feeling emasculated, decided to up his ante, taking her now-perky nipple in between two claws and pinching it sharply.

"The hell you did-" she began, her own claws snapping out at the sudden pain, but he used her rage against her, taking the momentary distraction to finally roll over, grabbing one of the panthress' legs and hefting it over his shoulder as he did so. Her body contorted and rolled, unable to break from the two-armed grip he had on her thigh. Artion, grinning somewhat madly now, began to pull and tug her pant leg, trying to claw it off. Watching her writhe on the bedspread, entangling herself in the sheets in fury, he could only grin wider. The feisty Feid was almost unbearably attractive highlighted against the white sheets, leaving Artion nearly panting as he dragged at her clothing with his hands. "Hah, what now?" he asked, brimming with confidence now that he had the upper hand. The curve of her black hips was beginning to appear as he tugged at the pant leg, his eyes fixed on his prize as the cloth began to slip off...

Her other leg, which in his lust-addled haze he had forgotten completely, came up and caught him in the side of the head. It was hardly some light tap, and the full weight of her spinning body came behind it. Artion suddenly found himself rolling again, face muffled in between Luciva's thighs as the pair of them knocked somewhat noisly against the headboard, their constant struggle for the dominant position leaving her once again on top. "Now?" she asked him, sitting wholly on his collar. Artion watched, stunned, as Luciva tantilizingly worked her claws through the strings that laced up the front of her pants, letting them finally drop from around her hips, wiggling her legs on either side of him to let them slide down around her knees. "Now, you get what you were looking for, 'Art'." she said. Artion swallowed as she exposed the full line of her glistening slit, the folds inches from his face. She was clearly faring no better than he was, practically dripping with anticipation as she lowered her cunt to his mouth, holding herself open with two fingers even as her legs pinned his arms. "You wanted to see what I had. Now is your chance to pay me back for your betrayal.

His cock still straining against the confines of his own pants, Artion could only buck his hips a few times feebly under the domineering Feid, then, sighing, give in to her demands. His broad, textured tongue slipped out, running across the length of her slit as Luciva played idly with her own clit, pinching and rolling it in her claws as she ground herself into his face. Artion licked dutifully, his muzzle staining over with her feminine fluids as he probed into her, letting his rough tongue explore her depths slowly, dragging out the process with long, lingering licks. Mounted atop him, Artion can see Luciva's eyes roll back and close, the one hand not busily ministering to her own clit reaching up to hold her own breast, rolling and touching it just the way he had before. Her luxuriated stance was interrupted by a gasp as his tongue ran along the top of her sex, letting its roughness come up against her finger and small, black button. With the gasp her glowing meditation was broken, leaving her glaring down at him, this time not so much angry as impatient. The clawed hand from her breast shot down to grip the fur on the back of his head, pressing himself further into her crotch. Artion couldn't help but be aroused further as she growled "Keep going."

Fine, Artion thinks to himself. If that's what she wants, he was more than capable of delivering. His rounded muzzle pressed back into her as his tongue shot out again, this time pushing through her folds and into her passage, the taste of her only arousing him further as he lapped at the pantheress. Practically slurping with the repeated licks, he pauses, waiting for her to growl her frustration before pinching her labia between his lips and pulling lightly, Luciva writhing and letting out a small noise of pleasure in response. Marking this in the back of his mind as a victory, Artion brings his hands up to the Feid's thighs, using the leverage to push his tongue further and further into her, driving the young fighter closer to orgasm. Her hand still behind his head suddenly tensed, grabbing a fistful of his fur in her claws as she yowls her orgasm, her dripping cunt splattering Artion's face with her fluids. Almost neurotically, he begins to run his tongue across his own muzzle, trying to clean himself off. He isn't alone there for long as she slid her body back down his, her heat spreading softly across his chest as she kissed him again, her lapping tongue running across his face like an animal, devouring her own fluids.

"I think," Artion began, taking a deep, ragged breath to recover somewhat, even as the smaller, muscular Feid pressed her warm body against his chest "...that makes up for my betrayal?" Luciva looked at him with such disapproval that Artion briefly thought he had angered her again, but he had been wrong about that before, and was willing to hold out hope. Especially willing, even, because he was still nursing an erection that had been left unattended long enough to be painful. She was still looking at him with a glare of disgust, but then snorted, and shook her head.

"Not yet." she growled, wriggling her body to slide down his chest. Artion sat up, his legs now dangled from the edge of the bed, as she dropped to her knees on the floor between his legs. With one brisk movement, she took two fistfuls of his pants in both clawed hands and tore them from his lower body with a ripping sound, then settled in between his spread thight. The position looked almost ridiculous for Luciva, who only moments earlier had kicked him in the head to gain the upper hand and now was taking his shaft in her hands, her own roughly textured tongue running up its length to flatten against the tip. Holding the shaft tightly at the base, she licked and slurped at it, Artion's hips pushing into her grasp, but her grip on his cock base only tightened, a scant few drops of pre slipping through her squeezing grasp and making their way to her tongue. She stopped licking at the taste of the clear liquid just long enough to reposition her head over his member. He could feel the gentle tickle of her sharp teeth as her mouth lowered onto his cock, the heat and moisture enveloping his length as her head bobbed in his lap. His hips pushing up into her mouth, Artion can barely contain his oncoming orgasm, feeling the heat of it building in him. She doesn't relent with her grip on his base, though, and continues coating his member in hot, slippery saliva. She wasn't going to let him cum like this, and his expression changed from one of bliss to one of pleading. Her eyes only narrowed as she removed her mouth from his shaft, grinning at his discomfort. "Is there a problem, Art?" she asked, no longer snearing his name when she said it.

Panting, gasping with pleasure as she lowered her mouth again for a hard, sucking pull at his barbed cock, he could only manage the word "Bitch." She continues to pinch his aching cock, he can feel it on the verge of twitching, but the heat is being drawn out of it as he fades back from the edge of orgasm, having been nearly pushed over the brink if not for her grip. "Why..." he whined, lying back on the bed as she stands before him, finally kicking off the pants that had been lingering around her ankles and calves.

"You wanted to see what savagery I held back, Artion." Luciva explained. The throbbing in his cock was painful again, and having her standing before him, naked and black as the night, her yellowish eyes looking at his naked body with equal hunger. "Let's see what you have." she said, sliding herself onto the bottom half of the bed and tilting her body towards him, on her side. He froze as she did so, his gaze playing up her muscular legs, the glistening pink sex in her black fur, and her round, perfect breasts. His cock twitched at the sight, its tiny barbs going erect briefly as they agreed with his assessment.

Okay, Artion thought, I can manage this.

He practically bounded forward across the bedspread to get atop her, forcing his lips flush against hers again as his hands roamed her chest and sides, stroking and groping at her curves and eventually settling on taking a fistful of her ass. The pair of them growled, and his penis slipped along the silky fur on the outside of one of her thighs as he pulled himself atop her, flattening the smaller Feid into the plush bedding, watching her sink in as she looked up at him in breathless anticipation. "You still owe me." he said, and he silenced her as she opened her mouth in reply by slipping one of his clawed digits into her cunt, drawing a sharp gasp from her. A second finger followed, and he began to work them quickly around her passage, pushing and prodding at her walls, letting the sharp ends of his claws prick her from the inside and drawing more gasps. The look she gave him was torn between fury and bliss. Partly to assuage her and partly to please himself, he pushes his tongue back between her lips, wetly pressing aginst hers.

It's several minutes of briskly fingering the gasping Feid before Artion breaks the kiss, the pair of them drawing simultaneous, deep breaths. Panting as he recovers, Artion considered his next move, but had it answered for him as the pantheress rose onto her hands and knees, crawling in a lazy circle around the bedspread, eventually flattening her breasts against the headboard as she gripped its edge, her legs spread slightly to put her dripping pussy on display. "I've waited long enough, Artion." she said. He wondered briefly when she ended up back in charge, but his crippling arousal made whatever decision there was to make for him. In moments he knelt behind her, his erect, barbed prick leaking precum as he rested his hands over hers on the headboard, his own creamy fur contrasting with her black pelt. He rested his head against her shoulder as she pressed back up into him. "Now." she said, this time more quietly, more urgently. His cock head prodded her opening, from which a warm droplet of her fluids dripped onto him. Neither of them could wait any more. In the very instant that Artion made the decision to thrust up into the ebony Feid, she pushed herself backwards off the headboard into his arms.

Artion's instincts all but took over then, growling as he pounded into his black cat lover, the heat and warmth of her insides clenching down on his shaft caused pleasure to shoot through his groin and up his chest. As she leaned back into his arms, he found himself supporting the compact fighter on his own strength. Barely able to handle the weight in his weakened state of arousal, Artion pushed Luciva forward into the wall behind the bed, each of his thrusts flattening her breasts against the dry plaster as their hips wetly squelched against each other. Luciva's hands and cheek came to rest on the wall itself, her pointed, feline ears flattened back in blissful repose. Artion's hips bucked upwards into Luciva's moist tunnel, and he felt her clamp down on him in response, quietly sighing out her consent as he continued to fuck her. He continued this exhausting cycle for minutes, supporting the weight of her body with his hands and the wall, feeling her tight warmth spread with each pass his shaft made at her, her tail wrapping around his waist to pull him closer with its limited power. Artion's instincts pressed him onward, Luciva letting out a yowl as he increased his pace, the slowly erecting barbs of his cock tugging lightly at her clit now with each pass.

Artion knew he was wearing himself down with this pace, and slowed himself, but Luciva only growled her displeasure at his apparent weakness. Her ears perked up as she threw another furious, lust-filled glare at him over her shoulder, then threw her hips backwards into his shaft. The suddenness of it nearly drove Artion over the edge there and then, but he recovered by reaching his hands around to where she lay against the wall, pulling her off it and covering her pert breasts and erect nipples with his own clawed digets. The creamy-colored Feid began to artfully tug at his lover's breasts, his gentle touches scratching and pulling at her mounds, and her expression flattened out of its annoyance back into detatched bliss. Good grief, Artion thought, it was like making love to a murderer, he couldn't shake the feeling she'd just kill him if he stopped. Perhaps it was instinctual, but it gave Artion his second wind, and he began pounding into her tight snatch again. Her legs scramble against the bedsheets as she tries to find the traction to thrust back into him again, and Artion obliges the pantheress by pulling her off the wall onto her hands and knees again.

"So close..." she hisses, and Artion, if he was feeling more eloquent, may have responded, but he was practically there as well. He could feel the familiar tug of his spines pinching at her walls every time he tried to withdraw, and he knew it would become impossible soon. Instead, Artion reached around under his lover, grabbing the bud of her clit in between two claws and rolling it roughly between them. Luciva's reaction was immediate. She howled out her orgasm, and Artion could feel the heat in her tight depths increase as her fluids dripped down his shaft, blanketing it in sticky warmth. He kept pounding away, slowing his pace just enough to stay ahead of his own anatomy's desire to tie him inside the smaller Feid. He couldn't resist it, though, and with a trembling shudder that wracked his whole body, Artion came powerfully into the squirming pantheress. Pleasure blurred the edges of his vision as his spines finally extended, and Luciva hissed in pain beneath him as they dug into her vaginal walls. He couldn't withdraw anymore, the spines locking him inside her as his cock twitched, sending thick, hot cum into her womb. Luciva hisses her assent again under him even as the pain of his spines causes her to shut her eyes tightly, her instincts or her desire so firmly in control that she doesn't even seem to care that he just came inside her.

"Ah, Leeds..." she says, her legs giving out under the orgasm that still had her shaking. Artion, somewhat to his embarassment, could only remain hilted inside her, the warmth of her depths filling him with calm contentment as he waited for his sharp barbs to retract. "This makes up for your betrayal." she said, breathily, as the pair of them flattened out, Artion atop the gladiator, the pair of them glowing together after their rough sex.

"Yeah?" he said, panting again as his spines retracted, slowly drawing his softening shaft out of her with a soft sucking sensation. He whimpered his happiness. She had been so good. "I think I could get used to being in your debt." he said.

Exhausted, the pair of them slept until morning.

---

Artion Leeds wasn't wholly surprised to see the black gladiator (Black Knight? he thought absently. No, she wasn't a knight yet.) gone when he woke up in the morning. It was strange, he distinctly had made sure he had fallen asleep with his arms tightly around her body. Mostly because he couldn't stand to be in the same bed without touching her, but that was neither here nor there. He was so content with the outcome of the previous day, that when he went downstairs he was able to wholly ignore the stares of the inn patrons, who had either heard his last night's escapade or were distracted by his ripped pants. The innkeeper was more than happy to tell him that Luciva had left him a note, and inquire as to when he was leaving.

Artion opened the envelope that had been left with a claw, wondering if she usually carried stationary among all her swords and armor. A question for another time. It read:

"Leeds. You still owe me."

It contained the two golden coins that she had claimed to have spent on the room that Artion had just slept in.

"Bitch." he said to himself, grinning, as he walked out of the inn.

He would return the gold, and give her a piece of his mind. He wasn't some sort of prostitute. Artion was so content with that plan that he didn't even consider that he was just chasing after her again.

Not that he would've cared.