Profit to be Made

The large double doors of the storehouse swung open as Declan and two wiry, sandy-haired henchman on each side of him made their way inside. Declan smiled a tiny, smug smile to himself like he always does as he looked his new property over.

The place was generously large. Large enough to hold a crowd. This was good, because he knew that in his business, the crowd was everything. With the money he spent purchasing the place, Declan had feared that there would be no funds left for manpower or bribery, but as always, Declan had just enough. It was his talent. Already he was mapping the entire place out in his head. The bets would be taken there, people would sit there, and the ring...

Declan eyed the center of the room, where there was a colossal circular pit filled with empty crates, and beside it a winch for raising and lowering cargo. This was where the fighting will go.

Declan turned and motioned for his men to get to work. At the signal, the two wiry blondes swaggered outside, and returned with two dozen other men who begun to clear the place and prepare it for renovations. During the work, two of the men stumbled and dropped one of the crates onto the floor with a heavy thud. The men thought nothing of it, until Declan adjusted his round glasses and shot them a venomous glare that the men shrunk away from, returning to their work in silent fear.

"This is our new home. Give it nothing but the best." Declan declared, as flatly as he ever says anything. "...And for Blight's sake, bring in the fighters!"

At this command the two blonds jumped to attention and rushed out once more, this time returning with a dozen men much different than the ones before. The workers are as strong as any other men, Declan reflected, but they are not fighters. This new dozen, however, was. The new dozen were, for the most part, bigger, and broader of shoulder than his workers. These were the men that would fight in the pit. These were his stars.

The last figure to enter caught Declan's eye, and caused his lips to curl. The last man to enter wasn't the tallest or biggest, but Declan knew he was the best. Hasted with excitement, Declan strode forward and lead his star fighter by the collar to stand by the pit to have a better look at him.

The kid was no elf, but he had pointed ears, and piercing eyes like Declans'. The kid was covered head to toe in scars healed over, and had a thin, blond beard lining his chin so neat that almost made you forget he was from a place like Sarkun.

Declan eyed the shaved scalp of his champion where a fierce mohawk used to be, as he reached and pinched him by the cheek, who didn't seem to notice, let alone flinch as he stared silently down at the pit with blank eyes.

"You like it down there, Taric? That's you're new home." Declan's lips twisted into a smile that revealed beastly, pointed teeth. "Buying you from Ruckus was the best decision I ever had. You're quick. You're indestructible. You're going to make me rich."

Taric turned his head to face Declan. Taric wasn't as optimistic, in fact, up until recently he was able to keep his promise to never hurt a single person. But that was in the past, and what choice did he have? He was here to fight. At least he could try and keep it clean.

His thoughts were then interrupted by Declan's voice in a crooning tone; a rare oddity whenever there was profit to be made.
"All the best crowd-pleasing fighters have pseudonyms, and the best of the best have fitting ones, too. In the ring, I want to see you tougher than iron, so from now on your ring name will be Steel."

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Taric watched silently from within the cheering crowd two men down below, fighting in the ring. Declan had laid down sand in the pit, and already it was stained with blood and sweat. The smaller man, whom Taric could only assume was an elf, hung helplessly by the collar of his shirt, held upright by the other man who was freely landing punch after punch, as the crowd screamed in approval. Taric hung his head and pushed his way out of the crowd, needing escape from the noise.

How did he get here in the first place? Taric rubbed the sides of his head as he staggered to the far end of the room. Ruckus was to blame for everything, but why? How? The more Taric tried to recall the past month's events, the more of an indecipherable mess it all seemed. A month ago, Taric was determined to return to Sarkun, determined to confront Ruckus about the bear, about everything. But now?

It was if Taric's very being conspired to keep him from caring. Since he was brought to the ring by Declan, not once did Taric's legs carry him back outside the building, back to Sarkun, and not once did he feel obligated to do anything, or worried that the bear would return. Whether this is Ruckus' doing or not, Taric found it hard to care.

All Steel was here for was to fight in the ring.

Taric folded his arms and closed his eyes, leaning on the wall of his room as he waited for his match to begin. A network of rooms had been dug out and connected to the pit, as a residence for the fighters beneath the warehouse's floorboards. They were nice rooms, at least. The walls were painted and smooth, there was a table, dresser, chair and bed in every room, all relatively pristine. In Declan's unrelenting attention to detail and respect for his own operation, he had gone to some lengths to make the rooms not seem like prison cells.

And they weren't cells. For the most part, the fighters that came here couldn't get jobs elsewhere, and while they had little other choice than to fight in the ring, it was still their choice. Declan charged rent for the rooms, but it was modest in comparison to some of the money a man could make fighting here. It was a living.

Taric's eyes opened. The door to his room swung inwards to reveal one of the sandy-haired wiry henchman, whom Taric learned was named Dutch, standing in the doorway, signaling that the next fight was about to begin.

As Taric stepped into the sand-swept ring, he tried to ignore the noise of the crowd and Declan's announcing of the fighters, instead focusing on the man who stood on the other end of the arena. Taric learned soon after his arrival to the warehouse that fighting a person was little different than fighting a monster, and through Declan's instructions, learned to think about who he fought. Some where faster than Taric, some were bigger, but once Taric learned to counter his opponent, he was the best.

Despite his efforts to ignore all the noise, Taric overheard Declan introducing his opponent as a member of the Blackwatch. The fighter was taller than Taric, and had freakishly long arms, and by the sounds of it he knew how to use that reach. The man was confident, as most of the fighters are before they meet Steel. From across the ring, Taric could see his opponent mouthing something with a sneer. Silently, Taric put up his dukes.

The match begun when Declan produced a bell and mallet, ringing once, loud enough to drown out the hollering of the crowd. Immediately, the fighter half-raised his arms and charged at Taric in a sprint. Readying himself to meet the bull-rush, Taric planted his feet and took a stance. As the fighter closed the distance, Taric met the charge by grasping the fighter's readied hands with his own, sidestepped and then heaved, sending the larger man off-balance and flying in to the wall of the ring back-first, causing the crowd above to holler with excitement and delight.

Before long, the opponent was on his feet, and begun to mimic Taric's own fists, taking a boxing stance. The fighter circled Taric, hoping for a punch to counter, but when Taric refused to throw a punch, he quickly abandoned the defensive tactic and closed the distance a second time, aiming a right hook. The fighter hand the better distance, but the punch was a reckless haymaker, and Taric was much faster than he was given credit for. Immediately, Taric crouched low under the swing, and rose with an uppercut to his opponent's jaw, with enough force to send him off his feet and flat on his back, out cold.

Must have been a recruit.

You are Declan.

And you are pissed.

For the past few weeks, the Quintana Cartel has been caught up in some enormous spat with the goblins that pass off as the working class nowadays, to the point where the authorities would soon step in. You were their client, and could not help but worry about your ring's security. If Blackwatch were to ever shut the Cartel down, the economy would sink from being awful to even worse.

Speaking of the Blackwatch, therein was your second, much worse problem. The Blackwatch was looking for you. While you expected that eventually your ring would draw suspicion from the Watch, you had not expected a Lieutenant of the military to personally seek to shut down your ring and end your livelihood.

You should have seen it coming, and for the first time in centuries, you felt stupid.

Get it together, Declan. You have a solution, and his name is Dorin.