In the tenth installment of A Grey Beginning, we follow the half-demon wererat Szeethe, now in the form of the murdered halfling, Alfem into a dark and grisly fighting area known as The Broken Valor. As we learn of its purpose in Crown, we begin as well to learn of Szeethe's purpose there, which cannot, in the end, be a good one...
Szeethe stepped into The Broken Valor. He scanned the crowd, the facilities, and potential exits. The tavern itself was rather unremarkable. It lacked the dark, smoky atmosphere of the lower-end establishments he often frequented on his hunts. The smoke-stained ceilings were higher than in most such places, giving the place a somewhat more wholesome air while the floors were heavy wooden planks. Patrons sat around simple tables, whose surfaces were stained with over-turned drink and scarred from decades of abuse. Lead-framed windows, permanently shadowed by the tall buildings outside and covered with a thick, oily grime, provided scant lighting.
The dark creature stepped through the large room, making his way to the large open side facing the gladiatorial arena, his ultimate goal.. Looking about, he realized the tavern was an integral part of the fighting pits. Really one giant arena with a multitude of preparation rooms connected, were at the base of a great stone tower. As in many buildings in Crown, this tower was the remnant of a much older construction, a fortress build in the early days of the city, at one time an integral part of the defense. But the city grew, its outer wall became merely an interior division and a new wall built, which itself became redundant when the current structure was built. What has once been critical to the protection of the Queen had lost its value. But nothing went to waste, and the tower served a new purpose.
Inside the massively-thick stone walls, the main floors of the tower had been removed, replaced by a series of ringed platforms open at the center, where crowds could gather and watch the fight below. The most expensive rings were naturally lower and thus nearer to the pits, with each higher ring being less and less valuable. The very highest ring, where people could barely discern the events below, were reserved for the most common of people.
Light came primarily from a giant chandelier made from the bones of a mammoth balor, one of the most terrible demons who rose up during the scourge so many years before. Hanging as if in downward flight, its out-stretched bony claws reached out as if a great raptor after its prey. Perched atop the hooked barbs that at one time jutted out from its head and scaly back were seemingly hundreds of heavy, wax candles, their solid drippings running down the dry bones like pale blood frozen in time. The creature's eye sockets were filled with dark red glass which refracted the flickering lights of the candles. Its menacing, snarling jaws were clenched about a heavy chain suspended from which hung a single large oil lamp. Not a few patrons had stepped into the tower only to be driven away in terror of the ornament, unwilling to tempt the demons below with revenge upon any who benefited from it's gruesome light.
As it hung in the center of the tower, those spectators in the highest rings were forced to view the fights around it's grisly lattice into the dim light below, barely able to discern the fights. Those few windows, their thick glass in equally thick lead frames at the end of long tunnels seemingly bored into the thick stone tower walls transferred little light in the day and none at night. Usually left open, they served more to clean the dank air than illuminate the sport below.
Szeethe turned from the pits, turning his back on the gruesome skeleton that reminded him only of the impotence of his creators, the Demon Lords. He face remained calm as he contemplated his wicked schemes. He knew without any doubt that this would become the most important piece in his own vile plans. With the bounty that this place would provide, decades of effort would be saved.
The door opened and the dark creature turned to see his quarry enter. Falem was on time, his arms laden with ledgers and a large, leather satchel. An evil grin spread on his features, that of the now-dead halfling, Alfem. He waited until Falem made his way through the crowd to a reserved corner table. When the elder halfling was seated and comfortable, Szeethe/Alfem nodded to himself and began to walk in that direction. It was time to meet "dear old dad"...
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