Quoted By:
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Toim'z up, Zur. We'z gotsa get yer to va slott.</span></span>"
The Prod-You-zurs prod you awake, a shorty napp before you have to face whatever riot Boog's come up with to drop you in.
You still feel a little sick from Boog's Helff™ Pott™, but really stretchy. Somehow. Youre quite sure both will pass.
Boog's Foit Pit isn't as crowded as it could be; half of those inside are Gobbs, and most of the other half mobile Orc convalescents. Lots of the fit ones are either supporting the event or on standby - sitting ringside - or participating.
You're separated from your Droogz, who will be watching and hooting relieved from the high unshaded bleachers, and let down a short stair into a kind of a bull-run corridor. Pretty big, this: maybe enough to let in a four-horse car.
You're the only one in your tunnel, apart from the Prod-You-zurs strolling in behind you.
Lots of blood-stink ahead; uneven squares of light shining through the log-hatch gates.
You walk up to it and peek: there's Orcs already on the fight grounds, but all in protected box-forts with outward-facing spikes. These are security, looks like: all the orcs inside have bright, eyecatching, kindy gay head- and armbands, mostly armed with straddle-poles and clubs.
Yours isnt the only gate: you see several across you, occupied: there's animal movement in some. One's trembling.
There's a horn sounding, tu-TURRR, tu-tu-tu-TURRR.
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Stan back Zur. Bart ter start.</span></span>"
You hop off your perch on the gate. A few moments later it starts to get drawn up by a Gobby workgang stationed on the archway.
The other gates open nearly at the same time, their occupants goaded out of them into the sunlight by Orc wranglers, like the Prod-You-zurs behind you, but smaller and much better armed.
What a collection of freaks.
The crowd starts bellowing and rattling the stands, cheering for no one in particular.
The chaos of free tourney begins almost immediately.
<span class="mu-s">[YOUR MOVE]</span>
APPROACH:
pick one:
>stelff
or
>Bosser
OPPONENT
pick one to approach:
no particular order
>group of many (five) baldies wiv bugg botties, armed wiv bows n stikks.
>many many (eight) biggy Orcs, long pole bollbashers, swaddled in cloffs n straw
>carnt see: there's either one or two or four ovvim. Blurry. Longy low profiles. They move slinky.
>empty. Someone fugged up lol.
>Four, fikky bald lions wot with red froggy pouches inna froats. Wide headz wiv chompy teefs.
>Ten flies the size of sheep.
>Two of em, centaurs but weird. Got curly horns and eyes with no pupils. No armor, looks like; unarmed
>just one, but big: wolf twice the size of a horse, with a scorpion tail
>something fat and streamlined and armored, size of maybe a cow, already starting to dig into the sand.
>Not picking; keep back, let the riot sort each other out a little first, pick off the survivors
>Fugg DAT n fugg YOU: charge back into the bullpen and fight the Prod-You-zurs
