This is the prologue of what was my baby for the longest time, but it never really went anywhere. This may or may not be because I never sat down to work out what I wanted to happen. Anyway. I think that as far is it goes, this is a fairly ok-ish piece of writing, so have a look and tell me what you think!

The sun beats down on the sandy floor of the arena, causing the fighters to dance around each other in a deadly combination of movements. The clash of metal on metal rings through the air, stirring the crowd into a frenzy of blood-lust and cruelty, filling them with an animal desire to see, hear and smell the death that will soon surround them. Soon, first blood is drawn, but this is no private duel to avenge some personal wrong, no. These are the King’s Games, and no-one stops at first blood.

High above the crowd, the King’s daughter sits, and watches, laughing merrily at the remarks of one of her companions. We call them animals, he had said, but even the beasts are mightier than them. It’s true though. As the first man falls to the ground, with a dagger in his chest and his sword grasped in his fists, his opponent stiffens, and turns towards the huge iron gate behind him. He knows what’s coming next. They all do.

The beasts are released, ten of them, all monstrous creatures, with blood dripping from their fangs, courtesy of the previous fight. The man crouches, seizes his fallen opponent’s sword, and snatches his dagger from his opponent’s chest, allowing blood to spurt out onto the ground, drawing a roar from the crowd. He isn’t prepared for this-but then, who is? That’s the fun of the games.

The Princess is still watching, almost bored as she sees the beasts slowly begin to prowl towards the youth-full of fear, as he sees his death in their eyes-then begins to smile again as the first one pounces, startling the boy into action. As his weapons flash in the afternoon sun, the rest of the beasts attack as well, drawn in by the hypnotic movements and the alluring scent of danger. They approach, and his movements become more urgent, trying desperately to ward off the death he knows is coming. It is for moments like these, that the spectators are there. There’s no fun in watching a child weeping on the floor as the beasts draw closer; not fun in a quick and painless death. No. The people here, from the paupers in the stands, to the King and his daughter in the royal box, are here to see blood dripping onto golden sand, to hear the screams as the fighter is ripped to shreds by monsters, to smell death on the air, and to wash it down with wine afterwards.

These people are here for the death.

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