The Grey Leopard was the bane of many, colonists, and tribal peoples alike, with the large feline hunters regularly attacking those traveling within the mountainous hinterlands of the Demacian peninsula. They had long since earned their nickname, the silver devils. For their grey coat would appear silver under the moonlight, and it was usually what a victim would see before they died, that according to the handful of survivors.

Yet in the center of the arena stood one of these majestic and dangerous beasts, leering at the man pinned beneath its bulk. The leopard was however in a wretched state, it was emaciated and signs of abuse all over its wretched and mangy coat. Long welts broke through the fur, signs of torn and badly healed flesh, courtesy of the thorned whips belonging to the Myrmien beast trainers. It was a well-known fact that these same whips were sometimes used on escaped slaves, the tiny, thorned hooks designed to peel away the skin of its victims.

Its mouth foaming, and rage filled eyes made it clear that the creature was not in its right mind. Grey Leopards were known to be cautious hunters, they would wound and stalk their prey, allowing them to bleed out. These creatures were feared for their intelligence, not their ferocity, many other creatures in the world and upon the peninsula possessed far more dangerous physical traits. However, it was clear this beast was a tortured and broken soul, its diminutive size compared to others of its kind spoke of a lifetime in captivity, and a tortured, broken existence.

The beast had been drugged, starved, and unleashed upon the fighters, anyone capable of putting two and two together would notice the thoughts of the mastermind. This way the organizers could make it so that there were no challengers to collect the prize money. While they in turn could come up with any number of excuses to avoid responsibility. Worse still was the fact that this action was a stain upon the sanctity and honor battle, beast fights were relegated only to criminal executions, not for honorable warriors.

In the noble viewing area above a loud crash could be heard, with one of the wooden tables upon the platform lying in a shattered heap. Towering over the splintered mess was the Scholar, his jaw clenched, but otherwise maintaining his usual stoic impression. The guards sensing a disturbance immediately rushed over, with many of the surrounding nobles widening their distance.

“What appears to be the problem my Lord?” The guard captain for his part maintained a non-confrontational attitude. With any individual or group within this area they were forced to apply considerable discretion, unlike the repressive and violent actions they showed towards the non-aristocrats.

“Seeing as this is the final fight of the so-called gauntlet challenge, I presume that Xeander… that the lord of Myrmien is here observing the battle. Is that correct?” The Scholar did not take his eyes off the ongoing events occurring below. Focusing his attention on the image of the grey leopard trying to rip apart the shield bearer below it.

Luckily the warrior had managed to get his shield up in time, stopping the leopard from tearing out his throat. Yet its hind claws had raked his thigh, with its fore claw digging into the soft flesh of his right shoulder. He struggled against the beast, using the shield to press against the snapping jaws which threatened a swift death.

“The Master is present at this event. May I ask who are you that you deign the authority to call upon the Master without the proper respect.” Even amongst the nobility there were clear delineations of authority, how could a lower noble speak to one who sits nearer the top of the hierarchy. The guard captain for his part only saw the travel-stained cloak and unkempt nature of the party, none of those present wasting the time to pretty themselves up for a night on the town.

Their group had been judged as lower nobility, perhaps a group of equites. Or maybe a foreign clan patriarch and his guards. None would have perceived them to be of an equal or higher standing than a city master, those types would usually arrive with much fanfare while traveling alongside an entire squadron of personal guards. All the guard captain saw was a handful of guards, four in total, and attire that could be found on wealthy commoners, all signs pointing towards a group of backwater nobility perhaps.

Unluckily for the guard captain, the pair of guards that had initially allowed the Scholar and his party through had been called away earlier to deal with some unruly spectators in the commoner’s section. A task that he would have had to do himself, had he not unloaded that duty upon the more responsible younger members. The group of guards had even encircled their group and directed their spears at the Scholar’s party, causing quite the commotion amongst the nobles.

The Scholar had yet to turn his attention from the battle below, it was likely that many of the nobles present had yet to catch a glimpse of his face. Otherwise much of the nobility was aware of the man referred to as the Southern Bulwark and the Warlord of the South. Only now that weapons had been leveled in their direction did his attention shift, his glare and killing intent causing the men to quake. “Am I to consider your actions as the intentions of Myrmien? Do you speak and act for the Lord of this city?”

With his face visible to those around, a considerable portion of the surrounding nobles immediately rose from their seats, stepping as far from the coliseum guards as they were able. While the remainder switched their attention from the battle below to the standoff above.

“I will have to apologize on behalf of my men, they are not the best educated and lacking in manners. Fear not, I will see to it that they are properly disciplined, and my master would be pleased to meet with both the Grand Scholar and the notorious Amazon right away.” A thin, wiry man weaved his way through the guards, passing right by the guard captain without even acknowledging his existence.

For their part, the guards visibly paled when that man had appeared, even more so when he had heard the titles thrown out in relation to those, he had pointed his weapon towards. There were many titles Lord Cadeyrn Amyntas and Maatilani were known by, those two were more prevalent in this central region of the Mercan League.

“Ah… Where are my manners.” The thin man placed his hand upon his heart, bowing deeply in the Scholar’s direction, a courteous show of respect, which the Scholar returned with a reluctant nod. “The name of this unworthy one is Lysias, I am the steward for Lord Xeander. It is at his behest that I invite you and the Steel Amazon to his private viewing platform… if you would follow me.” Both the Scholar and Maatilani accepted the invite, moving to follow behind the steward, while signaling the other guards to remain in place.

“Lord Lysias, I apologize for my incompetence. I meant no disrepec-” With a flick of the wrist, the guard captain was abruptly cutoff mid-sentence. “Captain you are relieved of your duties, you have proven how worthless you are… perhaps your example will be a reminder to the others.” As the thin crow faced Lysias led his guests forward the guard captain collapsed to his knees. A thin red line across his throat slowly widened until it had become a fountain, with the former captain falling face first onto the warm stone floor. The other guards were quick to lift the body, one on each side, while one wiped the blood from the floor, and another two proceeded to open a path towards the arena exit.

“Please follow me, Lord Xeander is waiting.” Taking one last glance at the trail of red and the retreating guards, both the Scholar and Maatilani raised their awareness. The thin man was more than he appeared, the kind of individual that would show you a wide courteous smile before plunging a dagger in your back.