A Champion

“Look at the muscles on that one” Cynthia whispered.

Marcella nodded and stuffed another quiche between her lips nervously. The coliseum was cluttered with casual conversation. Noble’s mixed at the bottom of arena, which was blanketed with various fabrics for their comfort. Multicolored Orbs lit the night from they hung among the elegant ornaments and frilled banners on the bleachers. Together, they transformed the venue of violent competition into an ornate convention. The air must have also been cleansed, as the smell of **** that had long seeped into the sand beneath their feet had been replaced with faint cinnamon.Servants weeded the clusters of attendees, carrying with them a selection of appetizers and drinks on silver platters.

Richly laden Noble’s ate, drank, and networked as they paced the main event: The Gladiators. The men and women seeking sponsorship for the competition were nested in select areas of the crowd where sponsors could see, speak to, and investigate their physique. Many were dressed appropriately.

The man her maid was referring to was indeed muscular. He stood at six feet tall, and was shirtless as to expose his bulbous, pale ivory chest. A glistening steel trident struck from the ground at his feet. His powerful stature was even more impressive against the slender frame of the man he spoke too. Suddenly he ripped the trident from the ground, leaving a wide hole in the floors fabric. He grinned and offered it to the nobleman, who struggled to lift it.

“What do you think?” Cynthia’s entranced eyes were leveled at his massive pecs “Looks like a ringer, and we can offer him a better deal then half the people here…”