***Istoviir’s POV***
It was already packed full of people, some cheering, some boasting, others yelling, and always the sound of money being passed around to be bet, or collected. Smoke wafted so thick one could barely breathe, mugs clanked onto tables sounding as though they would break, the whole event was very loud indeed. Dak and I pushed our way to the Barman, who stood next to a large board with the names of the competitors scribbled on it and the odds. “Two more for the docket.” Dakoziel said to him.
“You’re late. Might not fight.” The stout man called to us as he wiped the sweat from his brow on his shirt front, and peered closely at us. “Your names?” He asked gruffly.
“Targas Hahlglil, lu’ Vihl Zekkhur.” He said giving the man our usual fake names. The crowd went silent
