I wasn’t quite sure if I missed London, to be perfectly honest. While the sheer scale of it was always amazing to look at, I still preferred the scent of coo-shite than the general stink that hung over the city like a fog. It was a hard one to rightfully describe, a mix of coal and sweat and sense of… depression I would guess. Like the scent in the air before a spell of bad weather one knew damn well would bring little else other than misfortune. Of course, more than likely that was my own opinions of the cities bleeding through, but they started it when they drew away all of my neighbors like a damn selkie calling from just off shore. Then of course the city-folk came in and bought all the damn land around me to ranch, which means my land has transitioned from having crops and coos to just coos, though a hell of a lot more coos than were present previously I’d imagine.

Though with the luck I’d been having lately I wouldn’t be half-surprised if by the time I got back up to my little town in the valley it was gone entirely, replaced by some giant factory or the like. My family had been there for longer than we had any record, not in any positions of great importance, but just being gone at all was unusual. I was pretty sure I was further south than any member of my family going back generations had ever been, and if you count the channel I flew over, probably as long as Scotland has existed. I was an explorer, currently sitting on a cushioned bench with my feet up on the table as the train pulled into the station. Morrigan, bless her kind soul, was doing her best to ignore my lack of manners, she however was not wearing the gambeson, so I had little other choice for a comfortably sitting position than angled. Said comfort on the train ride was quickly replaced by a stinging sensation in my legs as I set them down onto the metal train floor to head outside, something that caused no end of amusement from Morrigan I might add.

“Told you that was a bad idea,” Morrigan said glibly. Walking past me and out the door as she did so.

“Aye, my life is a series of bad ideas that will more than likely lead to a bitter end,” I replied, stumbling out of the traincar after her. By the time I made it to the door I had worked out the kinks in my legs, and I turned to look at her with a grin. “Sides, ah’ll take a few moments of unstable legs for a few hours of comfort, thank ya kindly.”

The witch at my side snorted, but started a quick walk down the wooden floor of the train station towards the cargo station. There a crowd had started to form, curious to see what new manner of beast had arrived for their amusement. It was Beithir of course, managing to look both curious and grumpy as she stared out of the cage towards the crowd around her. A wyvern arriving in London of course isn’t anything particularly unique, but the fact that she was decked out in Barding on the day of the races was, and more than one eager child had been waiting out in the train station for exactly this purpose. I smiled as I pushed through the crowd, then with a grunt I pulled myself up onto the train car, a rather tricky operation with one arm, then undid the latch on the gate and pulled myself into the cage.

“An’ how ya doing there ya big dumb lizard?” I asked, reaching over to scratch at the spot Beithir liked between the eyes. Beithir growled happily, leaning into my hand as my fingers rubbed between her scales. Her tail slapped against the side of the cage, causing a rattling sound to ring through the train station, before, with a hiss of machinery, a crane lifted the crate off of the traincar and behind a waiting carriage.

“Do you intend to stay in the cage all the way to the colosseum?” Morrigan asked.

I looked over to her, the crowd now dispersing. “Aye, might as well keep her calm before the race.”

Morrigan looked the cage over then shrugged her shoulders. “It suits you.”

“Behave, ‘fore I drag you in here as well.” I replied, moving to lean back against my wyvern as I did so.

Beithir, being far wiser than either myself or Morrigan saw no part in including herself in any of our banter, instead she merely turned her head to look at me before pressing her nose against my side. I lifted my arm, allowing her massive hide to slide over onto my lap before I laid the arm back down onto her neck. A few moments later the carriage started to move, bouncing out of the train station and down the road through the city. Beithir’s head lifted the moment we cleared the station, looking around curiously at all there was to see as we bounced along. There was, admittedly, a lot. Last time I was rushed through the town and was so nervous I didn’t bother looking around. It was… busy, for lack of a better term. Something I expected, but even compared to the first time I was in town it was packed. Hundreds of people lined the streets, and all around pasted to the walls were posters advertising the event I myself was to take part in. Bright yellow posters with a red wyvern rising over a brown colosseum, wings curled around it like it was protecting a clutch, there one roughly every dozen or so feet. It would seem they took the sport rather seriously… or rather, they took the amount of money it surely brings in rather seriously.

Beithir grumbled in discontent as the cart bounced once more, and I ran my hand down her back to calm her. “Settle girl, ain’t far from the station to the arena. Most people in this town are too fat to walk that far.”

As I said this the carriage turned a corner, and my words were proven true as at the end of the long street was a gargantuan building. Oval in shape, it was more than likely the largest building in London, if not England itself. At least, that was from my perspective as the thing was easily wider than the schools entire property back in Dover. Hell, I thought it was likely bigger than my field back home, and all the fields next to it besides. A tall building made of blemish-free brown stone with a giant glass dome rising up from it into the sky far far taller than the aviary. Proud pillars were set into it every half dozen feet, rising up with the stone built around it. Hanging from each pillar was a banner flapping in the wind, each depicting images of wyverns of various breeds, of the dozen I could see from the cage I recognized maybe… two of them, and none of them were the same species as Beithir. I tapped Beithir on the nose then slipped back out of the cage as we went underneath the wide arch that served as the main entrance. The wyvern looked after me as I stepped out, and I tapped the side of the cage as it came to a stop to let Morrigan out of the passenger cabin. “Apologies Beithir, you’ll be in the stabes for a wee bit before it’s time. Only about an hour though.”

Beithir’s eyes narrowed as if she could understand me, but before she could get a word in edgewise the carriage continued down a side tunnel that I would imagine lead underneath the stadium.

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“Are you quite done carousing with your wyvern?” Morrigan asked.

“It’s the only way to get an intelligent conversation in this town.” I replied, idly looking up at the stones of the archway as I did so. It was… dizzyingly tall, but then, London never did anything small and simple from what I had seen so far.

“... Not wrong.” Morrigan admitted. “But come, we are to show ourselves in the VIP gallery before the match. Drinks and small finger foods, I expect you to behave yourself.”

“Aye ma’am, I will be on my best behavior as I hang around upper-class twits who’ve never worked a day in their lives.” I replied. Then followed her as she walked into a guarded side door then up a long set of steps. I counted a good eight floors by the time we reached the top, and found myself standing in a decent sized booth set with tables and seats that overlooked the large oval shaped arena. Dotting it were large metal places the racing poles were to be set into, though at this moment they were curiously absent, indeed the only thing within the glass dome that marked the arena was the dirt and some rather flamboyantly dressed people milling about.

Of course, up in the booth I was standing in there were also flamboyantly dressed people milling about, but these were, at least for the moment, a ‘type.’ It was a good hour before the first race began, one I wasn’t even in mind, but for the moment the vast majority of the riders were here in the VIP booth, drinking, eating, and talking amongst themselves. Among them were quite a few of the riders I saw from the last race, including Crawford and… one gentleman I meant to meet actually. I never caught his name, a rather overdressed man with blonde hair and green eyes, but during the last race was injured as he was coming in for the landing, twisting its leg rather severely. I was curious how the wyvern was healing, mostly because you felt a bit of an odd kinship with the poor thing. That, and it was another smaller breed like Beithir was.

I toss a nod towards Crawford but head over to the blonde man first, idly picking up a drink along the way before stopping alongside him. “How’s the wyvern?” I asked.

The man blinked at the question, apparently not having expected a ruffian to approach him. “It has been handled, it will be part of the day's events.” The man then offers his hand. “George Scott.”

I grinned and shook it. “Arthur Adair, and good to hear it. Good luck today?”

The man nodded. “Good luck, and good show.”

“Arthur!” I heard Crawford call for me, and I looked back to see the man waving me over. I smiled and took a sip of the drink in my hand… then immediately placed it on the frame of the window next to me. Far, far too fruity.

“Crawford!” I replied, using the exact same tone he did. I came to a stop before the man, he, like myself, was in his riding outfit. However unlike myself he was already wearing the gauntlets and the metal boots. Though there was a good reason for that. “What do you think your chances are in the first round?”

Crawford smiled at the question. “I have to diplomatically say that all racers are equally good and I hope to see you do well in the second round. How’s the arm?”

“Entirely useless,” I said. “But I’ve learned how to ride well enough without it.”

Crawford raised a brow then looked to Morrigan, the woman nodding to back me up on that statement. “I’m impressed, unfortunately we won’t be racing together but I do look forward to seeing how you do.”

“Aye, me as well. Curious to see what limb I will lose today.”

“Your brain likely,” Morrigan replied. “But I’m not sure you were using that to begin with.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my thoughts are torn from me as a jubilant cheer rises from the decent sized crowd already in the stands. I blinked, then looked down towards the arena proper.

A man stood there in the center of it with a cone in his hand, much like the last time I was at the other arena. He’s joined by about four others spread throughout the grounds, and in almost perfect sync they started to talk. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first event before the races!”

Next to the man in the center is a cage, and as they continue to speak the walls of it collapse down on the ground revealing a pale blue wyvern. It’s thin, and is looking around confused as it steps off of the metal bottom of the cage with a noticeable… limp.

“We shall be starting the day’s events with a wyvern-fight! Lancaster-Blue versus the Monster of Newcastle!”

That’s… the wyvern that was injured during the last race I believed, they signed it up for a spar? As my brain tried to process that the announcers quickly left the arena, the reason for which became obvious a moment later as a gate along the side opened and out rumbled an absolute, well, monster. It was a deep green, the wings at its side were clipped, torn, shredded and utterly useless, and all along its bodies were poorly healed scars and burns that showcased a rather painful life. As it lumbered towards the other smaller wyvern a raucous cheer erupted from the crowd, and just barely over it a whistle could be heard, a metallic and shrill one.

On cue the beast charged, and the injured wyvern, apparently realizing the situation it had been put in, quickly lowered itself in an attempt to meet the charge. To precisely no avail, the beast slams itself broadside with the smaller wyvern, and physics takes over to send the smaller blue wyvern tumbling over itself on the hard ground. I could see the wings bending unnaturally, and I could tell even from my distance that the weak bones in the wings were broken, if unlucky damn near unrepairable. “It won.” I said quietly, cold disgust washing over me.

The smaller wyvern eventually came to a stop, the already broken leg bent at an unnatural angle, with a roar of pain it snapped its head forward, attempting to bite at the beast that caused it pain. The fangs bit into the brute’s skin, but it just ignored it as it bent it’s own head down and clamps its jaws around the midsection of the slimmer wyvern. Rearing back the green beast shook the blue one violently, Lancaster’s teeth forced out of its skin with a spray of blood that painted the arena floor. Then it was tossed forward, bouncing along the ground.

“Stop this.” I said, but my voice, quiet, is inaudible over the crowd.

Lancaster-Blue dazedly looked up at its attacker, and as it did a second, louder whistle was heard over the crowd. On cue the monster billow flame, not the red of Beithir, this was the blue fire I had seen in the forges. The smaller wyvern lets out a roar of terrible pain, scrambling against the ground and attempting to crawl away from the flames covering it.

I turned my head to look George, only to see the man talking calmly with one of the men I saw announcing the ‘fight’ down below. A small sack of what I assumed to be money was in George's hand, and he had a small smile on his face as if nothing was wrong at all. I stepped forward, only for a hand to roughly grab my shoulder. I looked back to see Morrigan shaking her head, and before I could say anything my attention was torn away by the sound of a second roar of pain. Looking back towards the Arena I could see Lancaster-Blue flailing on the dirt, scales boiling off of it as it burned to death. Slowly, without seemingly any hurry the Monster walked over and calmly lowered its jaws around the flaming wyverns throat.

I looked away as the smaller wyvern died. But whatever death roar it let out was drowned out by the cheer from the crowd. Far louder than any cheer I heard back in the race.