Cromir's gaze turned to Faryn as she spoke to him. Her pleas were falling on deaf ears as far as he was concerned, but he could barely contain a bit of a chuckle at the way he was addressed. In fact, some of the bandits choosing to lounge against the stage burst out in laughter at her formal way of speaking to their boss. It was as if she was part of a comedy and gave the punchline to a joke for them. Cromir simply smiled and took a swig from his keg tankard.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"I only have a need for two types of mounts, and that horse is going to feed one of them," </span>Cromir said coldly.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"So unless you want about half of those guards sent with you to take the place of that horse, you'll just have to deal with it."</span>As far as Cromir was concerned, the conversation about the beast was over. She was here to protect her people, and he doubted her horse was prioritized over the men he graciously allowed to live.<br/><br/>As a plate of what one could only assumed was roasted strips of beef was brought to Cromir, being set on the arm of the throne opposite his drink, another figure moved to stand in front of the stage. His skin held a slight tinge of gray to it, and he was obviously a skilled warrior, denoted by scars and a handful of various weapons strapped to him. Behind him was a string of bandits. Some held down by other bandits, some simply bickering, and some being physically held separate from one another. "Well?" Cromir asked, waiting to hear what they had for show by tossing a strip of meat into his mouth. The gray skinned man side stepped, making room for the first in line for whatever procession was going on. The gray skinned man explained that these two -a pair that were simply bickering in line- have been arguing over payment. The one on the left had... used the one on the right's slave girl, saying he had cashed in a favor the one on the right owed the one on the left. The whole argument was over that, and while one denied it, the other hand people vouching for the favor.  It was nothing interesting and the two of them were simply causing problems among the camp over it. Cromir sighed and passed a simple judgment: the one citing a favor was put on guard duty next time they went raiding, the slave owner was forced to allow another free use of his slave at a later date. Both were punished, but neither was rough. It was appropriate for riling up the camp.<br/><br/>The next in line was drug forward, the gray skinned man saying that this one had drunk too much the day before and skipped out on his shift as a night guard. This one required a bit more punishment, as it was cut and dry and a clear violation. Setting his keg on the floorboards of the stage, Cromir stood and walked to the edge. The gray skinned man held up a whip -a nasty one with shards of glass and metal affixed to multiple ends of the whip.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"Chain him to the pole," </span>Cromir commanded as he took the whip in his right hand. The fingers on his left hand began to glow slightly with a sickly green color. Each tip was touched, and the glow faded with each pass. Whatever poison he was inducing, he was ensuring each lash would have it.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"Twenty lashes, and he's to forfeit his next share,"</span>Cromir said, handing the whip back to the gray skinned man. The punishment brought a bit of a hush on the crowd as the partial deserter was properly chained to the pole in the middle of the yard. His shirt was ripped open, and the lashing began. Each lash brought a howl of pain, much more intense than what it should have produced normally. Additionally, the crowd would roar with each whip, counting as it continued. By the end of it, the man was limp and the red marks of blood on his back were tinged with a slight green color. He was simply unchained but left there against the pole.<br/><br/>The next in line was a pair being held apart. Cromir knew these two well. They had been rivals at one point, but that deteriorated to proper enemies, fighting over anything that could be fought over. It didnt necessarily affect the entire camp, but their groups were beginning to be affected by it. So they had been brought forward to have Cromir settle it.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"You two will drop this shit after tonight," </span>he said firmly.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ff00">"Beat the shit out of each other until you two are both satisfied or one of you is unconscious. I aint gonna have your shit boil over to problems on a raid.</span>" And with that, more entertainment began. The one holding them apart turned around and pushed them out into the area between the pole and the stage. The crowd soon circled around, and someone began calling out bets. And the two began to fight. It was brutal, to say the least. And there was no end in sight. They simply kept getting up whenever they were knocked down. Even the man who had taken his lashings was now up, cheering. If Faryn had noticed, the cuts on his back and stopped bleeding already, but an intense pain still hung on his face. Everyone seemed to be interested in the fight, and there was no sign of it stopping soon.