[MINA, MALIA]<br/><br/>Thinking them easy prey for a moment too long, the guards set upon the two women in their recessed stone cell with the mild annoyance of one given a grudging task-- only to find that Malia is no easy prey, even after all she's endured.  The meat and bone packing sound of a shot to the guard's under-jaw echoes through the stonework before the man manages to control his fall atop her, using his bulk and armor to subdue her quickly and painfully on the dirty stone floor.  Her words of anger to Mina are softened by his weight on her back and ribs as he straddles her, forcing her wrists into the irons with painful twists against the sinews and sockets.<br/><br/>Mina, for Malia's protest, is hastily shoved to her bared knees on the slate floor until Malia is dealt with, then the guard wrestling with her emits a harsh exhale of laughter, his breath thick with mead and chewed tobacco, against her cheek.  "There's a good girl," and she can feel his cheek tighten with a toothy smile as the manacles are cinched tighter with a few turns of a thumbscrew that is summarily removed as she's hauled to her feet.<br/><br/>"Blasted fucking whore!" the guard wrangling Malia curses into her ear with a full, bellowing cry, followed by a cocky laugh to try to regain his pride.  "Like a corn-holed bitch, this one, bloody hells," he laughs and spits, and in the lantern light at least Malia knows that his bravado is not entirely genuine, not wholly confident, because in that gob of spit there's a tinge of fresh blood.<br/><br/>"Enough fuggin' round," Mina's captor says, shoving her roughly toward the benches in a rapid march through the crowd, followed by Malia's captor who hauls her like a sack of cats at arms' length before him...<br/><br/>[MINA, MALIA, CRIS]<br/><br/>... through the riotous crowd, where they can see a stout, long-armed, and bleeding dwarf hauled to his feet by two men in hide armor bearing cudgels and swatting-- more for show than effect-- as they drag his unconscious form from the sand-pit through the crowd toward the cells where Cris and her father had been kept.  The dwarf dribbles blood and spit when he exhales, and he seems to be convulsing in his lower abdomen as if in dry heaves.<br/><br/>Among the crowd, some designees are busy carrying out a wooden platform of sorts-- it seems sectional, heavy-seated legs like reclaimed crates are in place, tamped down by burly arms of bare-chested wharfsmen and crafters, while a set of heavy planks held together with cross-beams are carried out by four men apiece and set atop them.   Their shouting is lost among the chaotic noise, but not to each other, apparently, as they work to ensure that the balance is something close to "proper".<br/><br/>Cris' bench rocks gently when Mina is thrust down beside her, the shackles still in place behind her back and clanging against the wooden beams.  Then, almost immediately afterward, Malia is thrown to the ground before the bench, where-- mercifully-- an inch or so of sand softens the blow of the flagstone.  "Siddown damn your eyes."  Amid the rattling of heavy chain and the milling noise of the crowd comes a new chorus of simian howls and raised cheers-- these two prisoners, like Cris and Cris' father, have garnered a cheer of grand appreciation, but this comes with the hostile, menacing sexualized predatory keening that is so often directed at women in subjugation... the grand chorus of ungratified sex organs, lengthened vocal chords, and power over the imprisoned.  The howl of the wolf pack at the wounded prey, thick with vile pride and merciless hunger.<br/><br/>"GIVE US a SHOW OF THEM TWO" "YAAAAAAAH LET'S GIVE 'EM SOME 'FORE WE SKIN 'EM ALIIIIVE" "SHOVE A POKER UP 'ER ARSE WHEN SHE'S DONE" "OI, IF YOU BEHEAD HER, SAVE ME THE REST WHILE IT'S WARM"<br/><br/>[NEPHELE, OXENBRIDGE]<br/><br/>The man ostensibly named Crow hisses-- actually hisses-- as he recoils from the doorman, but meet Nephele's eyes immediately.  He heeds her words, it seems, his eyes flicking over her like a knife tip probing meat for bones, but then he recoils in on himself and huddles under his cloak like a scared child.  He flicks his gaze back towards the crowd before returning his full attention to Nephele, then stoops to the floor to gather the handful of coins he's scattered.  "Well, it's, er... a bit of a dispute.  I promised someone something, you see, but I didn't think I'd have to pay it yet.  Well, didn't think I'd have to pay it, in troth.  So, well, I thought I'd skin out, perhaps regather myself a bit.<i>See to it later.</i>"<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"> DC 10 Sense Motive... if successful, it's clear as day that he had no intention of paying his debt to begin with, and was trying to skip the debt to reconcile through other, probably nefarious, means.</div></div><br/>At that moment, The bare-chested elven fighter, still glistening with sweat and speckled with sand from the pit, come into view.<br/><br/>"Oh, damn me," Crow whispers.  "Best stay behind me lady," he mutters in a strangely noble gesture.  Very strangely noble.<br/><br/>The doorman chuckles, the sound like someone rolling a boulder down a hillside.  "I can see why they chose you."<br/><br/>[ALL]<br/><br/>At the makeshift stage mid-room, one final piece is brought into play... a heavy stone is rolled out on its side, wheeled by three men on its edge like a cart's wheel, to the midst of the sand floor.  They have some practice at this, it seems, for they are able to lower it dead-center on the first try, just beneath where the four corners of the "stage" make a square gap.<br/><br/>A massive wooden pillar is carried out last, set into its middle.  There are ropes and rings set into the wooden shaft, which itself is ten feet high.  The wood is nicked and scarred from blades, notched with fingernail scratches and chain-grooves.  It is stained at the base a ruddy brown, darker towards the base. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YEyuRlSieg)