Bellona cursed her luck. While she hadn’t detested her years in the ring, she was looking forward to returning to her previous life. Maybe she could have become a lenista (gladiator trainer)… or a mother. She was getting old; at 23, she should have had multiple offspring by now.
“…one thing in common. You’re all dead!”
Well, she thought morbidly, even the Underworld would have been a relief.
But it seemed that this man (Zareh… Zairee was it?) was intent on dragging her back. She mentally twiddled her thumbs in agitation. Clearly, this man likes to hear himself talk, she brooded, not really paying attention.
While this strangely dressed man finished his speech about their surroundings in his peculiar, ugly language that Bellona somehow haltingly understood, she fingered her necklace. The man had called it a “trinket,” implying it was useless. And for all of Bellona’s intents and purposes, it was. She had no idea what it did. Typical of gods to give you a “gift,” and not even give you a hint as to what it does, or the possible consequences. She inhaled the stale air deeply and sighed.
With that, she sensed the air around her began to flow again, which implied the individual barriers surrounding her and the others had lifted. The others. Bellona hadn’t even begun to take them into consideration. Bellona crouched and gripped her spear, and as her eyes swept across their rag-tag group, she fixated on the Strongarm character. A barbarian! Bellona did not envy the demoness and spectre that had materialized next to him… maybe neither of them had a sense of smell. “Uncivilized, rancid heathens,” her father had told her. She smirked.
She knew better than to confront any of them in the open like this. Her training told her it was better to sequester one or two opponents off from the others… effectively, pick them off one by one. But for once, she wasn’t interested in picking a fight. The setting they had been placed in piqued her interest, and she noticed the demoness, the atrocious mess of a human, and time-disregarding man quickly leaving the group. They must have had the same sentiment.
Bellona stood up straight. She wasn’t much of a shopper. She was intent in testing this “barrier” Zairy had mentioned. Escape wasn’t exactly on her mind, but should always be entertained as a possibility. It was prudent to know the limits and particulars of your battleground.
Coming to a decision, she shifted her shield and spear onto her back, and shot off down the street. Running on this flat surface was effortless compared to the sand back home. She flew past shops which names and purposes hardly registered... the alchemy shop, a pharmacy, a tavern, a clothing store. Slipping on a discarded hand, she decided to concentrate on avoiding the bodies littering the street… what had happened to this community, anyway? Had Zahaire killed this town’s population, for the sole purpose of having a theme-appropriate setting? Bellona wouldn’t put it past the twisted tyrant. She shook her head violently, and again re-shifted her focus to the sound of her sandals slapping the foreign, black ground.
She flitted past an alchemy shop, a pharmacy, a tavern… Wait, what?
She trotted to a stop, narrowly avoiding tripping over a corpse in her bewilderment. She was back where the group had begun. How was that possible? There’s no way she had turned around. The street ran straight, east to west judging by the position of the sun… assuming this world had the same astrological rules as her own.
The ear-piercing sound of glass breaking snapped her out of her musings. The demoness had emerged from the tavern on the left, and was trying her hardest to start a brawl with the swordsman in a thick, slurring voice. This ought to bring no end of amusement, Bellona thought.