The rundown bar attached to the brothel baked under the harsh midday sun streaming through grimy windows. Dust motes danced in the light like tiny sparks, and the air hung heavy with the stale reek of last night's spilled ale, sweat-soaked wood, and the faint metallic tang of blood ground into the floorboards. Tables were scarred from countless knives and fists, chairs wobbled on uneven legs. and the few patrons—rough human traders nursing hangovers, a pair of scarred orcs playing card—watched with lazy, bloodthirsty interest as the fight ignited. In this pit, brawls were free entertainment. No one called guards. No one cared who won, as long as blood spilled.
After all, not everyone got their entertainment from sex and this region was popular for quenching all sort of depravities they might have so it was only natural that fighting was among those things.
But there was a strict rule in the brothel itself that prohibited this but not every establishment in this area had such rules.
